Stillness can feel like a void, which is why we avoid it. In this post, I’ll cover what the “empty space” actually gives you, why boredom and discomfort can spark creativity, and simple practices to stop rushing past it.
There’s a moment most of us hate.
You sit down. You finally have a quiet pocket of time. No meeting. No kid asking for a snack. No urgent text. No one needs you.
And instead of feeling peaceful, you feel… itchy.
Your brain starts pawing at the air like a dog looking for the tennis ball that’s rolled under the couch. You reach for your phone. You open a tab. You reorganize a drawer you didn’t know existed. You decide this is the perfect time to “quickly” check your email, even though you know email is rarely ‘just information.” It’s usually a request in a trench coat..
That moment is the void.
And we fill it fast.
Stillness as a void we’re trained to escape
Stillness can feel like a blank room with fluorescent lighting. Not cozy. Not Pinterest-worthy. Just… empty.
The discomfort makes sense. When we stop moving, we start hearing things:
- The inner monologue you’ve been outrunning all day
- The anxiety that’s been riding shotgun
- The grief, the uncertainty, the “what if I’m doing it wrong?”
- The quiet knowledge you already had but didn’t want to face
So we fill the space. Not because we’re weak. Because we’re human.
Stillness often feels like non-doing, and our culture tends to treat non-doing like a character flaw. We’ve inherited a worldview that equates worth with output. If you’re not producing, optimizing, or improving, you’re “wasting time.”
So the void isn’t neutral. It feels like danger. But here’s the twist: the void is not emptiness. It’s fertile ground.
Why boredom and discomfort are creative precursors
Creativity doesn’t usually arrive like a marching band. It arrives like a whisper that needs room to be heard.
Boredom is often the doorway.
When your brain isn’t being fed constant input, it does something wildly useful: it starts wandering. It connects dots. It plays. It incubates ideas. It metabolizes your experiences.
Discomfort is the bouncer at the door.
We don’t like it, so we leave the party before the good music starts.
But boredom and discomfort are often the early signals that your nervous system is shifting gears. You’re moving from reactive mode (responding to stimuli) to generative mode (creating something new). That transition can feel like restlessness, because your brain is used to being entertained, needed, or in motion.
If you can tolerate the awkward minute, you often get access to the next layer: insight.
The cultural norms that make us avoid “non-doing”
Let’s name the water we’re swimming in.
We live in a culture that tends to reward:
- Speed over depth
- Busyness over presence
- Efficiency over emergence
- Answers over questions
- Constant accessibility over actual aliveness
Stillness doesn’t look impressive. You can’t put it in a spreadsheet. You can’t quantify it on a performance review. You can’t post a photo of “me sitting with the void” unless you want to become that person on Instagram (no judgment, but also: please don’t).
And because it’s not easily measurable, we treat it as optional.
Except it isn’t.
Stillness is often the soil where creativity grows. Not the finished product. The conditions.
Like sleep. Like hydration. Like oxygen. Not glamorous. Absolutely essential.
What stillness actually gives you
If you’ve been taught stillness is laziness, here’s the reframe:
Stillness is not the absence of movement. It’s the presence of space.
Space to notice what you’re avoiding.
Space to hear what you already know.
Space to let your mind make connections without being interrupted every seven seconds.
Space to experience yourself as a person, not a machine.
Stillness gives you access to:
- Clarity: fewer “open tabs” running in the background
- Creativity: new connections, new language, new angles
- Courage: because you can feel the fear without obeying it
- Choice: the ability to respond instead of react
And that last one, choice, is where leadership lives.
Practices to sit with the void (without white-knuckling it)
You don’t need a silent retreat. You need a container small enough that your brain doesn’t revolt.
Here are a few practices that help you stay in the void long enough for it to become useful.
1) The Two-Minute “Don’t Fix It” Sit
Set a timer for 2 minutes. Sit. Do nothing. Your only job is to notice the urge to reach, check, fix, or fill.
When the urge shows up, name it:
- “Reaching.”
- “Escaping.”
- “Numbing.”
- “Busy-ing.”
Naming creates distance. Distance creates choice.
2) Boredom Walks (No Audio Allowed)
I used to always multi-task, on my phone while “watching” TV. Listening to a podcast while I walked. Listening to an audiobook as I was crafting. As it turns out, that’s not a recipe for efficiency (I mean, maybe) but it is a recipe for nervous system burnout.
Take a 10–20 minute walk with no podcast, no music, no calls. Yes, this will feel illegal at first.
Your brain will complain. Let it.
Often, around minute 7–10, something shifts. Ideas start surfacing like bubbles. You’ll notice details. You’ll solve problems sideways.
3) The “One Tab Only” Rule
If stillness feels too big, try reducing input instead of eliminating it.
For a single block of time (even 15 minutes), choose one input source only: one task, one book, one conversation. No multitasking. No tab-hopping.
This is stillness in motion. It’s spaciousness with training wheels.
4) Sit With One Question
Instead of “clearing your mind,” give it a simple job.
Pick one question and hold it gently for five minutes:
- What am I trying not to feel today?
- What’s asking for my attention that I keep ignoring?
- What is the truest thing I know right now?
- What would feel like relief, not just accomplishment?
Write down whatever comes up. No editing. No fixing. Just compost.
5) The Void Before the Phone
When you wake up, delay your phone by five minutes.
Five minutes of nothing. Five minutes of letting your nervous system be yours before the world takes a number and gets in line.
This tiny practice is sneakily powerful.
A small invitation
This week, choose one place where you normally fill the void fast: the car, the shower, the line at the grocery store, the moment you sit down at your desk.
Try staying there for sixty seconds longer than you want to.
Not as punishment. As practice.
Because creativity doesn’t usually come from force. It comes from space. And stillness is how you learn to stay in the space long enough for something new to grow.
If you want a simple structure, try this for seven days:
2 minutes of stillness + 10 minutes of boredom walk + 1 question on paper.
That’s it. Small. Unsexy. Effective.
And if you notice yourself reaching for the noise, don’t shame yourself. Just smile a little and say, “Ah. There I am.”
The void isn’t your enemy.
It’s your studio.