About the Pursuit of Cozy Mindfulness
Training my brain to value boredom and the in-between moments
It’s there when I open my eyes in the morning, there while I wait for my tram to come, there when I pretend the real world doesn’t exist, and still there when my mind finally gives in to sleep. Throughout my teenage years, I lost my attention. Or better said, I lost my grip on it.
I spent those years all too generously - waving my attention around like a cheap commodity, and putting it wherever my brain pleased. If you grew up with screens shoved in your face, I think you’ll understand. There’s no phone addiction quite like that of our generation. Because nothing held you above water during quarantine the way cheap dopamine did, right?
Believe me, I’ve been through it. And by ‘it’ I mean abysmally high screen times, habitual escapism, and a kind of anxiety that never really went away. I still remember the automatic grabs for my phone and the loss I experienced right after.
In that sea of content, I forgot who I was. I’d scroll my thoughts away, pretend they weren’t there, and replace them with strangers on the internet. I won’t even talk about the comparison and self-criticism that came with it; that’s a hefty topic for another time.
As I graduated from high school, I already knew those years - full of isolation, regret, and ignorance - were ones I didn’t care to relive. And so when I moved abroad, claiming my independence, taking on responsibility, and building a life in the Netherlands, I made a decision.
It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, but rather a gradual realisation that my way of existing needs more intention. Identity and career crises aside, I knew I had to shift my priorities. I couldn’t go back to the person I was in the past, who ran away from problems by burying themselves in a flood of social media content. I wanted to be better.
Not in an egotistical, arrogant way. I wanted to do better to feel better. I needed to taste what it felt like when people talked about a still mind and mental wellness. I wanted to understand what they meant by slow mornings, mindfulness, and intentional living. It all seemed like a distant reality I needed to fight for.
And so I did.
Step by unavoidable step, I began curating habits to support my creativity, let my brain think, and meet my moods where they’re at. I limited my screen time, set boundaries on every attention-sucking app, and found ways to reclaim what I had lost.
The process was nowhere near linear. I found comfort in the impermanence of everything. I knew a lapse in my determination was but a momentary setback. Every feeling, frustration, dip and rise was temporary. No matter what happened, I found solace in knowing it wouldn’t last forever.
If growth were a religion, I’d build an altar of my dedication. Slightly off-centre, a mirror reflecting each day’s improvement back at me. A jar full of lavender, a remedy for a calm body and an even calmer mind. Dispersed around the surface, standing sentinel would be shards of selenite, the ultimate cleansing force for a complete lifestyle reformation. On the side, within arm’s reach would dwell a journal. Prompts already written and lines waiting to be filled - it would absorb every lesson and moment of hesitation that happened along the way.
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In a sense, choosing to change something is an act of faith. You decide to believe in your ability to fulfil what was started. You take the leap and start changing something for the better. I jumped off the plank into an ocean of sharks, only to realise I wouldn’t be eaten after all.
Over time, silence became less scary. An empty to-do list became a privilege I savoured like salt. Being productive wasn’t a guarantee of doing something meaningful - a thought that gradually crystallised into fact.
My goal has evolved alongside me. Where I used to absorb, take in, and consume, I now aim to create. I aim to sit with my boredom without reaching for a quick-fix solution. I aim to savour the stillness that comes with an easy-paced yoga session - one that grounds me in my being and brings me back to earth.
As I wait for my tram, I observe what’s happening around me. The pigeons that walk suspiciously close to passersby, as if you owed them something. The bystander who scans the hat on your head and nods in quiet affirmation of a fellow Dutch weather survivor. Even the wind finds an audience with me. We play an endless match of push-and-pull. It presses into me from all sides while I stand my ground, taking note of the strength of its violent dance.
I realise the importance of a well-set objective. Slowing down doesn’t mean grinding to a halt. I still set targets and break down how they can be achieved. I know a thing or two about the psychology behind building habits - wouldn’t have made much progress if I didn’t, after all. I’ve seen what works, what sabotages personal growth, and sets one up for failure. That’s how I knew I was ready to challenge myself. And challenge myself I did.
I’m at the beginning of a month-long journey I set for myself. A valiant, yet rocky one that ends with me learning how to be bored. It lets me come away comfortable with not having a task to jump on or an errand to take care of. All in all, the challenge is forcing me to create more than I consume, to sit with my thoughts without distractions, and be mindful of how I spend my time.
I knew I had to do something radical when the impact of AI set in. I realised the implications of a brain smoothing out, critical thinking eroding, and a whole new onset of a laziness epidemic. That’s when I pulled the plug. A pause, a reflection on my values, and a few days of contemplation later, I had devised a plan. For at least 30 days, I would uphold the following rules.
I limited social media apps (namely Instagram, TikTok, and LinkedIn) to 1.5 hours a day in total. I stopped bringing my earbuds with me everywhere I went and made a rule against music or podcasts on the commute. And because my teenage years were spent flying through books faster than you could read their titles, I also implemented a mandatory 5-minute pause after each book, Substack article, or piece of media. For those 300 seconds, I’ll reflect on what I just read, its implications on my life, and my own thoughts on the subject (and yes, purely without looking at the comment section).
Somewhere along the lines, I forgot to count the days, but if I had to wager a guess, I’d say I’m 1–2 weeks in. I’m becoming increasingly more acquainted with the flow of my thoughts and letting them float around freely. My brain dump has never been more full of ideas, concepts, and want-to-dos. But more than that, I think I’m settling into a sense of peace. I’m noticing how I anchor more decisions in what I want, and less in what I think I’m expected to do. I’m more apt to say ‘no’ to an opportunity that isn’t an immediate ‘yes’.
Overall, I’m beginning to see that my life path doesn’t need a clear direction. I’m getting used to flowing with the current and gently shaping it like a jellyfish (a subtle nod to a past article of mine). Being more present in the moment is an unsurprising outcome, yet the feeling of contentment is an unexpected one I welcome with giddiness.
It’s too soon to tell where this endeavour will lead me. The path may still show its teeth. But I know that yoga helps. Journaling helps too. So do the people I wouldn’t want to miss out on for the world.
I’m putting my pen down, releasing this stream of thoughts, and settling into place on a cloud. I take a deep breath, feel my lungs fill with air, and start listening.
My body and mind twirl in glee as we share an imaginary dance of checking in, asking questions, and allowing one another to take up space.
