When we moved to the island, Uly was still a young puppy. So, when I began taking him for walks around the area, I usually found myself going without earbuds or headphones. Initially, I did this so I could listen for approaching vehicles, other dogs, mountain bikers, or general hazards a big, silly puppy might be oblivious to. However, as time passed, I found myself increasingly relishing those moments of mental stillness.

In 2023 and part of 2024, while we were living in Seattle, I began walking frequently. Four or five-mile stretches a day, sometimes more. I lost a lot of weight doing it, and it was also a good way to supplement my reading. Earbuds went in and out the door I went. My earbuds became as ubiquitous as any piece of gear I wore. I’m not alone. Be it on public transit or in the grocery store, many of us are living in our own personal audio bubble.

In a world of content, it’s easy to find plenty to consume; all manner of thoughts and ideas can be piped into our ears when we work, play, commute, walk the dog, and so on. As technology has progressed, on-demand entertainment has continued to improve; it’s genuinely one of the wonders of modern technology, with billions upon billions of hours available at any time, nearly anywhere, covering anything. It’s pretty magical, really.

Uly is now older. He’s more aware of his surroundings than he was as a puppy, and I could easily go back to slipping in the earbuds when I take him for a walk. But I haven’t. I’m not sure I’m ever going to. Over the past year, I’ve found myself enjoying those “quiet” times alone with my thoughts; those moments of stillness. I’ve even discovered that same desire spilling over into other activities. When I’m running into town, I’ve found myself forgetting to plug in my phone or turn on the radio. I’ve often caught myself doing garden work or house chores without my earbuds. Like those walks, the trip, the project, and the chore become a contemplative experience where I mull over whatever my mind chooses to process.

Recently, author and photographer Craig Mod wrote a fascinating article for Lit Hub on the creative power of walking. The entire piece is worth reading, but there was a particular paragraph that resonated with me:

“When I’m not talking, just walking (which is most of the time), I try to cultivate the most bored state of mind imaginable. A total void of stimulation beyond the immediate environment. My rules: No news, no social media, no podcasts, no music. No “teleporting,” you could say. The phone, the great teleportation device, the great murderer of boredom. And yet, boredom: the great engine of creativity. I now believe with all my heart that it’s only in the crushing silences of boredom — without all that black-mirror dopamine — that you can access your deepest creative wells. And for so many people these days, they’ve never so much as attempted to dip in a ladle, let alone dive down into those uncomfortable waters made accessible through boredom.”

I’m not sure I’d call my own experience “boredom,” not precisely. If someone asked me if I was bored during those moments, I’d tell them no. But, to many people, the idea of spending time with only their thoughts is boredom incarnate. We’re so used to always being eternally entertained that the stillness itself seems ominous.

Terminology aside, Mod’s experience has echoed my own. Not giving my brain time to process, always filling all my quieter moments with someone else’s thoughts and ideas, had made it more complicated for me to think creatively. For a long time, sitting down to write felt like I was trying to plant something in an overgrown garden. Those crowded, cluttered thoughts I hadn’t processed choked out the space where creativity grew.

While I’m sure there are other outside factors at play, I’ve found that those moments when I carve out time to process the tangle of my mind have been creatively transformative. After those silent walks in the forest with just me, my dog, and my thoughts, my mental “brush” has been cleared. The garden hasn’t changed in size, only in upkeep. The bed of creativity has always been there, rich and full. I just couldn’t reach it because of the thicket in the way.

Lately, I’m writing more than I have in a long time. I’m feeling creatively rejuvenated, and it’s hard not to see a correlation. Creativity flowers again, not because something new appeared, but because I finally made space for what was always there.