Boredom is your imagination calling to you.

“Boredom is your imagination calling to you.” Thus spoke Sherry Turkle, the modern philosopher of human connection, whose voice rises amid the noise of our distracted age. In this brief but luminous saying, she reveals a truth that the ancients knew and we have nearly forgotten—that boredom is not an emptiness to be feared, but a summons from the soul. It is the whisper of the imagination, calling us back to ourselves when we have wandered too far into distraction. For in the silence of boredom, when the world no longer entertains us, the deeper world within begins to stir and speak.

The origin of this quote arises from Turkle’s lifelong study of how technology shapes the human spirit. As a scholar at the crossroads of psychology and culture, she has watched generations grow ever more connected to devices and yet more distant from reflection. In her book Reclaiming Conversation, she warns that in our constant pursuit of stimulation, we have lost the art of solitude—the sacred stillness in which imagination is born. To her, boredom is not the enemy, but the teacher. It is the threshold between the shallow chatter of the external world and the deep music of the inner life. When she says that boredom is “your imagination calling,” she reminds us that the restlessness we feel is not a void, but a signal—a quiet urging to create, to dream, to awaken.

To the ancients, this idea would not have been strange. The mystics, poets, and philosophers of old knew that moments of silence and stillness are fertile soil for the spirit. The prophet goes into the desert; the monk sits in the cell; the artist walks alone by the sea. In solitude, when all distractions fall away, the mind becomes aware of its own vastness. What the modern person calls “boredom,” the ancients might have called “the awakening of the inner voice.” It is in these moments—when there is nothing left to do, nothing to watch, no noise to fill the air—that the imagination, long buried beneath habit and haste, begins to speak again.

Consider the story of Isaac Newton, who, during the great plague of 1665, was forced to leave Cambridge and live alone at his family’s estate. Cut off from his usual routines, surrounded by long days of isolation and quiet, Newton might easily have succumbed to boredom. Yet it was in this stillness that his imagination awoke. There, in solitude, he formulated the laws of motion, developed calculus, and began his reflections on gravity. What seemed at first a season of emptiness became the birthplace of genius. His boredom was not a void but a call—the imagination knocking at the door of his mind, inviting him to see deeper into the nature of the universe.

So too in our time, when we reach for a device at the first flicker of boredom, we silence this same call. The moment we feel restless, we rush to fill it—with sound, with images, with endless motion. Yet in doing so, we exile our imagination, leaving no space for wonder or creation. Boredom, if endured with patience, becomes a passage—a sacred bridge between thought and inspiration. It is the stillness before the poem, the pause before the melody, the silence before the revelation. To flee boredom is to flee the very wellspring of creativity that gives life its color and depth.

Sherry Turkle’s wisdom is not merely a reflection on the modern condition; it is a call to reclaim an ancient rhythm of being. When boredom arises, do not fear it or flee it. Sit with it. Let your thoughts wander without aim. Let your imagination stretch its wings. Ask yourself what it seeks to show you. Perhaps it will paint a picture in your mind, whisper a forgotten dream, or guide you toward something you have long ignored. The task is not to escape the emptiness, but to listen—to let the silence speak until it births new creation.

O seeker of truth, remember this: boredom is not the absence of meaning, but the prelude to it. It is the still voice calling you back from the noise of the world to the infinite expanse within. When it comes, welcome it as a messenger of your imagination. Do not reach for distraction; reach inward. Walk in silence, gaze at the sky, let your thoughts drift like clouds. For within that stillness, the imagination begins to move again, and the soul—so long silenced by noise—begins to sing. Thus, as Turkle teaches, when boredom calls, do not run. Answer it. For it is not the end of meaning, but the beginning of creation.