I’ve been sick the past couple days. In the last 48 hours, I’ve probably spent more time in bed during the day than I have in the past three years combined. It’s been miserable. But more than that, it’s been terrible feeling so useless.
I tried to work as much as I could, but with a fever, my brain turns to mush. Even doing my best, my productivity wasn’t much to write home about. I couldn’t really sleep, so I spent most of the days in a groggy state — lying in bed, looking at my phone.
Maybe friction is essential to life. We imagine wanting a life with no demands, no stress, no deadlines — but maybe we go soft without them.
Really, I was doomscrolling and “bed-rotting,” as our Zoomer friends call it.
I only did it for a couple days, but it was brutal on my mind and spirit. I can only imagine what it does to capable young adults who live like this. No wonder so many Zoomers feel listless, nihilistic — just sort of blah.
Pajama punditry
Feeling useless is bad enough on its own. It’s worse when you’re a spectator, scrolling through short-form videos of other people doing more interesting things. It’s like being kicked when you’re down. Psychological masochism.
There’s something especially bleak about the “bed” in bed-rotting. I’m someone who gets up and gets dressed, who puts on shoes in the morning and takes them off at night. Spending the middle of the day in bed feels wrong in a deeper way. It makes me feel lazy. For some reason, scrolling on the couch at 1 p.m. doesn’t feel as bad as doing it in bed at 1 p.m. Same behavior — but the setting seals the degradation.
“I can’t even rouse myself from bed. I can’t even pretend to engage with the world. I’m just waiting for it to get dark again so I can sleep.”
That’s the feeling. It’s deeply depressing.
Reflecting on a few days of this has clarified something — not just about younger generations, but something more universal: The problem isn’t just distraction. It’s uselessness.
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Needless to say
We need to be needed. That’s the core of it. From love to work to everything in between, being needed gives shape to our lives. When we aren’t needed, we feel it. Even when we say we want a break, want to get away, want to escape the demands — after a while, the absence of need starts to itch. We want it back.
This is why people without children get dogs. They need to be needed. Simple.
It’s also why the looming threat of AI-induced uselessness is so unsettling. If you follow discussions about AI and the future of work, the forecasts can look bleak. Whether or not the worst predictions come true, it’s worth asking what happens if they do.
Give me friction
If large swaths of the workforce are replaced or managed by AI, millions of people could find themselves both unemployed and unneeded. The optimistic view says we’ll have universal basic income — and everyone will be free, comfortable, and happier than ever.
You can only believe that if you misunderstand human nature. We need to work. We need to be rewarded for what we do. We don’t actually want everything handed to us. Five-year-olds might — but not 45-year-olds. And even if we think we do, that feeling dulls quickly. The need to be needed comes back.
Maybe friction is essential to life. We imagine wanting a life with no demands, no stress, no deadlines — but maybe we go soft without them. Maybe we lose something vital when nothing is required of us.
Being needed might be one of the most precious conditions we have, especially in a world moving toward automation and away from human necessity. Preserving that — ensuring people are needed — may be one of the most important challenges of the next decade.
Because it doesn’t matter if we have everything we want — if we’re well-fed and comfortable. If we aren’t needed, we aren’t fulfilled.
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