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Psychological stress slows the recovery of the skin barrier. That much has been well studied. But what actually happens in the moments when, for once, nothing is asked of us?
There are moments that used to be empty: waiting at a red light. The ride in a lift. The queue at the checkout. The minutes in the waiting room. These moments have not disappeared, but they have been filled, and filled completely. These days, anyone who is waiting is usually looking at a device. This does something to us. And to our skin as well.
In 2001, a research group at the University of California led by the dermatologist Peter Elias and the endocrinologist Kenneth Feingold studied students during their exams and compared the results with those of the same students at a calmer time. In every participant, the stratum corneum, the skin's outermost layer, was removed from a small patch of the forearm with adhesive tape. This is an established method for measuring how quickly the barrier closes again. The result: under exam stress, this process, the closing of the barrier, took measurably longer. In the same year, a study of healthy women found the same pattern after a simulated job interview. The tension delayed the barrier's recovery, and at the same time levels of cortisol, noradrenaline and several inflammatory messengers rose. So the skin barrier recovers less well under psychological tension. That alone is remarkable. This is plausible because the autonomic nervous system has two opposing branches. The sympathetic nervous system activates the body and prepares it for exertion, fight or flight. The parasympathetic nervous system, with the vagus nerve as its main pathway, does the opposite: it lowers heart rate and blood pressure and supports digestion. It creates conditions in which recovery and regeneration come more easily. What probably benefits the skin, then, is not boredom itself but the absence of tension and of constant new demands.
Strictly speaking, boredom is not the right word anyway. In psychology, it describes an unpleasant state: you want to do something and can find nothing that holds your attention. Whether it involves measurably less tension at all is a matter of debate among researchers. What I mean is simpler: idle time. A few minutes without a task, without a new stimulus, without the urge to close every gap in the day immediately. A few minutes in which nothing new is asked of us and the body does not have to react yet again.
In the end, it is all quite simple. A look out of the window. A walk without a podcast in your ears. Waiting without taking your phone out of your pocket. None of this is meditation, and none of it requires a technique. All it asks of us is that we leave an empty moment empty for once. In reality, this is harder than it sounds, because habit is faster than intention. The effort is worth it all the same, because the point is to break a pattern. To stop constantly distracting ourselves and feeding ourselves new information simply because a gap has opened up. And all of this has several pleasant side effects: we see more and become more aware of our surroundings again. We are more present. We may come into contact with other people more readily, even if only through a smile, a sympathetic glance, a shared laugh or a little help we are able to give. We see more of nature, immerse ourselves in it more deeply and fill our souls with beauty. And we spend less time in front of screens showing things that are designed to keep hold of our attention for as long as possible.
A good life is a life that reduces complexity rather than adding to it. Perhaps that also includes the minutes in which, for once, nothing happens. There is no need to fill them straight away.
