The other night, after finishing a long day of tasks and errands, I found myself around midnight wanting to relax a bit before going to bed. Watching an episode of House of Cards felt just about right. An hour would keep me up later than I’d have wished, but a half-hour show wouldn’t be long enough for a full chill.   So I settled into watching the nefarious deeds of Francis Underwood.

When the show ended around 1am, I decided I shouldn’t stay up for another episode despite the cliffhanger ending. But I wasn’t quite ready to turn in, so I clicked through a few channels to see what else was on. I came across What Dreams May Come, an odd but underrated Robin Williams movie that’s been on my mind since his suicide, so it made perfect sense to watch what was left of it. When that was over, I flipped through a few more channels and found a Johnny Depp and John Malkovich movie I’d never heard of. I like them—why not check it out? By the time I got to the end of that one, I knew why I’d never heard of it. Stink-o! I stumbled to bed around 2am, regretting having stayed up so late.   Why not be satisfied with the episode of House of Cards, which already felt like a stretch at the start? Or why not have simply watched a second episode since I ended up staying up long enough for it after all? As it was, I felt like I’d squandered time and opportunity.

There is something about channel-surfing, though, that is hard to resist. Web-surfing has a similar appeal. The call of the click is not easily ignored. Each click feels harmless enough, but like small steps, they run together to make an all-night journey to who-knows-where. And that uncertainty, I am coming to see, is part of the allure. We don’t know what we’ll find when we click. Each jump is a tiny gamble: reaching into a sea of possibility, we might pull up a prize fish or a handful of seaweed. Just as with gambling, the risk—the potential for both discovery and disappointment—keeps us coming back for more. The squirt of dopamine we get when we find an unexpected treat excites our brains much more than when we go to what we know. How else can we explain watching a movie we find channel surfing even though we have the DVD right there in the cabinet? Why else flip through a listicle of The 20 Coolest American Cities or The 10 Most Embarrassing Red Carpet Slips?

I’m coming to see that the sense of the unknown, the accumulation of tiny gambles, appeals so strongly because it comes just when I am farthest from risk and adventure. Sprawled on the couch or hunched over a computer, I’m taking no chances, putting nothing on the line. Is it any wonder that the siren song of surfing feels so beguiling? The blandness of the situation itself stirs a hunger for the spice shaken out with each click.