Silence is Gold

There’s a great deal of noise in my life.

While I was driving the other day I realized the radio wasn’t on and my phone wasn’t talking at me and there weren’t any children in the car.

All I heard was the rumble of the van’s motor. The thump of a pot hole as I drove over it. The whistling of the cold wind stirring up the empty branches as I passed by.

All of this just above the unusual sound of nothing.

At first I reached for the radio knob but stopped myself as it hit me – silence just isn’t something I allow room for anymore.

On walks I listen to podcasts. At home I’m listening to my husband or the children or the tv or the radio.

As winter walked in and Omicron took over, I think I decided I couldn’t handle even a second of silence. In that second or minute I am reminded of all the people I am muffled against.

Over the weekend my husband installed curtains to soften the sounds of airplanes in our Mendota Heights neighborhood. It was never terrible but with the grey curtains tucked around each window I chose to lay back and listen.

Silence.

No voices. No shouting. No airplanes. No loud backfiring cars. Just a soft quiet I hadn’t been comfortable with for a very long time.

I now try to sit with the silence. In my writing room, the van, and even on my long walks.

There is no such thing as true silence. Even with our new curtains I consider the noises outside “softened” instead of gone. But without turning on the radio, looking at my phone, or craning my neck in search of distraction or entertainment I recognize the true dilemma of silence, and maybe the struggle beneath the sickness this pandemic causes.

In the quiet moments we are left alone with ourselves.