I’ve come to catalogue my moments in sounds.Â
Mornings are the sound of my roommates’ footsteps bustling around upstairs and the relentless shriek of my alarm telling me it’s time to go, go, go. Work is the whirring of the espresso grinder, the beeping of timers, a mish mash of eclectic music playing over the speaker, my coworkers’ laughter and chatter, and the bustle of customers. My walk home is zooming cars, the latest Critical Role episode, the padding of feet on concrete, a bird chirping, a dog barking.Â
Life is full of moments that pulse with sound, creating an evolving rhythm and permeating every moment with some sort of whirlwind commotion. It’s so easy to get lost in the noise and even easier to crave it. I look to fill every nook and cranny of life with sound: music, the TV running, a phone call with whomever will answer in the moment. I even soundtrack my sleep. And there is so much beauty in sound. Listening is my favorite way to experience living.Â
I like to think of my mind as a library of sounds. Looking back on my favorite moments, I remember most the echoes of my friends’ and I’s peals of laughter, my dad snoring in the hotel room on vacations, my brother and I mindlessly chattering for hours when we should be sleeping, my sisters shrieks of joy as I chase her in the park, my cat meowing outside my door when I’m not giving her enough attention.Â
The most painful moments are marked with the sound of tears — mine and of those I love — a testament to the fact that we are human, we feel, we live, and isn’t it beautiful to get to say that we’ve felt so deeply.Â
But for all that I adore the presence of noise, for all that I find myself seeking its company, it hit me recently that one of the best parts of living with a constant cacophony playing in my mind are those rare, fleeting quiet moments that I’ve always dreaded most. Â
As I write this, I’m sitting on my couch, my cat curled at my feet, the window letting in a gentle breeze, the smell of pumpkin bread wafting through the house, and the only sound is the gentle tapping of my fingers across the keys. My mind is eerily hushed and, though it isn’t perfectly silent, there is a deep quiet permeating the room.Â
As soon as I noticed that the regular symphony of life I relied on was taking an intermission, I immediately reached for the T.V. remote; yet something told me to stop for a moment. To stop typing, set the remote down, close my eyes, and listen to the one sound I avoided at all costs: silence.Â
And so I did. I set aside my laptop, I closed my eyes, I let the wind skim across my face, and took a breath, listening to nothing. If I’m being entirely honest, it was unsettlingly uncomfortable at first. My mind began racing, trying to fill the silence with its own noise, and it took a few minutes for me to push my thoughts back to an imperceptible murmur and truly sink into silence. And I found that it was soothing in that instance to take a moment for myself and just be.Â
It’s so easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, and it’s even easier to forget to find those moments of peace. I’ve spent the last 21 years trying to convince myself that silence was the enemy and chasing noise, but — on a random Monday night — I found that silence in and of itself can be a sound and it can be beautiful. There is an irrevocable fact that I know and have known about myself, and it is that I am a person who finds comfort in noise above all else. But I also know that I have moments when I get incredibly overwhelmed and overstimulated when life gets too loud and I find myself floundering for a solution. Now, I think I will always continue to crave and find comfort in a constant soundtrack to life. But, for the first time, I think I may be adding the occasional silent track to the playlist. I can’t imagine I’m the only one who’s skipped or fast forwarded through silences every chance I’ve had, and I encourage you to fight past the discomfort and learn to sit with yourself every now and then. I know I’ll be looking for those quiet moments.