He walks through the house, singing as he goes, clomping his boots and tossing his gym bag on the barstools. My formerly mausoleum-like surroundings are now awake with activity. I’m annoyed. There goes my train of thought. Does he know how hard it is for me to get it back on track? How long till he leaves again?
I stop this thought. He is leaving, for several months, and this familiar phenomenon won’t happen for a long while. And who knows where we’ll be in June? I’m hit with a pang of guilt, and sadness, at the sudden realization that any sounds he makes will be several thousand miles away, far from my hearing.
The house will be quiet. Do I really want that after all?
To be alive is to make noise. Babies cry. Dogs bark. Cats yowl, like the one outside my window right now. Joints pop, stomachs gurgle inconveniently, glasses of water do that silly loud slurp thing right when you’re trying to impress someone at dinner. People laugh, and upstairs neighbors thump, and cars squeal and squeak and rattle. Such is movement, activity, being alive. I can complain about that, or thank God for the colorful, tumultuous, noise-emitting and lovable surroundings.
I’ve spent a lot of effort trying to quiet my surroundings to help myself focus on the various projects I have to do. In-ear headphones go a long way to cancel just enough metallic sounds to be helpful, even with no music playing. Reducing physical noise can be effective, and I’ve gotten better at detecting when something is audibly stressing me out.
However, I’ve found a quiet life is more about inner calm than external silence. Life feels noisy when my thoughts are loud. A heart at rest tends to stay at rest. Strategic productivity is important: if my projects aren’t done, it’s hard to be cheerful about a decibel flood. I want to enjoy people, pets, and community and be fully present with them. I can’t do that if I’m realizing I didn’t get the work done that I needed to when I had a few quiet hours. Intentional silence and enthusiastic work allow me to be present, cheerful and engaged when my loud and lovable people walk back in the room.