Art By Michael DiMilo
A couple of weeks ago, during one of our late summer hot spells, my wife and I were sitting on our front porch sipping a fine chilled French rose. We live on a relatively busy city street, but even with the traffic and other ambient noise, we were still able to hold a civilized conversation until a herd of about five motorcycles—Harleys—equipped with straight pipes came roaring down the street. One of them also had a sound system of some kind blasting out “More Than a Feeling”, by that dinosaur band Boston.
It was loud enough to not only make any conversation impossible, but it was actually painful. Now, I’m no virgin. I played in a rock band for years, so I’m no stranger to one hundred decibels plus, but this was over the top. It was more than a little annoying.
Later that night, we went to a movie, and I was a little stunned by the volume of the sound system in the movie house. Between the kinetic action on the screen and the blasting soundtrack, I felt as if my head were a pinball. As I lay in bed that night, finally surrounded by near silence, I felt tired, almost felt beat up by the overstimulation.
Because of a job change, my wife recently had to move out of town—we’re still together—and my daughter is away at school, so I have the house to myself. It’s a little strange. I try to write at least an hour per night, and you can usually find me sitting at the kitchen table pecking away at my laptop. Sometimes when I pause to ponder, to wonder what the hell it is I’ve just written, the silence hits me. I suddenly realize how quiet it is, so still that all I can hear the refrigerator running and the house creaking.
And then I’ll sit back and just listen. And it’s nice. Instead of being poked or slapped or shoved by loud chatter, thumps, roars, or rhythms, my mind can rest, take its time, and go where it wants. I can actually think without straining against the constant sensory distractions. It seems, in the peace and quite, in a weird sort of sense, as if I’m not on the defensive anymore, that I can relax and be myself.
Experts concur that excessive and chronic noise is a serious health risk. It can create stress, increase hypertension, impair concentration, disturb sleep patterns, and even increase the risk of cardiovascular disease. This is all in addition to the more obvious risks of hearing loss and tinnitus.
Silence, on the other hand, reduces stress, lowers blood pressure, decreases stress, boosts the body’s immune system, and even causes new brain cells to grow. According to a 2013 Duke Medical Center study, experiencing as little as two hours of silence per day can increase new growth in the hippocampus region of the brain, the center for memory, emotion, and learning. The lack of noisy distractions has also been linked to emotional and psychological benefits such as increased self-awareness, stronger connections with the external environment, enhanced creativity, and improved sleep patterns.
And all of this makes perfect sense. Of course. When it’s quiet, we can think. We’re able to take the time to make the neural connections that might not have occurred to us before, to hatch brand-new ideas, or to glean new insights. Walking alone in a natural setting might strength connections between ourselves and the natural world, helping us rediscover a more natural rhythm between us and nature. Silent reflection might give us the time we need to remember, to realize, to plan, to relax with ourselves, or to actually observe details previously hidden in the ruckus of everyday life.
Of course, silence isn’t that easy to come by these days. Even a pleasant walk in the woods might be interrupted by an ATV roaring past or by campers blaring their music too loudly. But it doesn’t take much time to actually feel the beneficial effects of a nice quiet reverie. Sometimes only a few minutes can make a difference. I know when I lean back in my kitchen and hear nothing but the clock ticking, I feel the demands of the daily grind recede. I feel more free, more in control of my own life, my own time.
So, why, when the benefits of quiet time are clear, do our lives keep getting louder and louder? Why are we constantly plugged into our phones instead of lifting our heads and absorbing the world? Why do we need the constant stimuli, not just aural, but visual, too? Are we afraid to be alone with ourselves and our thoughts? Are we worried we’ll get bored?
I don’t know the answers to these questions. All I know is that in my solitude, in the silence, my world is much more peaceful. I like it. I can get things done. I can think. I can dream again.