When my children had outgrown their need for a nap, but I had not yet outgrown my need to have them nap, we instituted “quiet time” where they could play quietly by themselves or rest without sleeping. I told myself that they needed this break in the day to regroup while I needed it to eat my lunch or clean up the house, whatever was difficult to accomplish with them underfoot. Just like the sensory surprise we feel when a lawn mower or jack hammer stops, I found most of the time we didn’t know how much everyday noise there was until we turned it off. The silence almost has a sound of its own.
One of my favorite moments visiting New Zealand came in the form of a “moment of silence.” We had taken an overnight boat ride through Doubtful Sound, a fiord on the South Island and one of the most pristine places I’ve ever been where nature is relatively untouched by the human hand.
Rain had formed spontaneous waterfalls down the black towering cliff walls and dolphins played in the wake of our boat. Between the lush landscape and mist of the sea, the majesty of this little spot on the planet took my breath away.
The next morning as the sun rose and water calmed for a mirror like reflection of the land above, our captain turned off the motors and generators of the boat so we could “experience what silence sounds like.” It wasn’t the guilt-ridden, I-should-be-praying-right-now moment of silence I’d sat through before, but a joyful sensory glimpse into the present moment.
In her song “Overjoyed”, one of my favorite folk singers Christine Kane sings of the power of noise in our lives and minds:
All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light that you could find is inside
under all of the noise,
What’s it like to be overjoyed?
My personality is one that avoids silence at any cost both in terms of noise level and busyness level. Fear of missing out and being bored turn to thoughts of solitude becoming loneliness, and I frenetically fill every moment. Clustered all together, one , even happy fun sounds, thoughts and activities overload my senses as noise, distracting me and keeping me from being grounded and centered.
Turns out, I should have been instituting quiet time for myself all along.
How do you turn off the noise and stay grounded?
Like you I do everything I can to avoid silence, but recently I’ve been feeling like I need to incorporate it into my life. Your pictures of New Zealand are great. The area you where in looks breathtaking.
Gorgeous photos, Mel.
I love solitude and I love being alone, which means that I find the hustle and bustle of family life really stressful sometimes. I used to feel guilty about this, like there was something wrong with me (if I love my kids and husband, why didn’t I love being with them and enjoy being alone so much?). I also thought that this was part of the sacrifice of motherhood and forcing myself to do something that didn’t come naturally would bring blessings. Instead, I just got REALLY stressed out. These days, I know that building a little solitude into my day goes a long way towards my enjoyment of the time spent in family chaos. I go for a walk, do yoga, meditate, read on my own. I take my time getting ready in the morning, I relish the quiet at night — basically, I take my quiet wherever I can get it — but it isn’t a way of avoiding life. I need the quiet to enjoy the noise.
I don’t love solitude. I much prefer to be with other people, talking/laughing, or listening to music or an audiobook or podcast. I’ve tried yoga a time or two and it drove me nuts–way too quiet.
I’m not sure that’s necessarily a good thing–I think quiet can be important. I worry sometimes that my kids seem completely incapable of being somewhere without noise/interference/input. So maybe enjoying quiet/solitude is a learned skill?
Heather, I worry about this too. My kids are terrible at dealing with boredom and seem to crave constant stimulation. I sometimes find myself balancing my need for quiet –which makes me prone to let them be plugged into computer and TV too long — and their need to not be plugged in all the time. I think learning to deal with boredom is a valuable life skill. But I’m not usually bored or lonely when I’m alone.
Ugh. When we drive in the car, it’s the worst. So they’ll start out all plugged in (ipods, DVD player, etc.), but then they’ll get bored or one of their devices will run out of juice. And then, oh, man. They’ll start whining that there’s nothing to do. Brent always says, “That’s okay. Just look out the window.” They hate it. But they really are incapable of just being.
Alas, it’s not my strong suit, either. ;)
I love quiet time. I absolutely relate to the difficulty of balancing the desire/need for both connection and solitude in a family setting. As with so many things, tho, I feel that it’s the alternation that makes both states so valuable, in their contrast with each other.