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Silence has always been a part of my life. The more I live, the more I’m aware of how valuable silence is and how life and how life is lived (especially nowadays) devalues or even threatens silence by decreasing and commodifying the ability to find and enjoy it. I can’t count how many times I’ve been invited to go on a “silent” retreat or something of that nature – which is great, but gives me flashbacks to when I was a kid and first saw bottled water for sale.
For context, I grew up in a small town south of Dallas that was, for lack of a better term, “rural.” My hometown was originally the home of the Tonkawa with occasional hunting trips by the nearby Anadarko, Bidai, Kickapoo, and Waco until agrarianism came and settlers started building around where the Texas, Chicago, and Mexican Central railroads met in the Blackland Prairies sometime in the 1800s. Everything there is flat. My sister and I used to sit on the roof of our one-story, ranch-style house and watch storms roll in more than ten to fifteen miles out from any which way. Visually, I grew up with a lot of silence. There really wasn’t much to look at besides tall grass, short trees, and cows.
I also came of age in the 1980s and ‘90s. A phone was something that was stuck to the wall in the kitchen. When I left the house, I went out. Out. Anything to do and anyone to see was a good 30 to 45-minute walk away at the very least. On any given day, from when I was probably seven through my teenage years, I would easily walk 5 miles a day just to find something, anything to do. Generally, I’d walk to find pick-up games of basketball at the park closer to town, skateboard behind the grocery store, or find a creek or pond to fish or swim in. More often than not, I would walk for no other reason but to just walk. When I left the house, no one could get a hold of me. I was out.
(Even as I’m writing this, I’m thinking, “Yep. Different time, different place.”)
All this is to say, a lot of my early years were spent in silence. Silence gave me a chance to think about the thoughts I thought, why I thought them, where they came from, and how and why I was thinking them. As a kid, I thought a lot about who and where I was and why, digging for fossils from the Cretaceous Period in the limestone beneath the soil or walking past the First Methodist, the First Baptist, the First Lutheran church, the water tower, the Exxon station, or the wheat and hay fields outlined with wire fencing on my way to anywhere and nowhere. I’m a pastor’s kid too, so, naturally, I thought about God and heaven and Satan and hell and everything in between, chewing on my beliefs like the cows chewing the cud in the pastures.
Looking back now, with silence I learned how to come to terms with my self and to find a way to try and comfortably navigate my own thinking and my own thoughts, to balance and try to work with the chaos inside as I discovered and experienced the chaos outside.
Silence has been and is a friend I can trust and with whom I let it all out and take it all in at the same time. Silence teaches me how to listen. A beautiful thing.
Fast forward to today. The last two decades have felt particularly noisy. Most particularly, the last 2 years. We’re all trying to survive through a pandemic that has claimed the lives of an estimated 4.5 million people. The inequities and imbalances that have taken and still threaten to take the lives of so many seem to only increase. The planet we inhabit is straining to put a cap on our excess. All the while, most people seem to exist in an endless stream of Zoom calls, Netflix binges, hashtags, scrolling, posting, sharing, and liking from small screen television sets that fit in our pockets.
Last December, my family and I joined my brother and his family for a few days to be together in New Hampshire. I work in tech (ironically) and I knew that this was a priceless opportunity to leave my phone off, leave the computer at home, and not access or look at the internet.
Five days.
During those five days, a fog lifted. I was on a hike with my dog and a clarity opened, like an old song I’ve always known but just needed a little hint to remember the melody.
Silence.
I traded in my smartphone for a “dumb” phone that can only call and text. It’s too easy to fill up life and time with noise these days. It requires zero effort. I see folks listening and staring at noise any chance they get – standing at the bus stop, sitting on the subway, waiting in the grocery line, walking down the street, at a concert, even driving, on a screen swiping through someone else’s thoughts, someone else’s ideas, and someone else’s life with buds in their ears.
Decreasing the amount of media I allow into my life, I have become more acutely aware of how much it influences life and thought. It’s been almost a year without a smartphone now and I thought I’d share a few things that I’ve learned–
- I call people more to just hear their voice (especially my mom)
- I ask more questions
- I let questions last longer
- I remember more – people’s names, phone numbers, the things they say and what they love to do, etc.
- I get lost again and have to find my way myself or ask someone (having no GPS is a great way to connect with the ancestors)
- I remember how to get somewhere once I get there
- I’m more dependent on people around me
- I’m aware of how much more language, thought, and belief is being derived from life and identity online and less on experiences and relationships in real life
- It’s getting harder and harder to get by in a world where everyone and everything is being facilitated through a device
I don’t know where I’m going with all this or if getting anywhere with it is the point. I just want a silent retreat everyday, to make it a daily discipline, a way of life. I’m just fine with having no destination. I’m going for a walk with an old friend I can trust for no particular reason and to no particular place. Just to walk, to grieve the lost and really cry, to really celebrate and laugh, to really, really love for real, to think about nothing but thinking, and maybe remember an old song and sing it.
Silence.
To reach Joshua directly: joshua.wyrtzen@gmail.com
Thank you for sharing how precious it is to have times of silence. Although I was raised in a busy city (NYC), your story reminds me of times, even in the city of when I experienced moments of silence and how much I cherished those times. I will look for them again.
Thank you thank you Jolyn! Funny enough, my family is from NY (I’m only a 1st gen Texan) and, ironically and to the befuddlement of many, I’ve been going to NYC just about on a monthly basis for almost a decade for that exact reason! To get peace, lost, and wander. I feel so relaxed and at home in the City – probably have napped in the majority of parks in Manhattan from the Heights to Battery. I love NYC!
Blessings and love!
Josh❣️WORD???? you rocked this. I too have found my way to silence and quiet only to rediscover the joyous sounds of wind, water, birds and critters, rustling of leaves and crackling fire. I love what you wrote and shared. Miss you brother. Stay well.