I’m my parents’ only child. The stereotypes that come with that are usually about selfishness and social ineptitude. I’ll gladly accept the latter. Not that I’m horrible at communication, nor am I fumbling drinks when attention has turned my way during conversation—I’m just really good at being alone.
Until eight years ago, I preferred to spend most of my time in my own mind in a functional solitude, free from social perceptions or judgments that would potentially label me “everything but a child of God.” Today, by contrast, I’m spread thin between assembling trains for a toddler, teleworking, and changing smoke-alarm batteries at 3 a.m. These times are more allergic to silence than not.
Lately, I’ve been trying to find my way back to quietness, which isn’t easy given the unfortunate foundations of contemporary society: Squeeze 10 pounds of nothing into a five pound bag, see sleep as an act of weakness, work until you die, and avoid boredom at all costs. For the wanderers and quiet types, we struggle within this construct. What’s always been consistent in my life is my daydreaming, and the creativity it inspires. Time set aside to “quiet the mind” is more reminiscent of how humans were configured to live, as opposed to the crowded cities and to-do lists we swear by. As author Michael Easter wrote, “The key to improving productivity and performance might be to occasionally do nothing at all.”
Paradoxically, Easter also mentions the value of “embracing discomfort to reclaim happiness.” My wife and I recently took a trip to Key West. Six years after we got married, four years since our son was born, and two years into a global pandemic, it’s been our first break in a long time. These noisy years have been packed full of every emotion—from devotion to exhaustion. Our trip to the Keys was more about taking care of our minds and our hearts, to ensure we appreciate all things life throws at us, by “doing hard shit” and nuzzling in stillness disguised as boredom. Getting out of comfort zones 10 or more miles offshore, trolling for sailfish; or listening to sways of fiddlewood leaves while enjoying a Kölsch. Rediscovering this kind of quietness has played its part in improving our happiness.
