Notes on quiet
I went to bed, full of recriminations. You know the voices: The ones that tell you that you're not good enough, that you always make things worse, that you're an awful person.
You wouldn't know it by my demeanor, but I subject myself to those voices often. However, last night, in the dark, I did something which I don't think I'd ever done: I told myself "stop". I went down the list of things I was thinking of myself, and gave counter-arguments as to why they weren't true. It was, quite simply, a revelation. And it wouldn't have happened without that moment of quiet.
Far too often we think we have to fill every waking moment with activity. We have to be busy, engaged with something, or we're "wasting time". And it's evident why we think so: to keep the demons at bay.
In moments of quiet, we may be forced to confront ourselves. We may let in all the doubts and fears that we hold back by busy-work. If we're too busy to think, thoughts can't hurt us.
But by doing so, we're excising a large part of what it is to be human. The unexamined life, and all that. By doing so, we're neglecting the true work we have to do in our lives, which is to become better persons. "Sorry, no time, have to go do something," is a wonderful excuse to not sit still, and think.
Thinking is dangerous. It's why certain sectors of our political culture want to limit it as much as possible. It's why former president George W. Bush encouraged Americans to "go shopping" after the 9/11 attacks. No need to sit down and think about what happened, why it happened, and what it all meant. Just go buy yourselves a new pair of shoes, and leave the thinking to us.
Self-reflection is integral to what it means to be human. Ignore that facet of the human experience, and you're that much less human. Do you think that Donald Trump spends much time in quiet contemplation? Or his children? Or, really, any of his followers? I'm not saying that all of them would be overwhelmed by revelations were they to do so; most of them are too far gone to reclaim their humanity. But some would. However, the act of self-reflection is such a horror that they stuff down any doubts and soldier on, embracing the pain they know rather than going forth into uncharted territory and doing the even more painful work of self-betterment.
The quality of quiet is essential for a fully human life. At some point, you have to turn off the noise. Constant amusement is nothing other than Neil Postman's "amusing ourselves to death". Modern American civilization is nothing but a constant whirlygig of amusements, all taking place to put off having to think. Think about what new phone to buy; don't think about why you're buying a phone you don't really need. Fill your days with fripperies; don't think about why those fripperies don't make you happy. Quiet is frightening, for in that silence you're confronted with yourself, without the mask you present to the world. There's nothing more terrible than facing your true self.
However, as fearful as it may seem, that quiet is what makes us human. That confrontation is what keeps the human engine going. Without that quiet, nothing changes, not in yourself, and not in society. I'm not arguing that we should be a culture of navel-gazers; I'm a firm believer in the Golden Mean. But we live in a culture which denigrates interiority. Those who "think too much" are suspect. And we're the poorer for it.
When quiet descends, don't try to dispel it. Don't run away. Sit in it, accepting it as a gift. You might be surprised at what you find.