Quiet (And A Few Ways to Get Some)

A few weeks ago, Glendon and I were processing our very full and difficult summer. Between his camp schedule and subsequent absence, and my intense writing work, we looked more like the proverbial ships passing in the night than a committed couple. As we talked through how to avoid another summer like this one, I discovered my deep need for quiet, a need that hadn’t been met in months. Or years? I really can’t remember.

Many of you dear readers know that we’re the parents of four kiddos, ages 2-11 years old. Our home is full of chatter, stomping feet, clanging dishes, old squeaky floors, swinging doors, bouncing balls, animated tweens, and the vocal opinions of two tiny dictators.  

Just outside the walls of our old home is a small, bustling town. We live right off a busy road, across from a bank, next to a church, and behind a pharmacy. Our turquoise back door opens to a beautiful aging alley, an apartment building, and a hidden entrance to the local diner. I am so deeply grateful for a home that is both surrounded by and bursting with humans, a reality that leads us to love others in proximity.  

Some days however, my introverted self longs for a home deep in the woods, where I can sit outside and rarely hear a peep from any human or machine. While that kind of setting is not my current reality, I recently discovered a place to nurture the part of my soul that craves silence. 

At the insistence of my thoughtful husband, I drove to a local wooded park in my quest for quiet. 

Giddy at the sight of only one other car in the parking lot, I quickly tightened my laces and locked the car. As I walked toward the trailhead, a park-owned pick-up, mower, and skid loader drove into the lot. Like the mature adult that I am, this was my internal response: 

After 30 minutes of walking and hoping their work in the woods would JUST STOP ALREADY, my ears were buzzing so I walked back to the car. I began to wonder if quiet was elusive, reserved only for the elite who can afford private beach getaways where the only sound is the splashing of pristine salt water against their perfectly-manicured toenails.

Discouraged but undaunted, I drove a bit further into the park. As the playgrounds and pavilions faded from view and the paved road morphed into gravel, hope grew within me. Maybe quiet was possible for us regular folks. 

Minutes later, I pulled into an empty lot next to a secluded lake. Taking mental notes of my surroundings and car location, I grabbed my phone and keys and followed the trail into the woods. 

Within minutes, I heard only the crunching gravel beneath my steps. I paused to be sure I was alone. 

Yep. Not a sound, except the occasional chirping bird.

Ahhhhh. BLISS. 

At several points along the way, I stopped just to soak in the natural beauty around me. Parched from months (years?) of living in disquiet, my soul drank in the silence. 

This sacred hour with the Divine gave me space to process the internal chaos of summer, and listen to his leading in this new season.

I drove out of the park lighter, no longer bound by the heavy weight of the past few months. What felt like a rare treat was a legitimate need and I promised the pines I would return soon.

Unless you’ve chosen to live and work as a monk, most of us exist in a noisy world, regardless of our location. In this age of online work, cell phones, and social media, we are more accessible, more distracted, and more bombarded with data than ever. In our already full ACTUAL lives, we now ingest a constant stream of information and I wonder if we’ve lost the ability to know when we’re full. Is this just normal now?  

Regardless, I’m not okay with it and many of you aren’t okay with it, either. 

While we cannot exactly hit the mute button on our lives, we can make time for quiet. We can create a more sustainable way of being that isn’t driven by incessant noise. We can be intentional to hold space for that still, small Voice to be heard. 

We can turn off the radio or our favorite podcast (gasp!) while we’re driving. 

We can set our alarms 15 minutes before anyone else rises.

We can use a few hours each month for solo time in a quiet place.

We can turn off all screens by 9 pm and pick up a book.

We can leave our phones at home when we go for a walk with our kids.

We can schedule a screen-free day each week (for all family members). 

We can insist on a social-media free day each week.

We can say ‘no’ to the *perceived* urgent for the sake of the important. 

We don’t have to be victims to the cacophony. We have more agency than we think. There are countless (small) choices we can make to create more quiet in our lives and like any healthy change, choosing stillness and silence requires discipline and a bit of determination.

May we pursue quiet so that our minds may rest, our panicky breath may slow, and our souls may listen to the One who adores us and offers us his faithful presence and peace. 

What does quiet look like in your life? What is one choice you can make today that will give you more space for quiet?  

Photo by Jesse Gardner at Unsplash