It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in a quiet room.
Even in my semi-private office at work, I can hear my colleagues talking and rummaging about. The phones are ringing, a computer softly dings to signal the arrival of new email messages.
At home, I usually have the television or iPod on, or a machine running somewhere, or am talking to my spouse, or soothing demanding kitties.
But not today. I’m ensconced on the loveseat, surrounded by pillows and a fleece blanket. The kitties are sound asleep, worn out from their overjoyed playing because mom and dad are home. Kelly’s excused himself for a nap (talk about a rarity – a sure sign he’s sick) and I just can’t be bothered to do much with the laundry. I even have the tv on mute.
It’s quiet.
I hadn’t realized before how refreshing quiet can be. It’s almost as though in the hustle and bustle of life, I’ve exiled silence and I don’t know why. Does go-go-go equal noise-and-more-noise?
What I do know is that I’ve had several hours of stillness and I don’t feel drained. In fact, I feel like a small part of me is reveling in the small sounds of life. The clicking of computer keys. The hum of the heating system. The soft sigh of a sleeping kitty.
How can the quiet be so full and so empty at the same time? And why do I feel so full for having sat in the emptiness for so long?
I’ve gotten into the habit of driving across town with the radio or CD player off. It’s about the only silence I have in my life until after Little Mister’s bedtime.
Try it sometime – you might like it, too.
I actually love to drive with no music on and no kids. I just sit, drive, and think. Or riding in the car when I am tired and the kids are already out. Mainly from Manhattan to KC later in the evening.