Noise is my Kryptonite, the bane of my existence. It's pervasive in every corner of our lives. How can we listen to our internal voice and wisdom if it's drowned by noise? I know we cannot escape it, but I make it a daily goal to find an environment free from it.
Vishal Vaid, whom I heard at Omega during ecstatic chant weekend, said of the silence that follows a chant, where you can continue to feel the energy throbbing around you, that it is Mother Silence. And if you are going to break Mother Silence, be intentional about what you say. I’ve used that title many times since then.
When I hear yelling I fold up into myself. Years of therapy never erase the damage done. So tired. I too find peace in silence,the ocean,my blind rescue dog,nature. It is a journey that I have to choose everyday. I will never be completely free. Each day is a choice.
We have a quiet house. Entering spaces where the TV is on in the background drives me batty. I need to reconsider social media as noise. I don’t watch the news, but brief exposures to terrifying headlines amounts to noisy disturbance. I’d very much like to do the retreat. I clicked all the links and I’m wondering how I could budget for it. I’m a single mother of two, and the dates work—as rare as a comet—I’ll see what I can do. My memoir project is clamoring for silence + attention. Thanks for the encouragement.
I have always made space for quiet, for silence. I needed to even as a young child. I grew up in a quiet household that allowed me the space to be introspective, to dream, to read, to wonder. The loudest thing I heard growing up was Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Dinah Washington. When I realized, at age 19 that I was clinically depressed, choosing quiet meant choosing survival. When years later my brain exploded with manic depression, I hungered for it, seeking it in mental institution after mental institution. I sought ways to create it a la Doris Grumbach and May Sarton. They guided me.
Noise exists, it always has and will. I choose my noise. Right now the loudest noise comes from managing my ailing heart. I don't watch the nightly news, I don't read the Washington Post or the front section of the New York Times, I delete any Facebook friend who has as his/her/their habit blasting 47 and his administration across the feed. I refuse to allow them in my space. I can't fight for my life and get absorbed in that fight, too. I know my limits.
This is new for me. My professional life was that of advocate for women's health, people living with HIV/AIDS, comparable worth, the fight against apartheid. I was in the streets and I was in the halls of Congress, sitting on Senators floors crafting legislation or sitting at my desk planning Congressional hearings. I'm now 66 living with a deadly disease. I am a writer. Writing is my advocacy work and it demands enough silence that I can hear myself. Outside two writers on Substack and poets on Facebook, social media is not part of my bailiwick. My brain absolutely cannot process more and I don't want it to. Instead I feed it literature, visual art, music, food, nature, friends, babies and at the moment, a bit of fret over a dying houseplant. That is what I can do. That is how I can live. It's the only way I can live now.
Noise by its very definition is unpleasant. I live in the Jet Noise zone on Whidbey Island, WA. Jet noise is controversial here. Some people claim to love the noise...which of course can not be true. No one would purchase a jet noise CD. Still it is always interesting how people mix up what they feel for the military with the noise of the jets. They are not one and the same to me. While most of us can tolerate a certain amount of noise there comes a point when we reach our limit. Then we can get noisy and angry. Boundaries are the key to happiness. Not answering your mother's call is AOK. Each of us has to protect ourself. Carry on!
It’s funny so I have to share…I started reading this without realizing you wrote it and thought, “this is a piece Elissa Altman would like/relate to.” It wasn’t until I got to the mention of Permission that I realized it WAS you. 🫢
You brought to my attention something I think I have been doing for so long now that I can't even know how long it has become such a habit. Silence within all the noise that continues to get noisier especially when there is not a way to remove one self. It's become a mindful meditation to me as important as breath. To quiet all the background noise, noise within myself or others & be still. Centered
I feel this essay so deeply. This last week I finally got myself to step away in a big way from perpetually being on social media and doomscrolling the news. I immediately felt lighter. I had more energy to just think and observe the world around me. I can feel my creative juices replenishing.
Quiet is one of things I value most above all else. I did not live in a yelling house growing up, but for most of my adult life, I have lived next to screamers, with only a very thin wall between my small space and theirs. When peace comes, I BATHE in it. I hunt out silence as often as I can, everywhere I can. My favourite thing is just to sit in it. Oddly, my unchosen, angry neighbours have taught me a lot about how to move from noise to quiet and back again and that is proving very useful in today's world.
I attended meeting for many years and I do miss that hour of silence. But now I live somewhere where noise is a choice and the default is quiet. When I go back to a city it’s the background hum of motors and electricity that I find most difficult. We aren’t meant to live in cities but I realise it’s impractical for everyone to move to the country. Everyone should have access to quiet space tho
A beautiful essay that spoke to my soul. I, too, grew up in a home of angry yellers. I hate yelling. And yes--there's a lot that *feels* like yelling, but isn't per se (like the insistent tug of our devices or constant news that feels like an assault). I'm going to read this again. I needed it. Thank you, Elissa.
Oh, how this resonates with me! I, too, grew up in a home of yellers and it not only emotionally hurt me, the noise physically assaulted me. I’m hypersensitive to noise (I’m autistic) and the older I’ve gotten I’ve become even more sensitive to, not just the literal noise, but the energetic noise of the world. Maybe because there’s more screaming at us in today’s world. But also because I’ve realized how it affects my creative output. I frequently check in with the ratio of how much I’m consuming vs how much I’m creating and readjust to make sure I’m creating more than consuming the noise. This article hit me in the soul, I relate to your words so much. Thank you.
Noise is my Kryptonite, the bane of my existence. It's pervasive in every corner of our lives. How can we listen to our internal voice and wisdom if it's drowned by noise? I know we cannot escape it, but I make it a daily goal to find an environment free from it.
Oh, my heart breaks.
Vishal Vaid, whom I heard at Omega during ecstatic chant weekend, said of the silence that follows a chant, where you can continue to feel the energy throbbing around you, that it is Mother Silence. And if you are going to break Mother Silence, be intentional about what you say. I’ve used that title many times since then.
When I hear yelling I fold up into myself. Years of therapy never erase the damage done. So tired. I too find peace in silence,the ocean,my blind rescue dog,nature. It is a journey that I have to choose everyday. I will never be completely free. Each day is a choice.
We have a quiet house. Entering spaces where the TV is on in the background drives me batty. I need to reconsider social media as noise. I don’t watch the news, but brief exposures to terrifying headlines amounts to noisy disturbance. I’d very much like to do the retreat. I clicked all the links and I’m wondering how I could budget for it. I’m a single mother of two, and the dates work—as rare as a comet—I’ll see what I can do. My memoir project is clamoring for silence + attention. Thanks for the encouragement.
Thank you. Reminded me to cherish the quiet life I now live. It is a welcome flannel shirt.
I have always made space for quiet, for silence. I needed to even as a young child. I grew up in a quiet household that allowed me the space to be introspective, to dream, to read, to wonder. The loudest thing I heard growing up was Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Dinah Washington. When I realized, at age 19 that I was clinically depressed, choosing quiet meant choosing survival. When years later my brain exploded with manic depression, I hungered for it, seeking it in mental institution after mental institution. I sought ways to create it a la Doris Grumbach and May Sarton. They guided me.
Noise exists, it always has and will. I choose my noise. Right now the loudest noise comes from managing my ailing heart. I don't watch the nightly news, I don't read the Washington Post or the front section of the New York Times, I delete any Facebook friend who has as his/her/their habit blasting 47 and his administration across the feed. I refuse to allow them in my space. I can't fight for my life and get absorbed in that fight, too. I know my limits.
This is new for me. My professional life was that of advocate for women's health, people living with HIV/AIDS, comparable worth, the fight against apartheid. I was in the streets and I was in the halls of Congress, sitting on Senators floors crafting legislation or sitting at my desk planning Congressional hearings. I'm now 66 living with a deadly disease. I am a writer. Writing is my advocacy work and it demands enough silence that I can hear myself. Outside two writers on Substack and poets on Facebook, social media is not part of my bailiwick. My brain absolutely cannot process more and I don't want it to. Instead I feed it literature, visual art, music, food, nature, friends, babies and at the moment, a bit of fret over a dying houseplant. That is what I can do. That is how I can live. It's the only way I can live now.
🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
Noise by its very definition is unpleasant. I live in the Jet Noise zone on Whidbey Island, WA. Jet noise is controversial here. Some people claim to love the noise...which of course can not be true. No one would purchase a jet noise CD. Still it is always interesting how people mix up what they feel for the military with the noise of the jets. They are not one and the same to me. While most of us can tolerate a certain amount of noise there comes a point when we reach our limit. Then we can get noisy and angry. Boundaries are the key to happiness. Not answering your mother's call is AOK. Each of us has to protect ourself. Carry on!
It’s funny so I have to share…I started reading this without realizing you wrote it and thought, “this is a piece Elissa Altman would like/relate to.” It wasn’t until I got to the mention of Permission that I realized it WAS you. 🫢
You brought to my attention something I think I have been doing for so long now that I can't even know how long it has become such a habit. Silence within all the noise that continues to get noisier especially when there is not a way to remove one self. It's become a mindful meditation to me as important as breath. To quiet all the background noise, noise within myself or others & be still. Centered
I feel this essay so deeply. This last week I finally got myself to step away in a big way from perpetually being on social media and doomscrolling the news. I immediately felt lighter. I had more energy to just think and observe the world around me. I can feel my creative juices replenishing.
Quiet is one of things I value most above all else. I did not live in a yelling house growing up, but for most of my adult life, I have lived next to screamers, with only a very thin wall between my small space and theirs. When peace comes, I BATHE in it. I hunt out silence as often as I can, everywhere I can. My favourite thing is just to sit in it. Oddly, my unchosen, angry neighbours have taught me a lot about how to move from noise to quiet and back again and that is proving very useful in today's world.
I attended meeting for many years and I do miss that hour of silence. But now I live somewhere where noise is a choice and the default is quiet. When I go back to a city it’s the background hum of motors and electricity that I find most difficult. We aren’t meant to live in cities but I realise it’s impractical for everyone to move to the country. Everyone should have access to quiet space tho
A beautiful essay that spoke to my soul. I, too, grew up in a home of angry yellers. I hate yelling. And yes--there's a lot that *feels* like yelling, but isn't per se (like the insistent tug of our devices or constant news that feels like an assault). I'm going to read this again. I needed it. Thank you, Elissa.
I am in tears. Thank you ❤️
I love your writing x
Oh, how this resonates with me! I, too, grew up in a home of yellers and it not only emotionally hurt me, the noise physically assaulted me. I’m hypersensitive to noise (I’m autistic) and the older I’ve gotten I’ve become even more sensitive to, not just the literal noise, but the energetic noise of the world. Maybe because there’s more screaming at us in today’s world. But also because I’ve realized how it affects my creative output. I frequently check in with the ratio of how much I’m consuming vs how much I’m creating and readjust to make sure I’m creating more than consuming the noise. This article hit me in the soul, I relate to your words so much. Thank you.