As a kid, I was scared of silence. I was this only child with an overwhelming, vivd imagination and a deep flair for the dramatic. I was most comfortable when surrounded by a symphony of noise: people, music, chatting - even the soft voice of rain was enough to bring me comfort. But, as is the case for many only children, my life wasn’t always noisy. It was difficult for me to deal with. To me, silence was sometimes a symptom of boredom, which is frustrating for most people across most ages. Other times silence was the harbinger of loneliness, a far more serious threat. I did everything I could to escape loneliness, so in an attempt to eradicate the silence, I turned to noise. I would sing at the top of my voice at all hours, I would talk over my parents, I would ask hundreds of questions. Anything to keep the silence at bay.
As I grew older this fear of stillness manifested as wild, obsessive reading; I am sure I read at least three hundred books by my 12th birthday. I realise my privilege in that, I had somewhere to hide from my fear. My parents always made sure that I had lots of interesting books to read, ones I almost always picked out. I’m very grateful for that, though I’m not sure my parents are aware of how much of an escape those pages offered me. Technology advanced in my teens and I soon swapped my books for YouTube and a Facebook account. I turned to the internet to find solace in noise. What noisy place the internet soon became! As a child I would escape into my imagination, even when aided by a book. But who needs imagination when you have an endless stream of videos and comics and books and podcasts and Vines and Snapchat filters and Insta Reels and TikToks. I’m sure you’ve experienced the sheer quantity of noise the internet offers. If you’re anything like me, you’ve found yourself suddenly snapping away from your phone, only to find that it’s 3 a.m. and you’ve watched hours of videos of people cutting soap. I am always in disbelief when that happens.
I think as the digital world grew more and more appealing, it became a viable alternative to the physical world. I could choose to leave my body behind in the hideous silence that the world subjected me to while my mind was entertained and busied. All it took was a pair of bluetooth earphones and an internet connection. It seems like an odd object to highlight but in retrospect, my first wireless headset really set something in motion. For the first time, I was comfortably isolated from the world, I could indulge in noise all the time. No need to leave your content behind when you go to the bathroom or to the kitchen, no need to play your video out loud. It internalised the internet as a deeply personal (and personalised) experience. But I also believe that this was when the noise that once comforted me began to poison me.
You may have noticed this, but there is quite a difference between a book and the internet. For starters: the one is a medium sized brick made of paper that fits in your handbag or pocket if you’re lucky; the other is an era defining technological beast, orders of magnitude more complex than a single book. Without my knowledge, my shift from paper to screen slowly changed the way my mind worked. All of a sudden I could access the world’s richest, prettiest, most successful people. I could compare my body, my intelligence, my life experience, educational achievements, pocket money, emotional flaws, to people all across the world who did not seem to have the problems I did. And, until recently, I assumed that everything I saw was real. Now we are more skeptical. Perhaps rightfully so.
When I was 8 years old and a book scared me, I could put it down and walk away (though I was more often scared by my Lego Star Wars game on Playstation 2, but the same was true for that). The villains that inhabited my mind were escapable. But something new and strange has happened to me with the advent of the internet. I can’t seem to put anything down. I used to intentionally turn to noise when I needed it. Now, though, it seems like the noise calls me. And lately, that call has not been especially kind or comforting. Sometimes my experience on the internet: a comment on a photo (not even one I posted), an untimely email, alluring but ultimately destructive videos, can be my greatest source of anxiety. I certainly know the same is true for others. Luckily, I seem to have found a kind of antidote to the poison that hides in my noise.
For reasons I am sure I am too foolish or uninformed to comprehend, my newest escape strategy involves my body. I find that if, in times of stress or anxiety, I attempt to fully inhabit my body, my fears and spiralling thought patterns begin to dissolve. Strange as it sounds, I find that when I work with my hands intensely enough or even while I am running, I tend to experience some sense of peace. I do anything I can: vigorously sweep the patio, sand down and re-oil a piece of furniture, pull weeds out of the driveway, fix something someone else gave up on… You get the picture. More and more often, I have tried to escape into my body, to see and touch and smell the world around me. It grounds me in this very real and tangible space, and as I focus on my senses and my body, my soul begins to settle. And when I long, almost hopelessly, for peace, this strategy seems to alleviate some of that tension. I still struggle with silence, I usually listen to music that calms me while I do these activities. But cutting out some of the noise of the world, its worries and opinions seems to bring me a little rest. Thank the Lord.