I miss silence.
My longing has nothing to do with living in a city, where a medley of screeching tires and barking dogs soundtracks my day. Absolute silence is rare, and at times unnerving. I am referring instead to the constant barrage of sound I pipe directly into my head through my earbuds.
I reach for my earbuds before starting nearly any activity, whether I am taking the train to work, folding laundry or cooking dinner. The constant plugging of my ears makes me feel like an inverted construction worker or airport baggage-handler: Rather than filling my ears to keep out the sounds of jackhammering and jet engines, I am sealing the sound inside.
A small part of this habit arises from a good problem. As I fill my life with activities and responsibilities, the time I have to listen to the many album releases and podcast episodes and audiobooks filling my subscription tabs has dwindled. Streaming has made it easier than ever to discover new artists, leading to a never-ending backlog of audio begging to be played. Where my parents once made choices about which vinyl records to purchase, I have an infinite number of songs ready to stream with the push of a button.
- 12th Annual Young Alumni Essay Contest
- Schaal Prize: “Ad Mensam," Rebecca Hammock ’17, ’19M.A.
- 2nd Place: “Once More Among Wolves," Nicholas Deason ’15
- Honorable Mention: “The Sacred Cat Rug," Jacqueline Cassidy ’15, ’16MSM
- Honorable Mention: “Now and Then," Meg Spesia ’19
- Honorable Mention: “A Pronouncement," Erik Carlson ’16
- Honorable Mention: “Forecast," Chris Parker ’22
- Honorable Mention: “The Glory," Mary-Kate Corry ’16
But if I am honest, the larger cause of the reflexive unmuting of my day is anxiety. I am uncomfortable with my own thoughts, unwilling to simply be, and the easiest way to avoid having to listen to myself is to listen to anything else instead. Flooding my brain with bouncing, bass-heavy beats and the staccato rhythms of electronica is far more appealing than the daunting dread of the unknown that creeps in whenever I let myself think for more than 10 seconds.
The truth is that to be in your 20s is to be unsure. One day I am set on applying to law school, the next I am ready to sell my possessions and teach English abroad. I miss my family in New York, but I love living in California. I appreciate the flexibility of working from home, but I long for the camaraderie of the tight-knit offices depicted in television shows and movies. Nothing is good enough, and everything is unsettled; I constantly second-guess my motivations and choices.
As soon as my earbuds connect to my phone, those persistent feelings of instability and aimlessness fade away, drowned out by whichever track or podcast argument is queued up next. I am essentially engaging in auditory procrastination, warding off any efforts to chart a path in life with the magic of Bluetooth.
But just as delaying exam preparation until the night before the test only makes the inevitable, all-night cram session harder, refusing to let myself think uninterrupted by Spotify is only to forestall the inevitable. Life will not decide for me whether I should go back to school or apply for a new job or move to a new state. I must make decisions myself.
Recently, I have tried to be more intentional about embracing life’s lulls. Riding my bike demands the use of all five senses lest I fail to hear oncoming traffic, creating a natural opportunity to leave my ears open and reflect. I came up with the topic of this essay in the shower, where, no matter how waterproof a manufacturer claims their product to be, wearing earbuds is ill-advised, and my thoughts flow as fast and free as the water itself.
The results of my efforts have been mixed. There are no shortcuts to tranquility, and confronting my problems and stress is not the same as solving them. On days when it feels as though anxiety is about to crest and drown me, I fish my earbuds out of my pockets and instead allow my music to crescendo, postponing my mind’s duel with reality until another day when I feel more prepared to contemplate.
But on calmer days, I leave my ears open, attuned to my surroundings. I can now differentiate the rattle of the recycling truck chock full of glass bottles and aluminum cans from the rumble of the garbage truck stuffed with the rest of my city’s refuse. On warm days when everyone in my building leaves their windows open, I follow my upstairs neighbor as he makes progress on a new steel drum composition. His rehearsals transport me to tropical paradise no matter how stressed I feel.
Most important, I am once again listening to myself. My inner voice is unmuted, and it has even more to tell me than my favorite musicians do. While some of its suggestions are unwise — moving to Chile to teach English would ultimately exacerbate, not alleviate, my stress — much of what it says is helpful. The quieter my surroundings, the louder it can speak.
My goal is to be able to use the sounds I pipe through my earbuds as background for my internal monologue, for some situations are truly improved by musical accompaniment. Shuffling my workout playlist provides that jolt of motivation I need to finish a run rather than stopping early, while podcasts and audiobooks turn cross-country flights from tests of endurance into rare moments of self-indulgence.
And despite my commitment to turn down the volume on external noise, I still keep my earbuds close by whenever possible, the small lump in my pocket or backpack a soothing reminder that I have an escape ready in case the silence once again grows too loud to bear. But my ears are increasingly open, freeing my mind to play the role of conductor as I figure out the tempo at which I want to live.
Ben Testani’s essay was one of two second-place winners of this magazine’s 12th annual Young Alumni Essay Contest. Testani is a writer and communications manager living in Oakland, California.