In Search of Silence
By John McLachlan
One of the romantic reasons I gave in a recent post about why I want to build and live on Hornby Island was that I wanted more silence in my life and I felt that living on Hornby Island would allow me this.
To expand on the idea of silence, I thought I’d stretch out a little and offer a few more thoughts on the topic.
Perhaps it’s not silence I crave, but rather quietness. I’m not sure.
I’ve had very few experiences with silence in my life to know what it’s really like. Silence brings me face-to-face with myself and I suspect that’s why people often avoid silence at all costs, even if they don’t know they are avoiding it. It’s probably why we turn to music, TVs and radios to avoid being alone with ourselves.
I like the climate of Vancouver’s summer except for one aspect of it: noise. Because windows need to be left open, the sound from the street is very obvious and prevalent on summer afternoons and evenings. These sounds include general traffic, sirens, loud truck engines, motorcycles (of which I truly wish could be eliminated from the face of the planet for their incredible noise) and just the general din of the city. It’s fine for a while, but after a day of it, I find it exhausts me.
I wonder about what constant noise does to our brains. It’s almost as if we need “noise screen” like we need “sun screen.” There’s the obvious issue of hearing damage but it’s more than just that. It’s the toll it takes on our nerves. No wonder everyone got in a fight in Spike Lee’s movie Do The Right Thing.
Is silence just absence of noise?
To think about silence, I would suggest that it first needs to be looked at in relation to noise. I think of silence as falling into two categories.
Small Silence (in that there isn’t much of it).
This is the whole environment that includes both audible noise which comes from the obvious things (sounds you hear) and, for lack of a better term, “non-audible” noise.
That non-audible noise could be thought of as the “energy” of a place such as an active city. It’s a place with lots of stimulation. Most cities would fall into this category. A city such as New York is a good example. It’s noisy to the ears, but it’s also noisy from the frenetic energy that exists from all the people, ideas, activities and tension.
Big Silence.
In the audible sense, it would be places that have few sounds and the sounds that do exist are not loud. This would include nature or a quiet building that has little or no mechanical devices running (fridge, washing machine, dish washer, coffee maker, kettle). In the non-audible sense, it would include places that have a feeling of being silent. Ever stood in a forest on a windless day, stared at the stars on a calm night or sat in an abandoned building? That’s Big Silence!
In these places, some of what makes them seem so silent is what meaning we bring to them but whatever the reason, the feeling can be quite overbearing and significant and depending on our outlook or emotional state, can affect us deeply.
Many people can’t stand to be in this kind of silence. It scares them. I think it may be because we come face to face with ourselves and that’s something we rarely do in the din of a city or with our two ears stuffed with little speakers blaring into our brains.
Silence can scare me. When I’ve spent time on my own at my family’s summer house on Hornby Island, I’ve had some very soul-searching experiences because of the silence. The silence doesn’t let you fool yourself or divert from the thoughts in your head. As scary as this was, I’m very glad that I’ve had these experiences because they’ve moved me along and helped me see things differently.
Building silence in.
One of the requirements for me in the house that we build is that it be well-insulated to ensure it can be a very quiet environment when we want it to be. I suspect having a green roof will help in this respect (especially with rain) and I know our architect also designs houses with roofs that have curves and different shapes to them versus blocky square corners that get hit by wind and react noisily.
Living out beyond will bring more silence compared to what I’m used to. I’m sure at times it will seem like too much but that’s why frequent trips to the city will probably be appreciated all the more. It’s going to be interesting.
What about you? Do you have enough silence in your life? Have you had experiences with silence that have been significant?
All Ahead Slow
by John McLachlan
My brother, Rob, just sent along something he found that author Kurt Vonnegut wrote in Harper’s Magazine in September, 1996
I thought it was apropos of our recent trips to the post office on Hornby Island and of the conversation that will ensue on these pages about internet technology and my love/hate relationship to it.
I work at home, and if I wanted to, I could have a computer right by my bed, and I’d never have to leave it. But I use a typewriter, and afterward I mark up the pages with a pencil.
Then I call up this woman named Carol out in Woodstock and say, “Are you still doing typing?” Sure she is, and her husband is trying to track bluebirds out there and not having much luck, and so we chitchat back and forth, and I say, “Okay, I’ll send you the pages.”
Then I go down the Steps and my wife calls, “Where are you going?” “Well,” I say, “I’m going to buy an envelope.” And she says, “You’re not a poor man. Why don’t you buy a thousand envelopes? They’ll deliver them, and you can put them in the closet.” And I say, “Hush.”
So I go to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it’s my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience center down the block at the corner of Forty-seventh Street and Second Avenue, where I’m secretly in love with the woman behind the counter.
I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it. Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home. And I’ve had a hell of a good time. I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.
Simplicity: the pearl cufflinks, and the desk from the dump
I may be turning into my father. Today, for the first time, I retrieved an article of furniture from the dump…
Years ago, one my least favourite chores was to help take the garbage into town to the dump. I was afraid that friends might see me (and think what?)… Plus, the smell. Plus the liquids.
Once there, my dad would scan the piles, looking for useful articles to bring home. Oh, God. This would have been the pinpointed agony that I dreaded and I urged him to go.
One day, fears were realized as he spied a wretched chair and decided it needed to come into the back of the truck. I moved quickly.
You guess correctly: when he stripped it and applied new upholstery, it was lovely, being made of black walnut, I believe, and it has served as an extra chair when needed in the dining room.
Fast forward. Yesterday, taking down some garbage to the “recycling area” and dumpsters in our condo tower (okay, calling it a dump was a bit of overstatement), what did I spy but a simple, plain wooden desk – probably from IKEA – waiting to find a new home, left by someone who was moving out and didn’t need the bother. Or, perhaps they’d moved up to something nicer.
Well, part of our transition to “living out beyond” is simplicity. How pretentious this sounds. Hopefully it can be true, though, and perhaps some of it simply comes from age (and wisdom?).
In any event, the desk – though humble – is just the right size that I need for working at home (another transitionary step). I’ve had the Cartier watch and Zegna suits. When it’s time to move, perhaps I’ll leave it for some other lucky soul, or perhaps it will have become part of the family. Why toss something when it can be reused before being recycled.
And the pearl cufflinks? My days of white shirts with French cuffs are coming to an end. Should I throw them into the “dump” as an offering to the Gods? No, I still may need them from time to time, and what’s wrong with an heirloom or two.
