Safe and Sound

Some years ago, when I was in therapy (before I had this blog - coincidence?) it was suggested to me by my therapist that I should try to spend more time in silence. As I sit here in front of my computer with The Killers' "All These Things That I've Done" blaring out of the speakers at me, I think she may have had a point. I'm not one for a quiet moment, in spite of the fact that I spend six hours a day trying to get a room full of ten year olds to get on board with the notion that silence is golden and we should all get rich quick.
I need my background music. My life screams out for a soundtrack - or at least I believe it does. When it's quiet, I get that feeling like in the old westerns where a bunch of ranch hands are huddled around the campfire, and one says "Sure is quiet." After a hefty pause, comes the response: "Yeah, a little too quiet." When it gets that quiet, I start tensing up. I start listening for what is coming next. I'm the one in our house who hears the house creak, settle and moan. I'm the one who regrets setting the washer on a timer because I know I'll hear it start up in the middle of the night.
Still, some of the most profound moments of calm have taken place in silence. To be more precise, when I have allowed myself to listen to the world. The sound of wind in the needles of a blue spruce tree. Thunder making its way across a mountain range. The gurgling breath of my newborn son. Silence is a treat, but I can't take it as a steady diet. I think the fourth graders know that. It's a little karma-leveler. I'll take the irony, but for now bring on the noise.