The Importance of Silence

These last two weeks I have been rediscovering the importance of silence. Forgive me if this sound a bit like a sermon: if it is not your thing, please leave the rest. However, although for me it is at least partly religious, I think the principle holds even for the totally secular. Let me expound.

For the last many years (and I am not sure how many) my life has been noisy. I wake up to the Today Programme on Radio 4; the radio is permanently on if I am alone at home or in the car; in the evening I play music, or computer games. I entertain a lot: I like company but prefer to be at home, so I have people round to supper. I am a good, if not spectacular, cook, and I keep a tolerable cellar (i.e. a wine rack in the dining room!). The odd disaster can always be binned and curry sent for. Essentially, when I am awake, I am working, conversing, listening to the radio, or playing computer games. Silence was there none. Confession time: I even take my iPhone and iPad to the bathroom so that I can do emails/play scrabble with friends in that time.

Suddenly, I was ill. This wasn't a cold; this was serious. The days before the operation were filled with noise: people were here, my head was full of confusion, I could not think properly. Chronic pain is debilitating. Chronic pain mixed with terror and emotional overload even more so. For the three weeks between convincing myself I had to see the GP and the hospital appointment, I am not sure that I did anything sensible at all. Emails were read but not understood, I was emotionally labile (i.e. I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry) but was determined to pretend nothing was happening in case it turned out to be something else. I apologise to everybody for the shoddy work and things I missed. Once I knew, there was white noise in my head, fighting my every instinct to act normally.

Then it was over. The operation was done. I was home. Five days later, the drains came out. People came and went, still there was noise, but gradually it quietened. Then, amazingly, came the first evening I was completely alone - just me and Molly Cat. The first night I was sleeping in the house with nobody in the spare bedroom.

I hope this does not sound ungrateful. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for all the care and attention; how much I needed people with me and the safety net that provided. I could not cope alone at even the most basic level: I could not get the sexy socks on alone, lifting a kettle was difficult, I did not dare get into a bath if there was nobody else in the house. But, suddenly, it was right that I needed a little time alone. And it was a little time: a friend left at 9p.m. and was back at 10 the following morning. But that time was important. I was reclaiming my space and myself.

And it was then that I realised that I did not want noise all the time. I wanted quiet time. Time to reflect and, in my case, to pray. Time to consider what had happened and how I had reacted to it. Time to realise that there are more important things than emails and computer games. Time, above all, to realise that, despite the difficulties, there is cause to be grateful in this, because I am re-learning the fact that there are more important things in life. I have sat and pondered this paradox much: should I be grateful/happy that this has happened because it has put my life into perspective? I don't know. But I do know that I shall continue to meditate on this and that it might yield one or two insights.

In the mean time, I am starting to read my work emails again - a girl can be too good!!!