Sound

As we’ve contorted our surroundings, adjusting them to align with our needs, humans have developed a neurotic obsession with noise. Regardless of whether you notice or not, as soon as you’re given control, you’re probably consumed by your desire to manipulate the sound of your surroundings. I certainly am.

Inevitably, technology has supercharged this process. Every time I leave the front door, I frantically search for my earphones, and if I can’t find them, each second slips by more slowly than the last. While drowning out mindless chatter by tuning into a conversation of my choice is often a relief, treating your ears as an exclusion zone is isolating.

All too often, my earphones are a sensory comfort blanket. Although, disconnecting myself from our primary sense of communication evokes a feeling of ‘do not disturb’ to outsiders. Furthermore, talking to someone while wearing earphones is equivalent to communicating without a shared language; it’s all hand gestures, guesswork and talking too loudly. Not that it stops me.

I realised I had an issue with controlling sound when I lost control and liked it. I had this epiphany on the golf course, a particularly pretentious statement, but stick with me. While strolling around a luscious open space with nothing but birdsong in the background, my walk filled me with an overwhelming sense of tranquillity. Instantly I realised, aside from frisky foxes, almost everything natural sounds pleasant; meanwhile, humans have a habit of being particularly pollutant when creating noise.

It’s the reason noise complaints exist; we only really want to listen to the noise we’re making, and there’s only so much of everyone else’s sound we can tolerate. But there’s one thing we can all agree on: we need noise.

Ever sit in silence at home? I thought that was pure psychopath energy. Whatever you listen to, podcasts, music or TV for background noise, there’s a good chance you need something to break the silence. But why? Why is our relationship with silence so damaged that just seconds of it can leave you drowning in angst?

I can only assume it’s the fear of being alone with your thoughts. When there isn’t noise to distract you, you’re reminded that it’s just you and the only element in your life you can’t shut down: your mind. Sound neutralises overactive thinking.

Still, almost accidentally, I discovered a way to unshackle myself from my desire to control sound. Upstairs and alone in a cosy cranny of my favourite café, I opened a new book and began to read. Typically, I’m an avid article reader, but I’ve recently ventured into books. It wasn’t until a couple of pages had passed that I realised no music was playing. In fact, I could barely register anything other than the subtle hum of a breeze whistling through a narrow gap in the door, but it didn’t bother me.

Unconsciously, reading allowed me to recapture my appreciation of silence. Suddenly, I’m not overbearingly aware of everything passing through my ears; all that matters is the printed page. It’s a visual distraction that sates my appetite for sonic stimulation.