A few years ago I learned what quiet was. My wife and I were living in McKinney, Texas. We had an apartment only a scant couple hundred yards from I-75. Our lives were full of sound.
One day my I took my wife out to a friend's house far out in the country. We pulled into the drive, and as I shut off the engine we were drowned in silence. I was awestruck. I'd been in the city for so long, I'd forgotten what silence was. There were no cars, no TVs, no radios, no washing machines, no humming power lines.
There was nothing but my wife and I.
That day left an indelible mark upon my soul.
I do enjoy music. But more often lately I prefer it quiet. Gone, for the most part, are the days of turning on the stereo or TV just for the sake of noise. The radio in my car is off much more than it is on.
But the more and more I desire quiet, the more and more I realize how difficult it is to come across.
Our society thrives on noise. You can't go into a shop without background music.
You can't go out to eat without listening to a television or radio.
Even the Square here in Nevada broadcasts music 24 hours a day.
But that's not what really bothers me. I've always been able to go home and rest.
It bothers me that the current trend is "louder is better." I've got a neighbor who -- mistakenly -- thinks the entire block wants to hear his bass-line all day long.
You can't go a day without hearing a car whose stereo system could break windows. And my grandparents complain that even the Fort Scott Jubilee has fallen victim to this way of thinking.
What is wrong with a little quiet?
And why do we now have to leave our homes to find it?


