Buried Sounds
For reasons that escape me, the HVAC unit for the home I rent sits squarely on the back patio rather than, say, along the side of the house. It also happens to be an unusually loud system. Lounging on the patio with the HVAC on and my eyes closed, I can easily imagine that I’m in a hammock, strung between the side mirrors of two idling semis.
A few days ago, wiped out from another round of Covid-19 (yes, again), I parked myself in the zero-gravity recliner in my backyard. The clouds and breeze were lovely, but the roaring HVAC seemed to mute the beauty around me, so I made a u-turn and stepped back inside to adjust the thermostat. By the time I reached my chair, the roaring engine had shuddered to a stop. New layers of sound—an entire world of sound—revealed themselves.
I bobbed in an ocean of cheeping, chirping, and cawing. I wafted in wind that whooshed in my ears, bent branches, lifted leaves. I could hear my breath—could hear the world rushing into me with my every inhalation, then back out again on the wave of my exhale.
Those sounds and sensations had been there all along, buried beneath the rumbling of machinery. Perhaps they seem trivial when I describe them here. Just small, forgotten sounds. But somehow, in the stillness of that moment, these trivial, small, forgotten things became an entire world, round and full.
Today, as I slog along, tired, sick, and trying to care for sick kids, I’m reminding myself that the things I need to make it through this (again)—love, compassion, humor, perspective, presence—they are right here inside of me. They’ve been here all long, like buried sounds. I don’t need to reach out and add more love to my heart. I don’t need to strain toward a wiser perspective. I don’t need more energy or more hours in the day to practice presence. The ways of being that I value most are already (and always) inside of me. The question is this: how will I turn down the noise so I can hear them?
This simple realization—I don’t need to do more—already lowers the volume on the critical inner voice that tells me I should feel more cheerful or be more patient with my kids or should find myself more universally delighted by their presence. Some days, my love for my children is a big, sunny, energetic thing. It’s Lego building and homemade muffins and a trip to the pool. Today, my love for my children is revealed in my willingness to click ‘play’ on yet another movie before I climb back into bed.
Today, I think I’ll watch the clouds instead of reading the news. I’ll take deep breaths and check nothing off my to do list. For today, I release myself from the energy-sapping labor of imagining that I should do more or be more. I don’t understand the mathematics of it, but over and over, I learn and relearn this: When I try to add more and more, I am left in the negative. On the other hand, when I let go—when I surrender to subtraction—I find myself in a life that feels round and full.
How can you turn down the noise in your own life today? Is there something inside of you that you would like to hear or feel?