Silent Night, How It Feels So Right

For the first time since I moved back home, the house is silent. There are no boys trudging through the house, no hip hop beats rising from the basement studio, no jazz solos slipping out from beneath my father’s door. There are no sounds but the occasional passing car, the hum of my computer, and my thoughts running rampantly about my mind. It feels like a night in Kalamazoo, where unable to sleep, I’d sit up all night writing by the light of the moon. I miss the isolation of that place sometimes, the dependable silence that surrounded us.

Now it seems as though there’s always a better alternative to the quiet. There are calls to be made, songs to be heard, bad made-for-TV movies to be watched. Life without electronics has become a prehistoric notion. I’m as guilty of falling for the iridescent lure of technology as the next person, perhaps even more. Sometimes I forget that it is in fact possible to live life without a battery. And then there are these moments, when the house is silent, when I am able to sit in my study amongst shelf upon shelf of books and feel perfectly content. There are these moments when I feel as if I could spend the rest of my life without ever seeing my TV or Ipod or computer or cell phone again, and still be happy, still be okay.

There are times I want so desperately to get away. I don’t mean for it to be an act of anger or depression or even escape, but just a means of finding time to truly reflect on things. It’s important to be alone with your thoughts, no matter how insane they may drive you. The truth is, it’s easier to like yourself when you’re alone. Not alone-alone, mind you. I can think of nothing worse than feeling alone in the world. I just mean, when you take a little time here and there to be by yourself, to truly listen to yourself, you’ll realize that there’s a great person there. Sure, every once and a while it can backfire and you end up trash talking yourself and wondering what went wrong with you, but for the most part, even that helps you realize that recognizing your failures means that you’re human, and that alone makes you great. Maybe I’m overly optimistic, or perhaps hopelessly naïve, but I really do believe that there is goodness in everyone. You simply have to take the time to listen, to find it, within yourself and within others.

I didn’t mean for this to sound so preachy. I don’t know the secrets to life. I don’t have the answers. Hell, my life has been nothing but one big mess after another, but here I am, embracing the small pleasures that make existence so beautiful. And it is beautiful.

Last night I went out to dinner for Lili’s birthday with a bunch of girls I hardly get to talk to or see, but can never remember why after two minutes with them. Each time it’s as though nothing has changed, as though not a moment has gone by since our last rounds of “I love you” and “I’ll talk to you soon.” Afterwards, I went to Mayu’s with Kelly and Jane. The four of us sat around her living room talking about frivolous things, important things, all of those things that define true friendships. It was a night that didn't make me miss the silence. When I finally left around two in the morning, I was so struck with gratitude for them, for me, for the life I’m living. The drive home seemed longer than usual as I eased along the empty streets, overwhelmed with happiness. The streetlights seemed to glow a little brighter.

As the alarm sounds, my brother and his entourage stomp abrasively into the house and turn the music on entirely too loud. I cringe at the sudden intrusion of noise, and realize I am too distracted to continue writing. Instead, I slip on my Ipod, turn to something slow and soft, and savor the few seconds of silence between each song.