I have these moments when I long for life, say, in the 80’s, because this is the quiet life I most clearly recall. This was life before technology threatened a comfort with silence and stole away my ability to wait patiently in a line and stare at the wall, or perhaps at the patterns on the women's hat in front of me.
What I long for are those moments just before a thunderstorm, when the thick, sticky air of a summer afternoon ushered me home - When all I thought to do was crawl downstairs, nestle under a blanket and watch a movie for the 30th time. We only had a few videos to choose from. I recall having to press the rewind button and listen to the gentle clicky wheeling sound so not to get in trouble from my father or the man at our neighbourhood video store - the video store where we spent hours upon hours considering which movie was the next on our A list, because watching a new movie from beginning to end required thoughtfulness, commitment and was most certainly a privilege.
…and then as the clouds burst the rain would come, cleansing the steamy world once again. With this invitation, my sister and I would run outside and jump in ditches filled with warm fresh water and floating pieces of grass and we’d watch it flood the corner of the backyard and perhaps we would make a paper boat and sail her down the rivers that hugged the cul-de-sac edge.
These were the moments when during the peak of the storm it seemed like it was night. My mother would quietly iron the laundry while watching Days of Our Lives, that is, if we weren’t watching a movie. Unlike today, we only had access to one screen. Maybe she would read a magazine and drink a coffee. Maybe she was cooking something in the kitchen listening to her own thoughts, not the thoughts of someone else, like podcasts require us to now.
It was ok to not know about everything all of the time, and even if I wanted to know what was happening all of the time, I had to wait until 6pm when the news came on and my parents filled me in. The rest of the day I remained blissfully present, even if it was unintentional, because I had nothing else to distract my attention from the butterfly on the side l walk, or the new house being built on the corner, or the sounds of the neighbours’ cats fighting again.
It was ok to only talk to my neighbours in the morning on the way to school. It was ok to lie on my back and stare at the sky and daydream, for real, not because a book on the art of manifestation told me this is what to do.
I long for the sounds of nature uninterrupted by wifi waves and the dings of a text message. The times when receiving a letter in the mail from my cousin in Vancouver was the best thing I could imagine.
I can only imagine how my nervous system might feel waking up in the morning without an obligation to tune into a highway of information before I’ve even made my coffee.
I feel so trapped in this technological dreamcoat of life sometimes. It makes me sad that Noah didn’t get to grow up in a beautiful 80’s bubble. It’s impossible to go back isn’t it? I imagine there are benefits to this new life too; but, really, are they actually beneficial, or is that what we tell ourselves to make the numbing out of presence feel acceptable?
Living in the city used to tantalize my senses because of the surrounding lights, sounds and people. Now the stimulation of the city follows me regardless of where I am.
I’m completely aware that it's actually all a choice and I can choose to change how I interact with the world. I just worry that I’ve come too far now and the habits are actually addictions and my body is so used to adrenaline and a fury of noise that she is actually terrified of what the real quiet would bring.
A part of me longs for it and a part of me knows what commitment the change requests.
Regardless, I have the fondest memories of these quiet years before the world asked me to pay attention to so much, constantly. I wish I could go back, knowing I can’t unlearn something that’s beyond my control anyways.
All I pray for is the awareness and strength to share as many quiet moments with Noah as possible, so that he too can stand in a line and stare at the wall feeling entirely comfortable with only doing that.
xx