Quiet.

I’ve had a hard time blogging of late. Not that I’ve stopped writing, but it's been difficult putting ideas together to represent a clear train of thought. My thoughts have been coming out disjointed, staccato, and without a sense of clarity that, usually, helps me understand what I want to say. When this happens, those around me have noticed that I get very quiet. Answers shorten, pauses lengthen. I get quiet. I'm pretty comfortable with quiet. But the main reason I do this kind of writing is because I have something to say, so I couldn't say anything until I sorted some of that out. Now I’ve something to say about not saying anything.

I believe in the Talking Heads line, “When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed. Say something once, why say it again?” Okay, it's from the song Psycho Killer, but don't hold that against me. I also believe in Willie Nelson’s song “Don’t let your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys,” for the line “He ain’t wrong, he’s just different,/ but his pride won’t let him/ do things to make you think he’s right.” Okay, again, I'm not a cowboy, but cut me some slack here.It's a male behavioral-ritual-reference thing. My point is, these beliefs contribute to the fact that I am, typically, pretty quiet.

I wear my iPod a lot. Company policy at the Publishing studio where I work frowns on downloading music, and books, onto your work computer. My iPod helps me get around that, downloading at home and transporting files with me. It also cuts the oft deadly silence of a computer-filled studio without central music. But a side effect is to emphasize silence. I forget I have the earbuds in, even when the music or book is off, wit hthe iPod in my breast pocket. I walk up to people and they adhere to the unspoken code of not speaking to someone who is listening to something else, even though I’m not listening to anything but their silence. Headphones in the office, on the street, on the bus or in the subway, reinforce silence within a group. We’ve become a nation of people quietly among each other, each echoing independent dins, within a sort of group silence.

This is a bit sad, to me. If you'd known me years ago, you’d know I was a very social animal. But that kind of outward bravado typically comes from a deep level of comfort and familiarity. That’s a comfort level I haven’t had since I left New York. There, I could strike up a conversation with anyone, on almost anything, knowing just a little bit about a whole lot. But that’s a skill that takes practice, and is easy to get out of practice in. I’m trying to get back in that practice, these days.

See, silence makes people uncomfortable.An inerviewing technique shared by cops and reporters alike is the asking of a question followed by silence. The person opposite feels the weight of the silence, and will usually move forward to fill it. With no response otehr than continued silence, the onus remains on the speaker, the one to whom the question was directed, to continue. We have an instinct to fill that void of silence between two people. And that's where they getcha.

So, on the other hand,quiet isn't all bad. Quiet is a great place for mental review. You can get your head together much easier (and when I say you, I of course mean I) in silence than even with soft music playing in the background. Music pushes or gently nudges you in a direction—anger, comfort, peace or agitation. Silence starkly stares at you, eyebrow raised, tapping one foot, and says, “okay, what now bub?” You’ve got to answer the questions that silence, poses on your own.

Silence is also a great place for note-taking. Clad in my silent earphones, I’m able to overhear conversation in close proximity, others lulled into a sense of isolation by the invisible cone the little white wires represent. I’ve gotten great, real dialogue that way for some of the stories and the like. And great ideas are borne of everyday conversations. You just have to be quiet long enough for the birth process to happen. It’s after the birth that all the screaming starts.

Myself, I've never had a problem with silence. If I'm with someone I really care about, I can fill hours in silence with the mental recording of features, of details, of specifics. Those recorded details are the food of future silences, filled with recollection. We are where we've been. We are what we remember, in those silences between the moments we call life.

So, all considered, I like quiet, in manageable doses. But too much can kill your soul. So I’ll try not to make too much noise, but wanted to give notice. Quiet time is over.

Hope your 2007 is going great.