Imagine living in a place where nothing exists except for
what immediately surrounds you.
Your property is on a dirt road, with neighbors pockmarked
every half-mile or so. In winter, you
have to plow yourself out or dig in for the long haul.
When you drive up the dirt road to your house and step out
of your car, the silence is deafening. The stones at your feet crunch like someone’s eating potato chips in
your ears. The constant hum of nothing rushes into your ears like a backdraft,
but you soon adjust to the peace and breathe in unaffected, unpolluted,
unbelievable air.
Your dogs have the run of acres of the land. Your garden produces a bounty of fresh
rhubarb and strawberries and other good stuff.
“Your lake,” while open to others, is a short hike away and as beautiful
and secluded a place as there is on Earth.
I stayed at a place like that over the weekend, in Southern
Vermont.
It was heaven.
And it was a great place to let my thoughts ramble and do a
little extracurricular cranial sightseeing, landing in places that they ordinarily
might not ever get to.
As you read this, you may be in your office or in
transit, eating or drinking, surveying and surfing. Wherever you are, you’re likely surrounded by people and machines and lots of artificial things that make noises and smells.
There’s an energy to it that’s infectious. It’s what keeps us going.
So for a few minutes, stop.
Get yourself to a place where those things don’t exist. I bet it isn’t that far.
Get out of town, or stay local. Find a nook or cranny in your house or apartment or office or neighborhood where you can be assaulted by silence. I bet you can find it. Bring a pad of paper and something with which
you can write or draw.
See what happens to your mind and body when everything slows down. Watch how creativity creeps up from behind and smoothes into your lap.
If you can’t get to Southern Vermont, find your version of
it. Surround yourself with nothing but potential ideas.
It may not sound deafeningly silent, but it'll still sound pretty good.
