The Power of Silence in a World of Noise

By Sally Walsh

For eleven months of the year, I am constantly aware of the hum of electricity around me, whether it’s the train passing overhead, the lights on in the kitchen, or the fan humming in the room next door.

Sometimes, I go an entire day without noticing it. Other times, it’s a cacophony of incessant noise. I hear the buzzing of the bright fluorescent bulbs in the classroom, the humming of the fridge, and the clock ticking away.

Olivia Siebert and Morgan Hess put a canoe in the water on the Churchill River (Sammi Armacost)

A couple of years ago at Ogichi, my counselor asked me to listen to the silence. I was tired, and couldn’t help but think that her suggestion was ridiculous. How on earth could I listen to silence?

“Only when I return to Ogichi and the backcountry am I completely at peace. No lightbulbs, no computer, and no humming of electricity.”

A few weeks later, I’m back home and her question bounces around in my head, and I’m aware of every subtle noise the house makes: the computer whirring, the dishwasher running, even the router clicking away. There are mini orchestras performing all around me.

At first I enjoyed it, tuning into different sounds, trying to find the source, but eventually I found myself lying in bed, the sound of my analog clock keeping me awake, with a pillow over my head.

I am constantly aware of these sounds. Gone are the “silent nights” when I could drift to sleep with ease. Only when I return to Ogichi and the backcountry am I completely at peace. No lightbulbs, no computer, and no humming of electricity.

On the last day of my trip on the Churchill River, I tune into the sound of the water being pushed by my paddle past the canoe, enveloping my arms with each stroke. The rustling of the spruce and pine allow me to ground myself. The wind wraps around my ears and wipes away any worries.

In a world full of constant noise, I am comforted by the soothing sounds of nature, and the silence in between. These moments allow me to take a breath and re-root myself in the present moment, enabling a life more intimately spent with those around me.

The article was originally published in the 2019 issue of Songs of the Paddle.