If you have ever worked with computers, you have more than likely had to open the task manager to force close a program that is hung up for some reason. If we could open a task manager for our brains, the list of things running would be staggering. Our productivity takes a hit on a regular basis, and we cannot even say why. We switch from work projects to family needs to grocery lists and everything in between with dizzying speed. I find it truly amazing that our brains can do it.

I took a silent retreat recently. I was offered the use of a tiny cabin owned by friends. I arrived with my stack of books, notebook, and a pen. I made a comfy nest and got still. That’s when I heard it, the silence. It was loud in my ears, like crashing waves or a roaring crowd. I felt like I could hear the blood coursing through my body. For several minutes I breathed through it and waited for the roar to subside.

Silence. The very word scares me on a deep level. Silence is a rarity in my world. How about yours?

Have you ever thought about what your world sounds like? I assumed I knew. My decision to go on a silent retreat felt silly to me. The kids have moved out. Hubby Guy and I are rarely home at the same time during the daylight hours. The majority of my afternoons are spent with just the cats and my thoughts. My world is quiet, I thought; what benefit is there from being quiet someplace else?

After I recovered from the initial shock of silence and my pulse settled, I decided to pray. I committed the gift of time to be alone, quiet, and safe to my Creator. I asked for peace and clarity. I asked for fresh perspective. When I felt prayed up, I grabbed the first book from my pile.

It took 90 minutes for me to realize the clock on the wall was ticking away seconds.  I had no idea. Not long after that, I was frightened by the mini-fridge against the wall. I had not heard it cycling on and off. It clicks twice and hums for a while before clicking off again. I put my book back on the pile. I breathed deeply and savored the rich smell of wood from the cabin walls. I sat very still, eyes wide open, for a while. The only sound I heard was the quietly ticking clock on the wall and the occasional click and hum of the mini-fridge.

90 minutes. I spent an entire hour and a half in the cabin before the noise in my head calmed enough for me to recognize sounds in my immediate surroundings. Before that moment, I never included all that happens in my head as noise. So many processes are running in our backgrounds. Our task managers are choking on all the things that occupy what feels like every square inch of our time and attention.

What then? How can we combat the background overwhelm we often are not even aware of? What system maintenance for life can we perform?

Get Still

I know. Stillness feels pretty impossible. I am not even still when I sleep. I move constantly while I work. I fiddle with whatever is available. I spin in my chair.

Stillness feels extravagant. Somehow, we equate stillness with laziness. I suppose it can be, but for the purpose at hand, I believe it is a necessity.

We have got to do a better job of being fully present in the moment. We fly past so much goodness. When we are awake and still, we are better able to experience the world with all of our senses.

Right now, wherever you are, what can you smell? What do you hear? Name three colors in your environment. Is there something near you that you have not noticed before?

Find Silence

I assume my house is quiet when I am here alone. I took time, just now, to listen. A siren is wailing from somewhere not far away. The dogs across the street are barking, again. A cat grooms loudly next to me, and it’s kind of gross. Another cat mewls down the hall. He does that when he moves “his baby” we call it. He sounds agonized like he is dying slowly.  Any minute he will saunter into my office and drop “his baby” at my feet. Most of the time, I don’t notice all the sounds around me. They are part of my environment. And, those are just the external sounds.

My thoughts are typically much louder than the ambient noise in my environment. It is much harder for me to escape internal noise than external. Can anyone relate?

I learned, on my retreat, that there is definitely something to be said for silence. On the other side of the shock, silence feels nice. Finding a place of internal silence took time. The reward was worth the wait. I felt fresh peace.

How can you best find silence? I am asking myself the same question. Tiny cabins are helpful, but not readily available. What helps you silence your internal noise? Find that thing and make a practice of it. I will do the same.

Reboot

Back to my computer analogy – sometimes even the task manager can’t help. Sometimes, we have to reboot – shut it down and start it again. I find that the need to reboot most often happens at the most inconvenient times. The same is true in life, is it not?

Unfortunately, we cannot always wait for vacation to reboot life. We have to figure out how to make it happen in the midst of life. And, in life, it is not as simple as pressing a button and waiting a few minutes, like with a computer. If you have been an adult for any amount of time, you understand how many moving parts are involved in any given day.

Sometimes we have to lock ourselves in the bathroom for 5 minutes with a cup of hot tea. Regardless of how you manage to pull it off, figure out your reboot plan.  Find a slice of time. Get still. Experience your environment by using your senses. Find some silence, or at least manage the screaming crazy in your head. Allow yourself some deep cleansing breaths. Reboot often. It is perfectly legal and wildly beneficial.

There you have it. My two cents, from my experience. I recommend a silent retreat if you get the chance. It was really special. Our culture does a rotten job of advocating for stillness and mindfulness. They are skills, however, that can help defend against our general overwhelm.