As I write this, I’m sitting in the dark because the power has been out for hours and feel that I have nothing better to do than write. It’s a palpable feeling to sit in the dark for any extended period of time with no distractions. Yes, it’s true that I could sleep, but alas I’m not tired. So, here I sit alone with my thoughts… and that terrifies me. But why? What’s the danger in silence?

At the end of my first full day at a Benedictine monastery, I remember sitting in the chapel when I had an epiphany: it’s only been a day. Looking back, this is an amusing thought. At the time, of course, it felt like much longer: I can remember feeling as though each call to prayer with the ringing of the bells felt like the beginning of a new day in its own right. So much so that, by the time my first day was over, it had felt as though several days had passed already. The experience is rather like driving without your seatbelts on and slamming the breaks: you will go flying forward and hit the windshield at a tremendous speed. Without distractions or a to-do list, life passes by at a very slow rate. After all, as one gets older, and their list of obligations gets longer, it’s easy to let time pass you by. It’s not uncommon for one to wonder where the years went, although the answer is simple: they were so pressed for time that they lost track of it. Moments of pause and introspection get pushed aside for more external obligations, and these distractions become more and more an integral part of our lives.

Emotions, I like to say, are like credit cards: you’d best deal with them in full every month, or else you’re going to rack up interest. I remember once chatting with someone when I wondered whether they ever sat in silence. I know this person relatively well, and can’t say I’m under the impression that they have. For whatever reason, they feel the need to be surrounded by noise. I can’t say why this is so in this individual case with any degree of certainty, but I can speculate. There is one noise, for instance, that a person lives with their whole life. When they are without it, they are, of course, dead, however were they to survive, one might imagine that they experience an eerie silence. Can you guess what it is? Naturally, I’m referring to their heartbeat. Remove that noise, and everything will feel off.

The things we distract ourselves with work in a similar way. Once they are removed, we are left with nothing left to confront but ourselves, and this, as any therapist will tell you, can be quite the challenge. In such an instance, you have nothing to take your mind off it: nothing to divert your attention, nor any external validation to help you cope. You are left with you, your feelings, your inadequacies, and your strengths; and you are tasked with managing them on your own. What is so dangerous about silence, then? It is that you must, in a sense, either go to war or make peace with yourself.

I will readily admit that writing is, for me, cathartic, but even this is, in its own way, a distraction. It is stimulating, and the light of my computer screen means that I don’t have to sit in complete darkness, after all. Nevertheless, as we reach the conclusion, I must now confront this dilemma for myself, as we all must do.