Digging into the Joy of Quiet
“The only way to do justice to our onscreen lives is by summoning exactly the emotional and moral clarity that can’t be found on any screen.”
-Pico Iyer, “The Joy of Quiet” in the New York Times, Dec. 29, 2011
Amen.
I think a lot about what it means to be in touch, connected, and able to synthesize all that bombards my mind and screen daily, nightly, weekly, constantly. I love being able to see and read and listen to so many more voices and images than I could even a decade ago. But I yearn for the disconnected days Iyer prescribes. As teachers and model learners, we have an extra responsibility to excavate the issue of finding clarity, digging deeply in front of our students (and our own children).
For a moment I indulge in public excavation:
Should being “in touch” occasionally mean something tactile?
Why do some blogs make me long for time to just look at and wonder about things?
How can I seam all the pieces together better?
Do our kids ever have a chance to seam things together or dig deeply to form clarity? Should we artificially require them to do so or wait for them to feel an intrinsic drive to do so on their own?
School rarely offers the Joy of Quiet. Frenetic School — where most students live a double life, publicly doing what they should while secretly doing what they want below the desk — erases any time for the Joy of Quiet.
Sometimes the lyrics of a song validate my thoughts and provide the seams, stitching clarity. Sometimes it is the words of a character in a novel. More often today, it is a someone’s blog post that starts the sewing machine of my mind. But I know to look for and relish these moments as Joys amid the din. I know to walk away from the screen and take a walk with the sounds of the lake or perhaps an iPod.
Our schools need to facilitate the Joy of Quiet, too. And I don’t mean an old lady whispering “hush” in the library.
