In a world surrounded by constant music, noise pollution, and words of others, it isn’t as common as you’d think to be in a world of quiet. Yet as I sit here in this quiet classroom, only shared by 2 other students, I let my mind wander into anything. The only real sound is the air conditioner and the occasional printer, with one of my fellow peers falling asleep on her desk. I’m at a table alone, much like everyone else in my vicinity, having not only quietness but space. I would usually end the introductions of my blog posts here to speak about qualities, statistics, or characteristics, but for this one, we’re going back to the style of my Barnes & Noble post, where I speak about my surroundings and the magnificence of the moment.

How often do we care to consider our five senses? We all know they’re vital to every part of our lives; being the reason we can taste our favorite foods, smell our favorite scents, touch our favorite toys, listen to our favorite voices, and see our favorite sunset. I’ve found that the only times I’ve ever truly appreciated my senses were when they were off in some way. If my hand was a little numb, if my ear or nose was a little clogged, or if I lost my sense of taste. Every one of us can probably attest to the same feeling, one where you never really knew how much you needed your hearing until you saw how much the clogginess made your life worse. Yet as I sit in this red, plastic chair with my computer sitting on this wooden desk, the senses feel revitalized. I hear the smallest crack of the wind, the smallest decibel of movement, and the faintest click of a mouse. Similarly, it feels as if the colors are brighter. The faded-out blue cabinet looks as if it was meant to be painted that way, the vibrancy of the words as I type seems to click, and the sun outside seems to be blinding. The same goes for every other sense. There’s a question behind our situations, one filled with questions of “How did I never notice this?” and “How was I ever getting tired knowing of all that’s around me?”. These are similar questions that I think of at night when getting “locked in” at work is easier and the music beats to work getting done. It’s the first day of February, and I’ve gotten into this class after a semester has ended, moving me over. I remember how in the class this replaced I had friends. People who I joked and played games with, and upperclassmen who gave me advice on what to take next. Now, I’m more alone, yet I feel as if the feelings are still high. If socialization and talking to those I love made the world more vibrant, listening and accepting the expansiveness of the world around me is doing the same thing, even though I’m doing it alone. 

Quiet spots are great for thinking. And while thinking can be stress-worthy for many (we all know teenagers are stressed out), I find that quiet places are the one time we can reflect on our thoughts. While in many situations we think something and nothing else, now we have the opportunity to ask ourselves “Why are we thinking about this?”, “Why do I feel this way?”, “Is thinking of this any importance to me?”. It’s a chance to slow down in our constantly speeding up world. A world filled with technology giving us information at the snap of a finger, messaging apps allowing us to make plans with others in the blink of an eye. In quiet spaces, you don’t have any of that, as long as we keep the distractions away. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have an urge right now to reach into my backpack and pick up my phone. But there’s something greater that stops us from doing that, something that forces us to think about the moment, even if we don’t want to. There’s a force guiding us in a direction we don’t always know. I can’t pinpoint exactly what I’m thinking about, but it feels as if my mind is untangling its wires and separating ideas from one another by itself. There’s so much reflection that gets done, and it seems scary at times to think about it all. Reflecting on the day, the week, how you performed on a test, how you acted in front of someone new. It’s all going through your mind in this quiet space, but it doesn't take that much thought into them to find solutions or ways to improve or act differently next time. I can’t speak for everyone, and when I read this post again one day I’ll probably think I’m crazy describing all of this, but it does feel different. A feeling that we don’t get often. A feeling of freedom, not in the sense that you can do anything you want, but in the sense of how it feels like we’re free from everything that was suffocating us. There’s only so much we can handle or do before we break, and quiet spaces let our minds rest. Rest from all the social interactions of that day, rest from all the stressful moments of school work or relationship issues. Perhaps this is the reason why so many people meditate, the quiet space is all they need to wind down and consider what they’ve been through that they haven’t thought about yet, and move on in the present feeling better and with hope for improvement. Maybe this is why so many people go into libraries too; to escape the sounds constantly reminding us of time moving without any way of stopping, speeding up without us being able to run faster. While clocks everywhere remind me that time is still ticking, it feels like every minute is filled with a newfound potential, every minute is slowed down to my liking. 

Find it. It’s harder for those than for others, but it doesn’t have to be aesthetic. It doesn’t have to be in the middle of the forest where birds occasionally chirp and the wind brushes in your ear, it can be an old classroom filled with only a few other people. Anything you can think of, any potential quiet space that could be reached, run there. And once you reach it, do nothing. What comes will come.