The fjord's crystalline water jiggles in the gentle breeze of these small hours, when I commit to writing. The glittery dew on the grass and the autumn leaves of the pear tree dance on my eyelids as I look tenderly through our cabin’s window. The birdsong does not interrupt, but if something does, it deepens my quiet.
Think of a place you have experienced as silent. What did that place look like? How did it feel to be there? Was it a solo experience, or, if not, who kept you company? Most importantly, how would you describe that sense of quiet?
There was certainly an outer and an inner soundscape, coexisting with the silent space you visited. For some, the experience might have felt idyllic. For others, such quietness, which we tend to idealize, wasn’t even pleasant, especially if that “silence” redirected your attention to the inner turmoil of your mind spinning around, despite the stillness of the surroundings.
The human search for silence has been exponentialized in the media. National Geographic [1] describes it as a luxury, and a recent report by BookRetreats [2] suggests that faraway islands' coordinates lead us to associate quiet with remoteness. Yet, the more popular our quest for quiet becomes, the more we can idealize the feelings we expect to embrace in a quiet place.
In our pilot study, Professor Brady Wagoner and I have explored various forms of silence as socially constructed experiences, rather than merely sensorial [3]. Our findings suggest that our needs in specific contexts, as much as geographical spaces, shape what we describe as quiet, and how we feel when we're there.
The Need for Silence Is Real
In popular culture, silence is often defined as what we experience in opposition to noise. By this definition, it is no wonder so many people living in cities exposed to excessive noise daydream about a holiday in remote locations. The World Health Organization[4] highlights, based on a large body of research, that noise pollution can damage our sleep and, in turn, affect the body's ability to rest and restore itself, as well as the functioning of our vital organs.
In addition, when we are exposed to excessive noise in our daily lives, WHO notes that our concentration and memory can be hindered [5]. Imagine trying to finish a school or work task or returning home already exhausted from work and not being able to relax because traffic noise outside the window keeps interrupting you. Many people would find that distressing and feel irritated. If that builds up over time, chronic stress can also cloud our health and wellbeing long-term.
The Human Search for Silence
Beyond chronic noise exposure, people have plenty of other reasons to search for quiet in their lives. I say it often: Silence has a few superpowers; two of them are enhancing attention and helping us strive for balance[6]. In my work as a researcher, clinician, and educator, I have found that people often search for pockets of silence to give themselves time and space to focus [7]. This can be, for instance, a creative project such as a book or an art piece, or an emotional room to find meaning after an illness, a heartbreak, or a career change [8].
Both in my private life and as a scholar, I have found quiet traveling to be a gift. Whether it's silent retreats, a holiday, or a family visit, there is solace in being close to nature that has soothed even the wildest sorrows. Still, at least four challenges stand in the way of most of us when we retreat from our everyday life contexts.
The first is how close one is to nature, and how far one’s routine surroundings are from that distance. For me, it is enough to lie in a hammock in my parents’ garden, looking at the Puracé Vulcan, or sit by the fireplace reading in our wooden cabin, with a glass of wine and orange-peel chocolate next to me. For some friends, it means sleeping in a tent in minus temperatures and having canned food for breakfast on the edge of a mountain peak.
The second challenge is how often we can afford to be in remote locations, in terms of time and economic resources. Some have the luxury of a place in the woods or by an archipelago within a short drive or ferry ride. Others have to pay a few thousand dollars to rent a place and must even fly to get there. The silence that remote locations offer is, then, a privilege.
The third challenge is the honest conversation we are set to have with ourselves about what motivates our urge to retreat. Distraction and avoidance are unlikely to give you the same outcome as a genuine pursuit of distance to align with your values and discern what it is that you need the most. This is closely connected with the fourth challenge.
What Kind of Silence Are You Looking For?
The fourth challenge is what happens once we can afford to be in a remote location. We are not passive recipients of whatever a geographic location offers. We actively co-create what a silent place is for us. Part of my work has been to demystify silence, so here is a spoiler alert: I don't know of a purely silent place. Not even when my students and I visited an anechoic chamber at NTNU did we find pure quiet—we heard bodily sensations that appear unimaginable to us [9].
On the one hand, there are factual markers such as low decibel levels, disconnection from the internet, and no use of electronic devices, as well as the location's architecture and natural surroundings, factors that certainly count. On the other hand, you could be in a remote cabin close to a fjord with a stunning view through your window and still feel miserable because your mind keeps spinning, or because you are constantly distracted by your phone, taking pictures or attending to notifications from social media.
As I address in my work, the best silences for our well-being are those "sweet spots" between external and internal stimuli, which help us to find balance between doing and being [10]. As a therapist, and also a person who has practiced, and thus also struggled with, meditation, it is also fair to say that going from zero to a hundred in terms of exposure to silence can be hard for the mind, and we also are to be gentle as we dive into the craftsmanship of silence.
While many of us might start by asking where silence is to be found, and how to get there, I challenge you to first gain clarity on what kind of silence you are longing for. Retreating, says Spanish author Pablo D’Ors [11], is meaningful only if you go inward, not merely remote.