There's A Kind Of Hush

NB: Let me just say up front that I am also struck by the sheer irony of writing on my laptop about the overuse of electronics for publication on the internet. But I still think it's a conversation worth having.

We are in the middle of a windstorm right now, the kind that serves to make you feel like Judy Garland filming the great twister scene at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, and makes brushing your hair completely pointless. And, as sometimes happens, things are blowing this way and that on the street, neighbors' belongings are tumbling into each others' yards, and the tops of the trees are bending in a way that we think happens only with a good CGI budget.

So it was really no surprise to me when we lost power. Actually, what surprised me was that within seconds, it was back on. The wind was still howling outside, and I could hear the branches of my rose bush slapping against the craft room window, and a pop can skittering across the road. But I also noticed something palpable; the quiet. Not because the kids aren't here, or that the kettle was suddenly not working the water up into a frenzy, but the hush of electronics; it was the sheer absence of sound that struck me. And it occurred to me that we have grown so accustomed to the sound of electronic devices that it has become part of our subconscious soundtrack for life, and I wonder how that has affected our brain function, our moods, and our interpersonal relations in the last 40 years. I know, deep thoughts of a suburban housewife and all that... ;)

I sat here for a few minutes, trying to hearken back to my childhood, and straining to remember what the ambient noise level was like in the home I shared with my parents and older brother. Now, remember, dear Reader, that I am a child of the 70s; I grew up as one of the first kids in my neighborhood with an Atari 2600, and a TRS-80. My dad loved being on the cusp of new, easily obtainable technology, so we were often the first house on the block to get the new shiny thing from Radio Shack (granted, the Atari was purchased from Simpson-Sears while on vacation in Honolulu, but that's another blog post entirely).

Imagining a summer day is the best, I think, as it eliminates my absence from the home for several hours to attend school, and gives a broader understanding of a typical day in the late 1970s.

I'd have woken up on my own, as I didn't yet have an alarm clock. I'd probably hear Mumsy in the kitchen, or perhaps putting a load of laundry on downstairs. Maybe she'd just be sitting quietly with a coffee, knitting or reading. That was the sum total of noise in the house. If we needed to do dishes, she would haul our nifty avocado green dishwasher across the kitchen and over to the sink to hook it up, and we'd hear the whir-swish-thump of it while we enjoyed having this hand-me-down modern convenience. I remember having chores, fishing sticklebacks out of the slough, and watching Mr. Yakishiro taking his dog, Fuji, for a walk - this largely consisted of him tying Fuji's leash to the handlebars of his bike and yelling, "Fuji, GO!". I remember playing street hockey and cops and robbers and freeze tag with the other kids on our street, trying to avoid the Fletcher boys, dressing up dolls with my friend Tracy from across the street, and writing and performing plays in our backyard, charging folks on our street 5¢ apiece for the privilege of watching the dreck we thought up, though in retrospect, the monster kidnapping story starring my brother as the monster (who won the role by virtue of the drawstring hood on his puffy winter coat, obscuring his face) was pretty good.

But I don't remember watching much TV; I do remember Sci-Fi Theatre, though I'm fuzzy on when it aired, but it was either on Saturday mornings, or Sunday afternoons, or both (KVOS-TV, airing out of Bellingham). I remember having 13 WHOLE CHANNELS, and having to walk over to the TV and turn the dial to change the channel, probably the job of most 70s kids in their houses. And I remember that most TV viewing was done in the evening. I also don't remember the stereo being on much outside of parties my parents would have. Oh, but there was this one time that my brother and I decided we wanted to have a sleepover in the rec room downstairs, and my dad (who had hooked up his Hi-Fi to speakers in the rec room) pulling out the microphone, turning the volume up to full, and doing his best evil mastermind laugh into it, sending my brother and I screaming up the stairs for him to save us - jerk :P

In thinking about it, I realise that there was a lot less noise present in our house when I was a child. And I have to wonder if this higher level of ambient noise is negatively impacting mood, attention spans, and how well we deal with others.

I think we, as a society, are less patient. We're all so focused on our own stuff - our job, our errands, our needs - that we no longer take the time to notice what's going on around us, or the people who are likewise trying to go about their day. We smile less, we speak to strangers less, we don't nod, and most certainly, if it infringes on our ability to get where we need to go and do what we need to do, we don't look at other people. That might invite them to engage us, and that would make us late. We can't have that. 

In the last few years, as I've noticed we leave the Wii and PS3 on 24/7 (it makes accessing Netflix SO much easier), I've noticed a decline in my ability to retain information, and to stay on track without resorting to making lists for everything from chores to outings, to reminders to eat and hydrate. I always had a very sharp mind, and now I seem to rely on these lists more and more, and feel increasingly scattered. Now, I realise that I'm in my 40s, and memory starts to go at a certain point, but this feels more pervasive than simply getting older. Our kids have a very basic set of jobs after school (put backpack away, get lunchbag out and pick snacks for the next day, do homework, do a household chore), and it is a daily struggle to keep them on track without having either a verbal or visual reminder for them. 

Primus has significant environmental allergies, his biggest allergens being grass and trees. I've asked him what it's like when his allergies are bugging him, and he likens the experience to having a low-grade buzzing in his head all the time. This results in him being terse, even grumpy, and he is given to being short-tempered for very little cause. Low-grade buzzing. Huh. Maybe there's something to that? I know that when I'm tired, or hungry, or otherwise not functioning within acceptable parameters, I get short-tempered, too. And I think the constant low-volume buzzing of electronics is exacerbating it. And if it's making it worse for me, could it be doing the same thing for everyone else?

So please, the next time you find yourself feeling fuzzy-headed or forgetful, or on edge for some unknown reason, stop for a moment and really notice what's going on around you. Are you hungry? Tired? Sore? Is there ambient noise you were previously unaware of? Is that noise actually bothering you after all? And if so, does turning it off make things better? I challenge you to try it, and let me know the results here.