The Sounds We Stop Hearing

On noticing the invisible, the music of quiet, and the body’s soft declaration of existence.

Lying here in the dark,

the city offers up its usual soup of sounds:

motorcycles, trucks, semis,

cars with bass rolling low beneath the hum.

Different distances, different directions,

some closer, some echoing off into the hush.

No seagulls tonight,

just the quiet rhythm of movement that doesn’t ask to be heard anymore.

And I realize

I can’t hear this the way I heard it when it was new.

That first night in this apartment,

when every sound was sharp,

when my senses were taking inventory without permission,

wide-eyed and alert to everything.

Now, these sounds barely tap the surface of my attention.

They’ve slipped into invisibility, folded into familiarity.

I think about that cabin in the Upper Peninsula.

so quiet the quiet filled your ears.

No fans. No cars. No electrical hum.

Just the gurgle of a river when it felt like it,

the creak of wood or a twig snapping in the trees.

And in that kind of loud silence,

your body begins to speak.

You hear your breath like it’s outside you.

You feel your heartbeat thudding into the room.

Even the sound of shifting in the blankets

lands like a bold but soft declaration: I am here.

And now I wonder

what would this city sound like

if I’d just arrived tonight?

Would it be beautiful? Would it be overwhelming? Would it feel alive?

How much do I lose in the comfort of knowing?

How many details fall beneath the surface,

just because they’re no longer new?

I’m curious.

quietly, reverently

about our next home.

What songs will the walls carry?

What new thrum will stir up the air,

reminding me to listen before I forget to hear?

A Reflection for You

If you’d like to join me in an experiment…

Find a quiet moment and sit with the sounds around you; whether they’re loud or soft, constant or fleeting.

Close your eyes and listen like it’s your first night in a new place.

Imagine it’s the first time you’ve ever heard sound like this.

How would you describe what you hear without settling into labels or identifying the source?

What textures or movements do the sounds have?

How do they interact with your body, with your breath, your stillness, your attention?

If you feel called, respond however you like:

describe the experience in words, sketch the shape of the soundscape, or simply notice it fully and let it pass through you.