Silence is the way I protect my sanity and reject chaos

Every piece of news circulates through hundreds of mediums, endures thousands of reposts and iterations, then dies in flames of irrelevance less than 72 hours after it premieres.

Everybody cares- until they don’t.

Every story travels through time, dissected and reconfigured to fit the biases of the networks on which it will premiere, to reach an audience of people too tired to separate fact from fiction.

The truth loses its way as soon as it leaves the scene and arrives on screens- diluted and digestible, squeezed between advertisements about stationary bikes and peach-colored cookware.

Every wealthy narcissist has something to say yet nothing worth saying about our right to say anything on international platforms.

There’s so much noise, so few solutions.

I learned to be quiet in times of trouble a long time ago.

I remember growing up in houses cluttered with toxic cultural norms, reeking of bad energy. I sat and simmered in silence so loud that my thoughts never made sense until they managed to make it on a page. My creativity had nowhere else to go in those stifling corridors.

Every time I needed to escape, I’d fold myself into a book and hide until my troubles faded and storylines offered refuge from a reality so painful that I traded it for fictional families in faraway cities.

Those books saved my life.

Reading was my solace. Writing was my exit strategy.

I still feel the same way. When my peace is threatened by ongoing injustice and redundant disappointment, I find freedom in art.

Leonora wrote this incredibly assuring piece. She called me out of the shadows and comforted the child within who doesn’t have the capacity to deal with clamoring, maddening global chaos.

She reminded me that it’s alright to just exist. To refuse to participate in the world’s circus.

Sometimes, silence is its own revolution.

I used to think the only way to fight was to be the loudest, the smartest, the bravest in the room.

But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life explaining myself to people who are determined to misunderstand me.

While we’re all so busy yelling and telling our version of the truth, who’s listening?

I now know that choosing to be present and compassionate (toward myself and others) is enough.

I don’t want to skew Leonora Watkins’ message with my loose interpretation, but I took her words to mean that I’m not obligated to do a damn thing.

My only urgent mission is to stay alive.

When the world is at its worst and everybody is screaming in hopes of being the most important person in the room, I choose to retreat.

Being disinterested in conflict and calamity doesn’t make me weak. It makes me wise. The whole world is waging war. Whether on a literal battlefield or with spiritual and mental warfare, we’re all at odds.

Divided. Conquered.

I spent most of my life fighting to be heard…hoping to be seen.

But there are too many ring masters in the arena already.

I don’t want to contribute to the noise. I want to read poetry and write novels.

I want to bake cookies from scratch and remind myself I am capable of conjuring delight out of dust.

I want to rest in this cocoon- a sacred and safe space- and remind myself it’s okay not to be okay.

Today, I choose silence in response to ignorance and idiocy.

I choose silence as my war cry.

“There are times when silence is the best way to yell at the top of your voice.”— O. A. Battista