Quiet is so lovely, isn’t it? It sometimes feels like a vanishing commodity. As I write this, I’m in a coffee shop, listening to the jazz record playing over the speakers, the buzz of the coffee machines, the quiet chatter of people at tables nearby. Even when I’m at home, I almost invariably have music playing while I edit (this Spotify station has been my jam lately, but I digress…) + I no longer even register the traffic passing by outside.
There was a season of time back when I had a commute when I would leave my radio off on purpose. Just to have those ten minutes of quiet on my way to or from the office.
But then, you head into the mountains + as you lay under the stars, you realize how loud that “quiet” commute really was. Or you walk into a cathedral in the middle of the hustle + bustle of a dynamic city to marvel at its stillness. It’s a sacred kind of quiet.
Sanctuary has meant many things to many people over the years, but lately I’ve craved sanctuary from the noise. A moment to stare into the sky + feel small. Not in an insignificant smallness, but in a sense of wonder at the expanse of the world.
Because a post full of too many words seems a bit ironic in this case, I’ll leave you here with this quote from one of my favorites, John Muir, who often compared his beloved natural wonders with cathedrals + puts things much better than I:
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