In September 2014, I decided to take a vow of silence for a week. I was curious to see what it would be like and what I would learn.
Certain people around me thought it was "weird", but that was not a new experience for them nor for me.
The vow lasted from 19:00 (that is, 7 p.m.) on the 10th of September to 19:00 on the 17th of September, and by the third day (12 September) I had already discovered several things:
- I talk to myself much more than I had previously realised
- Half of what I say is unnecessary
- I often respond to others when silence would probably be more effective
- Words are surprisingly unnecessary between people who truly know each other well; and
- I use talking to myself as a way to keep myself from getting too lonely.
According to my notes made at the time, the vow of silence was really only a drawback when I wanted to ask someone a question; however, not being able to talk properly with my animals was annoying, and I missed not being able to sing or hum when I felt the urge to do so, — an urge which, to my surprise, occurred several times per day.
I e-mailed a dear friend at the time, "This vow of silence is beginning to be a pain, to be honest. I am, however, learning some interesting things, which is what I wanted; and pain can be an amazing teacher."
On the fourth day, I noted that it was surprisingly hard to refrain from using a skill which one has been assiduously learning from birth and then practising daily for one's entire life to date. I wrote, "Today [...] I have spoken numerous times without meaning to, either to myself or to animals and once to [a dear human]. It takes a surprising amount of concentration not to talk."
On the 14th of September, halfway through the vow, I wrote,I feel surprisingly lonely when I can’t talk to myself. I have realised that not only do I spend a huge amount of time each day talking to myself, completely unnecessarily — if talking to oneself is ever necessary or unnecessary — but that I use talking to myself as a way of keeping myself company. This rather saddens me. I had not realised how lonely I still am. I’m not sure why I should still be lonely.
I suppose, if I think about it, what I crave is someone to (a) listen to me, a lot, for long stretches of time, deeply and unreservedly, the way I listen to myself, and (b) talk with me about everything I want to talk about. So often I have things I want to say, but they’re trivial, or no one except me cares about them, or they’re things I’ve actually said before but haven’t got out of my system yet.
[...]
According to the Internet, talking to oneself is not necessarily negative: it can actually be a symptom of a highly intelligent, active, imaginative, creative, analytical mind. That’s all good; I have a mind that is all of those; but I worry that I’m spending way too much time talking to myself.
On the 16th, the day before the vow ended, I wrote,
Apparently, talking to myself is stress release for me. I was in tears of frustration last night because I couldn’t talk, couldn’t sing … and then when I did sing, I felt much better. [...]
People don’t talk to one so much when they realise that one won’t talk back. I think this is not because they want conversation or to hear one’s input, but because the ‘reward’ or validation for speaking is that the listener will respond as proof that they are listening. It’s to be listened to and validated that people want, not conversation.
After the vow of silence was over, I discovered that I missed the luxury of not having to respond when people addressed me. Not having to answer when spoken to was actually very freeing and peaceful. In fact, occasionally I am tempted to spend another week in silence, if only to experience such freedom again.
Would many of us feel freer and more peaceful if we were not expected to
speak as often? — If silence and thoughtfulness were more highly valued than they are, and if the chatter that is often presumed to be the mark of participation in social situations were not requisite?
Interestingly, several years later, during the four weeks of my country's total lockdown due to the coronavirus pandemic, I discovered something similar: that, as an extreme introvert, I find that not having to socialise is freeing and peaceful. (I discussed that experience in this blog post.)
Perhaps the primary themes that these two experiences and their accompanying discoveries share are "freedom from others' expectations" and "peace in solitude". The latter is probably a direct result of the former.
I recall one moment during my week of silence in which someone asked me if there was any more milk
left. He asked me this whilst he was standing beside the refrigerator and I was at the
other end of the kitchen. In other words, this person expected me to
have specific, current knowledge concerning the ever-changing
quantity of milk in the house, and expected me to provide him with that
datum, when he could have obtained it for himself faster, more accurately, and
more easily, by simply opening the refrigerator door at his side.
My vow of silence exempted me from having to answer, and he realised this and did open the refrigerator to see for himself; but this minor, inconsequential incident vividly illustrated to me how pointless much of human speech is, and how often we may expect — even demand — that others expend their energy for us when they gain nothing from doing so.
I love manners, politeness, and courtesy. There are many social niceties that are valuable because they make social interaction much more pleasant. But in how many small ways are we expected by others to expend our energy unnecessarily in order to adhere to some social custom which both parties would realise, if they considered it for a moment, is, in fact, completely pointless? How often do we ask someone to perform mental or emotional labour for us when we could just open the refrigerator door ourselves?
