The Sound of Silence

Vocal rest. It sounds so peaceful. It isn't. It's a relentless barrage of unvoiced thoughts, trapped in the mind and locked in the jaw. The feeling that you're disappearing from view as the noisy world goes on around you, without you, oblivious to you. The isolation of enforced silence within a culture built on verbal exchange.

Wait. Lemme bring you up to speed.

Last week I played a gig with my cover band. We are called Reckless and we rock the house with classic hits from the 70s and 80s. Def Leppard. Joan Jett. The Stones. If it has wailing guitar solos and throaty growls and it totally rocks - we do it. And last week I learned what happens if I do it at the onset of bronchitis.

I won't bore the non-singing reader with a detailed explanation of vocal mechanics. (You're welcome.) But I will emphasize that I LOST my voice. I don't mean it sounded weird when I talked. I mean I opened my mouth and there was no sound. I've been singing since I was two years old and this has never happened to me. It was as terrifying as when Agent Whats-His-Face made Neo's mouth fuse closed. Fortunately, I am a well-looked after woman. My favoritest ever work colleague got on the phone for me and got me an emergency appointment with an ENT. This kindly old guy stuck a camera up my nose and diagnosed me with acute laryngitis (you don't say?) and a blood clot on my vocal fold. (Okay, Doc. You have my attention.) The treatment? Steroids (So long baseball career.) And vocal rest.

No talking for a week. And no singing until further notice.

I went home and cried. Then reminded myself that crying is stressful to the vocal folds and sucked it up.

No talking. For a week. A week of silence. No phone calls. No questions. No "Good Morning." No "Thank You." No "Small drip coffee, please." No "This is my stop, Driver." No "Get away from me, Crazy Man."

I learned quickly that people either ignore me completely or get oddly aggressive, like they think I'M ignoring THEM. I try to compensate for my silence with smiles but you can't land a smile on someone if they're not looking at you. And it's really hard to get someone to look at you without speaking to them.

Inaudible = Invisible.

I understand the vow of silence now. It erases the sense of self. Unable to demand attention, voice a need or impose an opinion, one is forced to deal with what one essentially is, with what one is when no one else is looking. Yes - these are the kinds of thoughts that surface when you can't say "Excuse me, you're standing on my foot."

Today was my first day of talking and it's been rough. My voice is weak and sad sounding and it breaks my heart to hear it. I'm still under orders to avoid shouting so I haven't said much today that anyone heard. My maximum volume is about half of what regular conversation requires. Only those who truly want to hear me do.

When did we all start yelling all the time? It's really noisy and exhausting. I never noticed it before because I could just raise my voice above the din in order to be heard. Now I can't. And this experience has been so unsettling (I haven't even touched on the psycho-crisis that is being unable to sing) that I doubt I'll be so willing to shout in the future. Unless there's like a fire or something, I'm just not gonna yell for you people. Which means I'll say less. Much less.

But perhaps if I become the girl who says less, then the stuff I do say will be more important. Maybe that's why silence is golden. Who knows what we could accomplish if we could just discipline ourselves enough to shut up from time to time and listen?

Enough yakking. Time for Throat Coat with honey.