Selective Deafness

by Annette Dashofy

This morning, as I so often do, I stood on my front porch before the sun had cleared the horizon and listened to the pre-dawn melodies of the birds. For a moment, I almost grabbed my phone, intending to make a short video, recording the chirps, tweets, and whistles. But then I paused and thought about what I’d actually capture in that recording.

Trucks, cars, maybe even a plane overhead on approach to Pittsburgh International Airport.

I live in the country, surrounded by acres of woods and pasture. It’s a mile to the nearest village which basically consists of a Post Office, a hot dog stand, and a pizza shop. I have to drive a half hour to get anywhere really worth going. But sitting on the front porch of my log cabin isn’t as quiet and tranquil as you might think, because I live on a main truck route between two cities. Figure in the gas drilling industry, which is huge around here, and the location of the airport, and noise is a constant.

However, I rarely hear it.

I’ve lived on this property my entire life. Traffic is a way of life. The sound of it never stopped my folks from sitting and relaxing on their porch in the evening. And it doesn’t stop me from listening to the birds at dawn.

I’m not sure if it’s so much that I’ve become selectively deaf to it, or that I’ve made a choice to hear the songs over the rumble. I’ve chosen to focus on the beauty of nature over the mechanical beasts that strive to drown it out.

Which led me to think beyond the sounds outside my door.

So often the noise of everyday life becomes overwhelming. Demands on our time. Family, jobs, appointments, health issues… All the stuff we have to do leaves no space in our day for the stuff we want to do. Lunch with a friend? Sorry, I can’t make it today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. An afternoon at the museum? Oops. I would, but I have a meeting with the accountant and I’m not ready. Maybe next month.

I want to find some time to write, but I have to fix supper, clean the house, work overtime.

Maybe next year.

I’m here to tell you, all that have-to stuff will still be there. Tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. The stuff never goes away. Just like the truck traffic and planes don’t fall silent (and when they do, the silence is deafening, but that’s a topic for another day).

You must make a choice to drown out the noise of the mundane and hear the beauty of the birdsongs. To eke out time for friends, for fun, and yes, for writing.

Stop to smell the roses.

Stop to hear the birds.

Stop to enjoy living your life.

Is there something you’ve been wanting to do but keep putting off?