At a deep water bay in the early morning, sun hits the water warming the fog just above the surface. The air is still. Seals propel by holding their heads above the water. With a coffee in hand, we ease into the day, listening to a chorus of natural sounds—water ripples, seals barking, birds singing. Our minds become quiet. But, soon the morning will give way to the busyness of the day as the rest of the world wakes up, getting louder by the minute.
There is so much noise in cities. Car alarms going off, ambulances wailing... inside, our email pings and phones ring. All of this takes its toll. Everyone's wearing noise-canceling headphones and playing podcasts to drown out sound with more sound. Even in the absence of noise, people use white noise machines.
For us, the world is often too loud. Anchoring or tying up at small harbors truly quiets this noise. It feels necessary. It eases the mind.
Even though we've done this so many times, when we first head out on a passage, our minds are often racing. Lines and fenders get put away. Charts are up on our screens. We settle into a rhythm, take a few deep breaths. The scent of the ocean hangs in the air. We start to let go—of the moments we rush to a work meeting, of the daily list of things to do, of the ways we close ourselves off. Then at anchor, the fast-paced world drowns in the natural quiet. Everything relaxes, suspended in with the ocean.
This is silence.
We think about nothing. Nothing is nice. Maybe we don’t always need to be checking in on facebook. Worrying about skyrocketing house prices. Knowing what decisions our families make every day. Pretending every thing is necessary. Trying to “fix” everything. Maybe we just need this. The bay is still—it is just water and us, quietly healing.