Echoes of silence: Choosing quiet in a noisy world
It is in the echoes of our silence that we often hear ourselves most clearly. Sometimes the most courageous act for us is to choose silence, to seek fulfilment within, rather than from the chorus around us
Have you ever felt like the world around you is just a little too loud? Ever thought, maybe, if we could press a mute button on the endless clamour of opinions, notifications, and updates, we might finally get a moment for our own thoughts? Or perhaps, questioned, if it is possible for us to hear too much to forget how to listen, altogether?
Christopher McCandless (aka Alexander Supertramp) was a fresh college graduate in his twenties, who, in the early '90s, chose to let go of all societal attachments and surrender to the Alaskan wilderness to see if he could find none but all that is purely obligatory to human life.
I will not go into the details of his heartwarming-turned-wrenching journey, as for that, you have Jon Krakauer (author of "Into the Wild" (1996) and more) and Sean Penn's (director of "Into the Wild" (2007) and more) masterpieces.
I would rather try to explore the purpose of the nonconformist, his profound drive for solitude in a society that often equates success with orthodoxy, and the path that led him to the revelation that in life, it is not necessary to be strong, but to feel strong, within yourself.
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Inspired by the works of the American transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau, McCandless sought solace in simplicity, far from the confines of a world that he felt was poisoned by materialism. His quest, curiously encapsulated and immortalised within an abandoned bus, tells you how our love for solitude and isolation can become a dual-edged sword.
We post images of our sunsets, our coffees, our coffees in sunsets– as 'reach', 'traction', and 'visibility' become our soft currencies. And those who choose to pause, who wish to take the slower path, often find themselves marooned, outpaced by this relentless rush of images and opinions.
McCandless pursued an ideal of freedom that required complete detachment. The result was an anatomy of the primal need for connection, and yet how easily it can get overwhelming for many.
There is a subtle but crucial distinction between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness is a sense of lack, of something missing, a void that pleads to be complete. Solitude, in contrast, is the acceptance of sufficiency within self. It is the act of standing alone that fulfils the self rather than emptying it. Like Randle McMurphy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1962), or the Nadaan Parinde JJ from Rockstar (2011), our pariah McCandless also gracefully chose to stand alone, but then remained indefinitely susceptible to loneliness that shadowed it.
This duality, the delicate line between solitude and loneliness, has long been acknowledged by sages and philosophers, who retreat into becoming one to become all.
The teachings of Zen Buddhism tell us that nirvana– the supreme enlightenment– is achieved not by adding more to oneself, but by stripping off of all illusions, desires, and insecurities we collect for ourselves for the sake of feeling safe and connected.
Yet, in today's hyperconnected world, the endless volume of voices, faces, and updates we encounter each day, only build on a paradox, and as we become like others, we also become less like ourselves.
In the words of Haruki Murakami, "If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking". The same is true for the culture of following trends. If we only engage in conversations everyone else is having, we eventually begin to mirror their thoughts and insecurities, and our own identities gradually dissolve into the crowds.
It is important to think– how much do we genuinely listen before we speak (for ourselves)? How often do we read before we write (for ourselves)? These simple acts – listening, observing, and rationalising independently– form the bedrock of our individuality. Yet, the modern times, particularly with its digital megaphones, often keep nudging us toward an instinctual response, a reflexive broadcasting of self, because we feel that we need to agree and be agreeable. And so, while we become all, we also fail to become any, at all.
And we post images of our sunsets, our coffees, our coffees in sunsets – as "reach", "traction", and "visibility" become our soft currencies. And those who choose to pause, who wish to take the slower path, often find themselves marooned, outpaced by this relentless rush of images and opinions.
The connections which were meant to bring us closer rather unwittingly carve a greater chasm between us, and we find ourselves drifting on the surface, mostly without time or capacity to anchor ourselves in any meaningful depth.
Perhaps, what McCandless wanted us to know is that it is in the echoes of our silence that we often hear ourselves most clearly. Sometimes the most courageous act for us is to choose silence, to seek fulfilment within, rather than from the chorus around us.
Solitude, far from an escape, then becomes our means of reclaiming an authentic voice, giving us a sanctuary to discern our true selves amidst the crowds. It's the very sentiment that Henry David Thoreau captured in his 1854 magnum opus "Walden". It was among the few books McCandless had in his backpack till the end of his trail.
Thoreau had spent two years, two months, and two days alone in a cabin near Walden Pond, not to escape society, but to find a deeper connection with it by first understanding himself.
Thoreau noted that he went to the woods to confront life and "not, when he came to die, discover that he had not lived".
It captured his urgency to live fully and authentically, a mutual urgency that grows ever more vital as our lives become increasingly connected. This 'connected' realm, despite its appeal, can often be a thief of one's authenticity, like a realm where we might just "be", without ever truly existing.
Tasbir Iftekhar is a communications professional.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of The Business Standard.
