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The Leaky Faucet

Drip… drip… drip…

The sound finally catching her attention, she pauses her work, listening to the slow and steady flow of water from the faucet fifty feet away. Sighing, she continues to pretend she can’t hear it, but now the act is in vain: as her determination to ignore the annoyance grows, so, too, does the sound grow in the back of her mind, lurking closer and closer to the forefront, a shadow on the wall rousing suspicion to delay progress.

Drip… drip… drip…

On a normal day, she wouldn’t even be able to hear it. The office is typically quite noisy with the hustle and bustle of work, but today, she was the only person in. As a transplant from the northeast, she could handle a few inches of snow without a problem, and some deadlines made her wary of taking the day off. Her coworkers, however, all took the day to stay safe instead of testing road conditions. All of them.

Drip… drip… drip…

When she blinks, she finds her eyes straying to the top of her cubicle, hovering there, unseeing yet fighting the remarkable urge to glare at the leaky piping. Decidedly continuing to type, she can’t manage to draw her eyes away from their perch until she needs to proofread the paragraph – at which point she discovers gibberish as the result of consistently typng one character to the left of where she thought she was typing. Her fists clinch.

Drip… drip… drip…

It was an eerie experience, having the enormous floor of the even more massive office building to herself. For all she knew, she was alone in the complex; there was no guard on duty this morning in the main lobby when she swiped in. She often preferred to be alone when working on individual tasks, but it was weird to have so much space to herself. Distractingly weird, as it were, and her thoughts meandered with the droplets from the kitchenette. Such quiet was still welcome after the rush of the busiest season of the year. The solitude was generally helpful as the only interruption she needed to tune out to focus on her work was the pinging of her email… and that obnoxious leak.

Drip… drip… drip…

Forcing a strong exhale, she stands, tugging her blazer flat and buttoning the bottom button. She cracks her neck, slides her chair back under her desk, takes a deep breath, and strolls toward the kitchen, pumping her arms and lifting her knees high as though marching. As she turns the corner to face her adversary, she reaches out, gripping the wall and swinging around the corner. Foe in sight, she nods, determined to fix the problem.

Drip… drip… drip…

An inanimate object would make a worthy opponent for the simple fact that it can’t die. So, too, wouldn’t that make it an enemy not worth defeating because it doesn’t feel the sting of defeat? The saying that the sweetness of victory depends on the comprehension of escaping a bitter loss seems to correlate somewhat with schadenfreude: if the adversary cannot feel the pain of defeat or savor the taste of triumph, is the conquest itself nearly as glorious as it could be?

Drip… drip… drip…

Cranking the knobs, she discovers the problem won’t be so easily solved. Opening the underbelly, she purses her lips and crawls underneath; she knows little or less about plumbing and she isn’t interested in mucking anything up. However, she still looks, hoping for something that will pop out at her, be it a physical sign or an epiphany. Finding nothing, she traces the pipes with her fingers, hoping they might provide some direction. They offer nothing.

Drip… drip… drip…

Who wanted a kitchen on every floor, anyway? What’s the point to having a de-centralized cafeteria system? Sure, it takes a few minutes off of coffee-fetching time, but how many cups of coffee does the average person drink each day, anyway? And the food would be substantially better if it didn’t all come from a vending machine; requiring employees to go off-site to purchase a halfway decent lunch certainly had to cut into productivity. Maybe the owners of the building thought professionals all packed lunch from home. A silly assumption, but perhaps they don’t know better, or they think too highly of professionals generally to be realistic about their everyday decision making. Who knows.

Drip… drip… drip…

Sighing, she closes the cabinets and leaves the kitchenette, heading back to her desk. As she yanks out her chair, she plops into it, gliding back to her desk and drawing up an email to the office building maintenance. Careful of the wording, she ruminates on a phrase as she brings up an online radio station to stream classical music – or perhaps some jazz – to occupy the part of her brain fixated on the sounds and lack thereof of the office. As she sends off the email, she notices one hit her inbox from her supervisor with the subject line CALL ME ASAP – BEFORE 2PM. Glancing at the clock, she notices the lack of margin for error: it reads 13:52.

Drip… drip… drip…

Everything happens for a reason, right? The leaky faucet caused a bit of a commotion – departing from the cubicle to try to amend the issue then returning to request professional help – and resulted in catching an email on time that otherwise would not have been seen until too late. It’s curious the way such things sometimes work: perturbing us to action, that action resulting in an unrelated save on the day. And often we don’t even feel the gratitude that we should for such happenstances, instead just hurrying along as though nothing even happened. Minute quasi-miraculous interventions happen every day, yet we often miss these graces given to us. Perhaps we might open our eyes a little more every day to appreciate the simple gifts granted us.

Drip…

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Level Cleared

“Alpha team is clear! Bravo team, what’s your status?”

“… Clear.”

“Charlie team-“

“Clear.”

“Delta team.”

“Clear.”

“Echo -“

“Contact! Contact!”

“Move, move! You know the drill: one fireteam per squad stays vigilant in place, everyone else converge. Move!“

Rapid fire covers the sounds of footpatter, brass clattering to the ground.

“Sitrep!”

“Delta team leader took a hit.”

“Delta?”

“Fast to respond, slow to check the corner.”

“Delta team, get your leader to a medic; Charlie team, cover us. Echo team, what else?”

Sweat drips from their helmets as the Echo leader pulls his head up to look at her. “Else?”

She literally bites her tongue to prevent lashing out. “How many? What armament? Are we looking at well-trained guerillas or are we trading fire with our own soldiers who got lost on the way to the rendezvous?” He blinks hard, eyes falling as he grips his rifle more firmly. “Think and talk, Scolnar! Time is of the essence!”

He stutters audibly, wiping his face as he wriggles where he stands. “Uhhh…”

She grits her teeth, glancing at her watch. “Charlie team – clear the room!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Use cans! We know someone’s in there.”

Three of Charlie team yank tear gas cans from their belts; the last one slumps slightly and puts it back with a soft whine as the others send their cans flying. Condensed air sprays out as the canisters sail into the adjacent room, clunking on the floor as all the soldiers hold up against the outside walls.

“Bravo team, lead us in!”

“Yes, ma’am! On me!”

“Alpha team, back ’em up!”

“Roger!”

Clearing the door, they take the room. A youth stands near the far wall, ankles and wrists crossed; he yawns.

“Time!”

The lights flicker on.

He smirks. “I told you this level wouldn’t acquiesce so quickly, chica.”

She sighs. “Depends on your definition, gringo,” she scowls, “but according to the language of the task, we did win.”

“Balderdash.”

“‘Isolate and neutralize the threat.’ We had you down to the room, gassed the room, and all but had you in cuffs. You were dead to rights, sitting on your laurels at the window; doubly so given in a real life scenario a sniper would’ve taken you out.”

“You know the rules, chica.”

“Stop calling me that. And yes, I do know the rules, and unless you were hiding a suicide bomb, we won.”

“But you don’t know that I wasn’t, do you?”

“Actually,” she raises her eyebrows, “we do, because we did a scan before breaching the house; no dice. Also, no vest and no apparent trigger, so, yeah. Thanks for playin’, but either up your game or accept defeat.”

“Let’s let the judges decide.”

“Always. They have the script.”

Stripping off their gear, they remove the magazines, clear the blanks out of the chambers, and set the rifles down in the recently-reappeared container, meandering away to make room for others.

The speaker system blares on. “Sorry,” the older female voice echoes in the chamber, “we believe the foe intended to have a bomb challenge at the end, but it isn’t explicit in the script, and the terms for victory were technically met. Therefore, we render our decision thusly: the clearing company won the bout. Now,” she chirps more sternly, “off to dinner, all of you. You’ve been running simulations all day; at least pause for some nourishment, and preferably for some sleep as well.”

Gritting his teeth, he shakes his head to loosen his tension. Then he looks up, offering her his hand. “Well done.”

She grins weakly back. “Thanks,” she shakes his hand, “we have a great team.”

“Mmm,” he nods. Releasing their grips, they walk toward the exit together. “My team is still better.”

“Hah!” She laughs aloud, shaking her head. “Compare the datasets from our respective runs. We did better across the board.”

“Yes, while I was away.”

“Oh, balderdash. You’re good, but not spectacular. Your team was better without you,” she smiles playfully.

“We’ll show you up tomorrow, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

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Focus on the Light

When’s the last time your wind was psychologically sucker-punched out of you? The last time you had a really rough day such that nothing was adding up and it seemed like you couldn’t see anything but the storms overhead? Maybe it felt like you couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of you, what you could see wasn’t promising, and taking even a single step forward felt like more energy than you had. Maybe you couldn’t see anything at all.

We all have bad days; it’s part of the human experience. They* say the peaks wouldn’t mean anything without the valleys. Still, knowing that doesn’t tend to make the valleys any easier to traverse; it may make them crossable, but not effortlessly so. Trials and tribulations eventually come to an end; there is always hope because there is always a slope to climb to get out of the gully. That’s what makes them gullies.

I don’t use the term “always” lightly: when taking a multiple-choice test, I automatically cross out answer options using the terms “always” or “never” because of how exceptionally unlikely an “always” or a “never” qualifier is to hold true. (The sky is not always blue; the grass is not always green; water isn’t even always wet!) Here, it holds: there is always hope. There is always a way forward.

They also say we write what we need to hear.

Today, I got a few doses of sucker-punches: two rejections regarding what I considered to be my two most likely paths forward. I was grateful for not being strung along – the responses were relatively quick – but it hurt. The first I spotted this morning as I was writing follow-up emails; as I was ruminating on wording, I flipped through my email categories, discovering it in a folder I normally ignore. I physically slid my chair away from my computer to catch my breath.

And then I pulled myself back in, grimaced a makeshift smile on my face, and clung to the silver lining. Pushing on, I finished the email I was working on before diving into another task, returning after a little alternative recovery. After sending yet another message, I paused for lunch; when I returned, just as I was feeling capable of handling the day, there was another rejection in my inbox. On top of a botched attempt to help last night and a few other things that seemed to hit me out of nowhere this morning plus a near occasion of sin while I was reeling from it all… Ouch.

My silver lining from the day is a four-letter word in the above paragraph: near. Also part of the human condition, we all have things we struggle with. I keep thinking I’ve escaped a vice only to find it lurking in the corner awaiting an opportunity. Somehow, today, I managed to say no of my own volition. It was weak, a pathetic whimper against the darkness closing in, but it held fast, like the tone of a clear bell through a dense fog. That whimper got me to sit up and take a deep breath. That whimper was just enough to remind me to look for the light.

I’m still looking for it, mind you; the weather is still overcast with the night closing in, but I know the light is there. It’s always there; there is always hope. Just because we lose sight of something doesn’t mean it no longer exists. (Peek-a-boo! Say hello to object permanence!) Knowing the light is always there makes all the difference because it means the reach, the attempt, the effort isn’t in vain.

So, here’s to hope. Here’s to finding that silver thread and hanging on to it until you pull the cloud out of the sky with it. Here’s to the dark nights that help us isolate the light. Here’s to perseverance when the slopes seem too steep to climb. Here’s to holding fast to the whimper of conviction in your soul. Here’s to knowing that the fight’s not over, that the best is yet to come, and that something beautiful will blossom from the struggle. Here’s to knowing that there is always a path forward.

Cheers!

*
The infamous “they” of common knowledge whom nobody seems able to pinpoint.

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Dream List Progress

Welcome to the end of the month! I hope your January was everything you hoped it would be and more.

This weekend is the perfect time for a self-evaluation because tonight closes out this month and tomorrow morning launches February. To kick off the year, we made dream lists. Our dream lists are essentially finite goals with actionable steps attached to them. We include all sorts of goals: short-term, medium-term, and long-term goals; internal and external; physical, mental, and relational – everything. Think of it as a bucket list-plus.

Having dreams doesn’t mean we’ll achieve them, though. For that, we need to actively work towards them. This is why we include action steps in our dream list: to set a logical path for us to follow to reach our goals. Once we have the paths set in place, we can follow them to the destinations – our dreams.

How are you faring keeping on track with your dream list? Looking at mine, I can see that I’ve progressed quickly with some, slowly with others, and gone backwards with a couple of them. I assess my progress at regular intervals to determine what I can do better, whether my priorities have changed (and if so, how that should be reflected in my dream list), and celebrate what has gone well. Let’s go through a few of my goals to see what this means.

Example: Journaling (Creative)

Assess

One of the habits I want to grow is a journaling habit. I kicked off the month strong, writing a (small) page every night at bedtime; it’s a good way to close out the day. However, when this week hit, I was more interested in the extra twenty minutes of sleep per night than in journal entries: many of my days are missing. And I know why: I was awake every day by 05:45 (5:45 am) and busy doing stuff (job applications, errands, blogging, phone calls, reviews of board decisions, emails, volunteering…) through until about 23:00 (11 pm) each day. (And that busyness only included one walk! Ahhh!)

Onward

I will fill in the missed days based on my calendar entries for the week. I suspect they won’t have the same flavor to them that contemporaneous entries will have, but it must suffice.

Plan

Recognizing my main problem here to be one of overscheduling resulting in a sleep deficit, I can work to fix that. Parts of my day are static (Mass at 07, for example, or work and volunteer commitments). These things aren’t going to change, so I need to look to the things that can be shifted around.

Keep: My journal and its pen hanging out next to the last light of the night to be turned off has been helpful. Every time I go to turn the light off, if I skip journaling, I have to make a conscious decision with the reminder right there.

Shift: I post on this blog daily, but it has become more of a nightly thing; I will work on getting my posts up earlier in the day so I can call it a night sooner than I previously did.

Change: I have a habit of overscheduling my days. This problem was exacerbated this week in particular because I was working on certain tasks that I didn’t know how long they would take (and I was never quite satisfied with the results), resulting on my understimating them.

Every Dream, Tracked

Ideally, we keep track of our dreams until they’re fulfilled. (And then maybe write a book about how awesome it was to complete a dream!) I recommend going through this process (assess, onward, and plan; keep, shift, and change) with every dream you’re serious about completing. The frequency will depend on the dream. (For example, it doesn’t make sense to assess my sailing dreams in January: the water is frozen over here.)

It may also help to include cross-dream data. Do two or more of your dreams relate to each other? Maybe you’re learning martial arts from a teacher who only speaks Japanese during sessions and becoming fluent in Japanese is another of your dreams. Even if you didn’t do much in your plan with learning the language this month, maybe you understood a certain phrase for the first time. Count that as a win, because it’s progress towards your goals.

Even if you don’t have the time to conduct a thorough assessment of each dream every month, I do recommend scanning through your list at least that often. It may help you to say each one aloud. There are three main reasons for this. First, it reminds you where you’re going and allows you to update your dreams as your priorities change. Second, you may have an epiphany on the next actionable step for one of your dreams but you haven’t written it down yet; this provides you with just such an opportunity. Third, it helps to keep you motivated to strive towards your goals because you keep them in sight.

So, how are your dreams coming along?

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Team Trestle

Arriving early, she checks the clock, reaching to the passenger seat and hauling the first bag over her head, looping the shoulder sling about her. Opening the door, she snags the other bag, stepping out to hang it off of her other shoulder, and leaning in to grab the final bag. Locking the door, she steps out and closes it, advancing toward the hall.

Am I early enough?

Yanking out her keys, she opens the door and starts to set up, placing the last bag here, the second bag there, wrangling her coat off from under the first bag, and taking that bag with her to the far side of the building. So much to do… She starts with the part she’s never done before; one of her team members is out tonight, so she’s taking this part over. This has to get done first to make sure it gets done. My part isn’t as crucial and can wait.

She runs hither and thither setting things up. It isn’t until the first of her team walks in that she forgot one of the most time-consuming parts of the set-up. She blanches.

He catches her wince. Without missing a beat, he smiles. “What can I do?”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. What can I do?”

She explains the chair set-up and he runs right to it. As he embarks on his quest, another team member walks in. “Let me help with that,” he insists, nodding a greeting to her as he rushes by. Within a few minutes, others are assisting as well, fetching this or moving that. What would have taken her almost an hour was completed within fifteen minutes, and everyone is ready to start the event on time.

The event begins. Again, they hit a hitch – a technical glitch.

Three jump up immediately, one going to the tech, one notifying the temporary techmaster, and one glancing between the two to see if either party needed help. Problem solved in under a minute.

Whew.

At the end of the night, she gives up trying to corral the troops for the close-out meeting and started on various tasks. One by one, the team members see what she was doing and quietly follow suit, putting this here and that there until the entire place was in order. Peering out from her weary eyes, she finds the team gathered and ready for the final meeting of the night.

Ready. That is the grandest oddity: this was the first time the entire group was ready for any of their meetings. It had been wearing her thin that getting everyone together was like herding cats: it’s fairly easy to get one, but as soon as another enters the vicinity, they both leave, turning up their noses at having to share attention. Tonight, these two meetings of respectful congregation shocked her into a stutter; she quickly regains composure, carrying through the meeting and sending everyone off.

There is one last thing she has to do… Ugh, I don’t want to bother to ask someone to stay with me! The policy was that nobody was the last person to leave: if you were going to be the last person, someone else stays with you to make sure you’re both safe. Although she understood the policy, she simultaneously thought it was a waste of someone else’s time to bother waiting for her. Typically, the person she was covering for tonight would also be staying this late with her, so they’d walk out together, neither really waiting on the other. Nobody’s gonna jump me on the way to my car…

When she looks up from shoving a book into her bag, one of her team members smiled at her. “I’m gonna walk you to your car,” he announces happily.

She chuckles. “You don’t have to do that,” she assures him. “I’m sure you’re tired and ready to get home to your wife.”

“Mmm, my wife wouldn’t like the idea of me not walking a young woman to her car this late at night. No ma’am. We could be the safest city in the state, the country, the world, and it wouldn’t matter. No, no. It’s polite to walk a lady to her vehicle late at night.”

Smiling, she nods her acquiescence. “Thank you.”

Quickly finishing her final task, she tosses on her coat. Chipper as ever, he walks her to her car on the far side of the parking lot through the blisteringly cold wind chill. “I just want to make sure the engine turns over.”

She smiles; opening the door, she inserts the key and turns. “My car never fails me.”

“You never know!” He calls to her as he walks away. “Have a great night!”

Silently, she sits in the car, turning her lights on and watching to make sure that he, too, gets in his car. With a grin, she pops her foot on the brake and shifts into drive. Good night, she thinks. “Good night indeed.”

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Torn

Racing down the hall, she nearly plows into her best friend, shoes leaving squeal marks during her stop. She waves a paper and envelope in front of his face, closing his locker to get there. He takes a step back, scowling. “What’s that for?”

She beams. “I got in.”

His face drops, then he blinks. “Wait, what? They already got back to you?”

“Yes! Tychus, I got in!” She jumps up and down, eyes tight with glee, whinying with delight.

He hides a disheartened sigh in the commotion, yanking on a supportive face and smiling, trying to hide the pain. He nods, forcing himself to focus on the happy parts of the news instead of the part that tells him he’ll soon be without his friend. “Congrats, Marie; I’m happy for you.”

Clutching the letter tight to her chest, she shakes with delight. “Thank you! I knew you’d share my joy with me. Victory wouldn’t taste nearly as sweet without you.”

With a scoff, he raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I bet.”

Breathing deeply, she re-opens her eyes. Her smile fades. “Tychus? What’s wrong?”

Always paying attention… “The irony of that statement hit me just right. Don’t mind me.”

“Irony?” She blinks repeatedly. “Tychus, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing; never mind. Just,” he grins firmly for her, turning to face her as he shoulders his backpack. “Just, congratulations… and don’t forget about the little people.” He starts down the hallway.

Her face contorts; she follows him. “What an odd thing to say. Should I already be working on my closing night speech?”

“What?”

“I get the distinct feeling we’re not talking about the same thing.”

He pauses, turning to her, eyebrow cocked. “College?”

She laughs aloud. “No, the spring musical! I did well in the callbacks and got a role!” Shaking her head, she balks. “I just sent in my top tier applications last week; I doubt the schools even know I exist yet. Is that what you’re worried about, Tychus? It’s only autumn! We have the rest of the year to figure out next year.”

“Says the one getting into the Ivies.”

“Pffft,” she waves him off. “I didn’t even apply to any of those schools, much to my mother’s chagrin.”

“See,” he raises his palm, “who even uses the word ‘chagrin’ while talking to friends?”

“Uhm, I do,” she points out, “and you do, and anyone who likes fun words does. Are you seriously upset about my using the fun words in my vocabulary?”

“Nobody uses ‘fun’ words but you, Marie.” He raises his arms and then drops them, turning to continue down the hallway.

Her brows furrow and she shakes her head. “That’s not true. Plenty of people do – including you.” As he starts, she follows him. “Tychus, what’s going on? Did you not get your applications out? There’s still time. Can I help?”

He tosses a hand in her face, pausing them both. “No. Drop it.”

“Drop what?”

He grinds his teeth, looking away.

“Why are we trying to cross a river when we don’t even know if that’s the right direction yet? Talk to me, Tychus.”

Exhaling hard, he turns back to her. “This is our last year together.” She opens her mouth, but quickly closes it, forcing herself to let him say his piece, his whole piece. “We both know we’re not going to the same school. Maybe we’ll send each other Christmas cards, but we won’t see each other after graduation. I’d like to just enjoy the time we have together before letting the inevitable come between us.”

She waits patiently, but he’s done. Clearing her throat quietly, she bites her cheek. “I’d like to start my speech by pointing out that I better get to see you each Christmas ’cause we’ll both be here regardless of where we end up.” He rolls his eyes, but a smile creases his face. “I need to mention that it isn’t necessarily inevitable, but even if it ends up happening, that won’t be the end of us. It can’t be. I’ll still need you, Tychus, whether I end up in Boston or Cambridge, Seattle or Beijing.”

His head whips around. “Did you really apply to schools in Beijing?”

She grins. “I applied all over. The point is that geography isn’t the point: we’ve got all sorts of tech to stay connected, so while it won’t be the same, it won’t be signing the death certificate of our friendship, either.”

He nods. “You should’ve applied to Oxford.”

“I considered it, but I know that I love Cambridge from my summer there, and I don’t know that I could make a trip to test out the aura of Oxford. Besides, I think I’d generally prefer to stay Stateside but do a semester abroad; my Cambridge application was more an ode to the wistful past than an honest belief that I could even get in.”

“Where else did you apply?”

She eyes him, careful to note the slight tilt of his head to his left side, the one slightly-dropped eyebrow, the tense shoulders. “Not now; we can talk about it after class, maybe while you’re deciding where you’re applying to so we can end up at the same school.”

“Not likely.”

“True; most schools are unlikely to take two awesome candidates from the same school. We’ll need to devise a plot where one of us graduates somewhere else before we can hope for that plan to work.”

“You,” he nods, “are insane.”

“We should be able to end up in the same city even if you don’t want to take such drastic measures,” she assures him, chin held high as she leads the way to the classroom. “In the time we have after your applications go out, we’ll need to work on my acceptance speech for the Grammy Awards.”

He laughs. “You’re acting in a school play; I doubt there’ll be talent scouts here.”

“Unless we apply to a music school and invite them to our performance!”

“‘Our performance?’ Marie, I didn’t even try out for the production. I’m not going to be in it.”

“We shall see about that. But first,” she lifts her eyes to the door in front of them, “well, I suppose first is class. But second!” She smiles as he laughs at her antics. “Second is we make sure you’re putting your name in for the schools you’re interested in. Once that’s done, then we can work on the school play. Savvy?”

Smirking, he shakes his head at the floor. “There’s just no dimming your optimism, is there?”

“Nope.” He laughs, and she smiles. “Instead, let’s get the work party started so we get where we want to be.”

He nods, turning toward the door and reaching for the handle. “I hear that.”

“Tychus.”

He pauses, turning to her.

She smiles. “Thank you. We’ll make it through this.”

He smiles back, opening the door for her. “We always do.”

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Thoughts on Music in the Background

At choir last night, it came up that one of our musicians constantly hears music in his head. Constantly. As in, it never pauses. My first thought: that’s amazing.

My second thought: how does he get anything done like that?

This guy is a prodigy. He’s been playing instruments well since he was eight, and composed a gorgeous original piece for the group to sing on Mother’s Day a few years ago when he was in high school. (It begs the question of what I did with my sophomore year of high school.) He spends most of his time practicing his musical talent in all of its various forms, including professional performances. Amidst all of this playing, singing, and composing, he also has a background of music playing in his head.

How does he do it? I would be so distracted!

At the same time, I wonder how unusual it is for people to “hear” music that isn’t playing. Most of us have experienced getting a song stuck in our heads at some point; I’d be impressed to find someone who said they never experienced this phenomenon. In contrast, this gent is the first I’ve heard of anyone constantly having music playing in his brain. (HowStuffWorks has an article about earworms that mentions endomusia, meaning it has happened before, but I found no numbers, suggesting rarity.)

Luckily for me, I tend to fall somewhere between these two. I have no idea how he can work on musical projects (especially composition!) with another tune playing in the background. Simultaneously, I find myself agitated by silence. Look this adjective up in a thesaurus to find a variety of words of distress which have plagued me at times due to an extended period of time without music. (When I was little, I even slept with the radio on.) Instead of giving in to the anxiety of silence, my brain often fills in the gaps with medleys of familiar tunes. I can direct the music to kinds permitting me to focus on the task at hand by redirecting it to audible music.

With music consistently filling many of our noggins, where does prayer fit in?

School of Silence

Just writing that made my pulse accelerate. However, many people have written about or otherwise explained to me the necessity of silence. Several have attempted to win me over to the following of silence. This is generally how our conversations tend to go:

Friend: I look forward to my moments of silence.
Me: Cool. You can have all of mine.
Friend: How do you listen to God if you don’t sit in silence?
Me: Oddly enough, I’ve never heard the audible voice of God speaking to me. I think that might scare me more than the silence itself.
Friend: But I need silence to properly pray. How do you pray without silence?
Me: With music.
Friend: That makes no sense.
Me: We probably listen to different music, then.
Friend: No music is as sweet as the voice of God.
Me: Again, never heard that audible voice; I’m kinda fine with that. It also means I can’t compare the two, so I’ll take your word for it.
Friend: You should try silence sometime. It’s great for personal growth.
Me: God may speak to everyone else through silence, but silence gives me no peace and God is capable of speaking to me through music, and He’ll meet me where I’m at.
Friend, dismissively: Kids these days – addicted to distractions.
Me: … Thanks.

I absolutely, positively believe that silence is helpful for a good relationship with God for most people. It may even be helpful for all of us, but I haven’t gotten to that point yet. It’s kinder on my brain to have white noise in the background – nature sounds, instrumentals, traffic and car noises, pop praise songs on the radio, anything – than to sit in silence.

We have to turn off the smartphone, find a quiet place and a recollected posture, and let our minds settle. If we don’t, there is no way we will be able to hear what God wants to tell us.

– Father John Bartunek, A Quiet Place

I disagree. (I concede the point about the phone; I leave mine on DND/silent mode when I need to focus. Mind settling is probably also helpful. What I contest is the quiet requirement.) Still, I find the book incredibly helpful and believe it works for Father Bartunek and the many others who have encouraged me to try silence. Maybe I’ll try it again tomorrow for five minutes, just sitting in silence and not letting my thoughts run away from me. (That’s the trick, isn’t it – not letting the thought train get away?) Currently, though, I disagree.

The Case for Prayer Music

Argument one: music can assist in focus. There is plenty of music that is uplifting, encouraging, and thought-provoking. Yes, some music is distracting, but not all of it. (The music I’m currently listening to is somewhat distracting, but there is reason for it.) I trust I’m not alone in having a mind that needs a treadmill to run on to keep it from running away, even if it’s merely simple chords.

It’s like having an extremely active child and either opting for a simple play area or tethering the kiddo to the parent: one option allows the kid to run around safely with generally just the need for a watchful eye whereas the other requires constant tugging in the proper direction.

This kind of music helps me when I can fully focus on the connecting with God. (Perfect counter example, I’m not concurrently concerned with driving; I often pray in the car.) There are a plethora of meditative playlists designed specifically to help one’s mind focus on prayer or in meditation. I’m a fan of instrumental, particularly instrumental classical or soft jazz. (Instrumental covers often find me adding the lyrics.) On the whole, the gentler the music, the better it is for assisting with focus.

Argument two: God can use music to speak to us. Have you ever had a time when just the right song came on the radio at just the right time? How did that song speak to your heart? What was it telling you? Where do you think that came from?

[Part of prayer is] searching for what God wants to say to you.

– Father John Bartunek, A Quiet Place

This tends to be where I find myself: sitting with the radio on, paying it no mind, when a song comes on that strikes me. Beyond reminding me that the radio is on, it speaks a message I’ve been needing to hear, and somehow, I know it’s for me. Sometimes, it’s joyous and I sing along; other times, it solemnly forces me to pause; still other times, I grin weakly and mull over a particular line for the rest of the day.

Argument three: music is a form of prayer. There is literally a genre of music known as praise and worship. Sometimes songs that lift my soul to the Lord enter my heart during relatively quiet moments. These pieces encourage me to sing with them, meaning every word, causing me to connect more fully with God than any words I could think to speak. When music brings us closer to God, the music itself is a form of prayer.

What is Your Experience?

Do you focus better with or without music? I find it to be personal preference; I am better with music, but my mother can’t process her thoughts well with any noise. Which way do you prefer? What is your experience with listening to music during prayer? Are you (or do you have any friends who are) naturally gifted musically with tunes ever-present in their minds? What do you think of having your own soundtrack to life? Let us know in the comments!