When I first arrived at college, one of the things I was most excited about was finally having enough time to listen to music. In high school — between school, practice and rehearsal — the car was the only place I ever got the chance.
Nowadays, listening to music (or a podcast) feels less like a luxury and more like an inevitability. In the elevator, on the train, walking to class, waiting in line, eating food — I could go on.
A good piece of writing advice is to never wear headphones when walking around so you can take in the world and conversations around you. But I think that advice applies to more than just writing.
There’s a multitude of literature published regarding the benefits of “shower thoughts,” or the ten minutes a day you’re away from the need to be productive. According to the first article I found online, when you’re not focusing on a task, whether it be work or anything else that requires active concentration, your brain enters its Default Mode Network. Basically, your thoughts are finally allowed to drift in whichever direction they want.
Which made me wonder: Which brilliant ideas have I thought of in the shower? I must have some. But that’s hard to quantify and usually it boils down to a variation of “I should reach out to that person” or “I should practice music more.” Small things, like X-marks on a winding map.
Yet, on the contrary, I can’t think of a single time where I’ve been listening to podcasts or music and my mind has wandered in the same way that it does in the shower. Even if I’m not paying attention to whatever I’m listening to, there’s still a mental barrier, like a translucent wall created by the noise that blocks me from entering that shower flow state. In essence, I’m not allowing my mind to relax.
I thought about the night of the Knicks’ fourth game in the NBA Finals, which I watched with my brothers in Brooklyn. I’m notoriously terrible at keeping my phone charged and midway through the celebration it ran out of battery. I had to get all the way from the watch party to Grand Central, then take the train back home and wait for someone to drive me from the station to my house. It’s a true multi-step endeavor.
Thankfully, my brother was able to use his Maps app to direct me to Grand Central. From there, I bought a ticket (at the counter) and hopped on the train, hoping my brother had texted my parents that I was coming home.
During this 30-minute ride, I didn’t have a book, nor did I have any access to something to listen to. I was completely alone. I expected the excursion to be grueling, a half hour where I sat and tapped my feet. Instead, my mind wandered through ten different topics: replaying a joke my brother made earlier, thinking of an opening line for a short story, wondering if my parents were actually awake to pick me up. When I detrained, I hadn’t taken a literal shower, and yet, I felt refreshed.
A few days later, trying to replicate that feeling, I did my usual run without wearing headphones. To be honest: If I was walking by myself at the gym, I would think I was completely insane. But isn’t that wild that this is society’s standard now? That silencing our brain is so ubiquitous, that not doing so is considered strange?
Still, I kept doing it. Now, unless there’s something I’m particularly excited to listen to, I prefer to walk and run without music. I like the idea of uninterrupted time for my mind to wander.
Some people may be reading this and thinking: “Well, I hate my brain. I listen to things or check my phone during every ounce of free time because I hate where my brain goes.” Fair. Totally understood. And sometimes, when I’m walking and it’s just me and my thoughts, I immediately start to think about what I’m stressed about, or about how I’m not good enough for this or that. It’s natural. However, through deliberate practice — as in, allowing me to see where I go in that empty space — I’ve found that these negative thoughts have greatly lessened. Or at least, the impact of them has.
So, no, silence is not necessarily automatically restorative, nor does it always guarantee novel idea generation. It’s not like every time you hop in the shower you leave with a manuscript for the next “Moby-Dick.” But what I’ve found is that incorporating more moments of this planned silence is what ultimately might spark creativity. At least, more than pumping music into every last minute of the day.
When I get back to campus, I’m not throwing away my headphones. But every morning on my walk up the West Wheelock hill, I’ll leave them behind. In turn, I get ten uninterrupted minutes. Just me and the incline.
