The joy of keeping quiet

One of the things I like about my wife is her ability to have a conversation without necessarily saying a word. We can sit at the breakfast table in rapt silence for what seems like an age, reading the paper, catching up on an article on the BlackBerry, sipping coffee from an overly large mug. Every once in a while, she'll toss a quick glance over my way. I might return it. Or I might not, depending on how deep I am into whatever I'm doing. The dog will usually sit beside one of us, hoping against hope that he'll catch a special treat from above. Not likely, little buddy, but we appreciate your hanging around all the same.

Despite the quiet, there's a lot going on here. But the fact that it is quiet is what makes it something I look forward to. She gets it, that not every waking moment needs to be filled with noise. That "making conversation" isn't something that anyone needs to do. Ever. That communication extends to levels far beyond words, and more often than not it's good for the soul to leave words behind in favor of other ways of connecting. That the human mind and soul need periods where nothing is said, to breathe, to catch a beat, to just be, without any kind of artificial interruption, to prepare for whatever comes next.

I'll never understand why some people feel the need to fill the air with noise or why some people feel compelled to be constantly heard. I'll never understand how I got so lucky to have met someone so different from the norm.

Don't mind me while I sit here, quietly, in appreciation of another quiet start to the day.

Your turn: Why does quiet time appeal to you?