9 of 40

I used to be a runner. I know, it's hard to believe. In the days before kids and Todd, I ran. Almost every day. I would arise at some insane morning hour that hovered around 4:30 am, and I would hit the track.

In those days, I would listen to music while I sprinted my laps. The music was always tuned to the highest volume. I guess I was trying to drown out the world.

But then real life soaked in. Kids and job and schooling. My world got super, duper loud all on its own. I was, I mean I am, only ever surrounded by noise. So I no longer listen to music. Ever. It tends to drive me crazy. I crave the silence and if its available, I take it.

A few nights ago, I drove (alone) to the school to pick up Child #2. Along the way my thoughts seemed to spin with the various things I'm worried about. Those things that I feel desperate to solve, but can't. And while my brain festered it's way around, I remembered my running days. I remembered drowning out the world with music.

So, I turned it on. The radio. All by myself. And I turned up the volume. Loud. I sat and waited for my child to exit the school. When she did, she stared at me through the window. Stunned into silence. Again, I never, ever listen to music. She was shocked where she stood. I finally turned off the radio and she climbed in beside me. Spell broken.

I actually liked it. The listening that made the world go quiet. Will I listen again? Probably not. But for a moment, maybe a long 4.8 minutes, I was surprised to enjoy something I normally hate. And that's definitely worth writing about.

1 of 40, 2 of 40, 3 of 40, 4 of 40, 5 of 40, 6 of 40, 7 of 40, 8 of 40