If a picture is worth a thousand words...

I’ll take a blank canvas.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about silence. Not in a Simon & Garfunkel way. I’ve come to enjoy it. Actually, it’s probably that I’ve grown to appreciate silence in a different way.

 I’m not talking about those few moments when the kids are gone or are playing quietly. Those are precious moments and few and far between at our house. I’m not talking about long periods of time when the phone doesn’t ring at the office. I love days when the only sound is the whoosh of the air conditioner blowing above my head and the tapping of my keyboard.

I’m not talking about that kind of silence. I have appreciated the absence of the clamor of life for at least 11 years now. Those moments are fleeting. I enjoy them while they last, but they don’t last. And they usually end with a jarring crash, a blood-curdling scream, or the harsh resonance (yes, I used the thesaurus) of the phone.

The silence I’ve come to appreciate is different, and probably a little weird.   But you know I’m okay with weird. I’m talking about silence between two people sitting together. I should explain.

I used to hate that awkward silence when you are alone with someone and neither one of you knows what to say. Those moments when the small talk has ended. And you sit (or stand) there and squirm. Your mind races trying to come up with some question or witty observation that will spark conversation. But it doesn’t come and the two of you sit and stare at your feet. The only sound is the occasional, and obligatory, clearing of the throat.

For a long time I despised those situations. I turned down trips because I knew that on a long car ride the small talk would run out. This did not just pertain to people I didn’t know. I felt the same way about friends, family, pretty much everyone. I did not want to be left alone with anyone. I hated the squirm-inducing, throat-clogging silence.

No more. I realized recently that I’m okay with uncomfortable silence. In fact, it’s not even uncomfortable anymore. Several months ago my dad and I drove to one of our projects in Huntsville. For a long time we drove in complete silence. No radio. No talking. And surprisingly, to me, no squirming.

I suddenly realized that I didn’t have to talk. I didn’t have to listen to someone talk. I could sit in silence with another person and not feel as if the lack of conversation could choke me. What a relief! The silence has become some kind of twisted measure of how much I like someone. If I can sit and not talk to you, I’m obviously comfortable around you. You pass the test.

Unfortunately, not everyone feels this way. There are still lots of people who feel the need to fill every moment with dialogue. And that has become part of my enjoyment. It is sick and twisted, I know. But now I actually take pleasure in the discomfort of those who crave small talk.

I like to see how long they will go without talking. I answer questions that should lead to follow-ups from me, but I don’t follow up. Then wait. It sounds cruel, but it’s fun.