Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

As part of the White Light Festival, I went to Lincoln Center this weekend and listened to a panel of experts discuss the virtue of silence. The panel was made up of a religious author, who discussed the role of silence in faith and ceremony, a best-selling author who "practiced" silence (every other Monday she's silent...she's done this 18 years), a professor who studied the sociological and cultural implications of silence, and a professor of neuroscience who discussed the physiological effects of science on the brain.

I thought this was an interesting topic to tackle in a city that has so little silence as part of its genetic code. It was like having a panel on strip malls or laziness; exploring a topic rather foreign to a typical New Yorker.

The panel spoke of the importance of silence in daily life. They described silence as the space in our lives; the tool that helps orient ourselves in the density of constant noise. Without silence we can't put the noise we experience - however the noise is externalized - in perspective. I thought this was fascinating. If there's one thing New Yorkers lack even more than silence, it's space. Perhaps silence is a way for us to create space in a city that has none.

But how do you find silence in New York? In addition to the audible assault of honking horns, wailing sirens, rumbling trains, and the chatter of nine million - New York is filled with another type of noise - the uproar created by incessant stimulation. I have never felt so bombarded by messaging as I have since moving here. Information is everywhere. You can check your stocks on reader boards scrolling across Times Square, the subway is covered from floor to ceiling in posters, people rattle off information at you rather than to you, in every cab there are TVs within and billboards on top, and still it's not enough - half of the people you pass on the street walk or ride with their nose in their smart phones...the flash and grind of messages are unending . At times it feels impossible to escape. Is it any wonder our yoga classes are packed? People are so desperate for a period of silence, they'll make room in their lives and pay good money to find it even in its most generic and transient forms.

As a result of this rapid-fire messaging, New Yorkers process and dispense data quickly and with little patience. This city is too big - there's too much diverse data at our fingertips - to really delve into the complexities of a single subject, we'd rather skim on the surface. From house parties to elevators, New Yorkers want to know what you think on a variety of subjects in 3 words or less - they don't have time for much more. Conversations veer from Bloomberg to Afghanistan to the future of Green Peace within a blink of an eye and you are expected to keep up. In a sense, New Yorkers value breadth rather than depth.

This all makes sense for a city that moves fast and prides itself on compression. But where, in this cacophony of data, streaming information, and other noise, can a typical New Yorker find silence? It's not easy - and perhaps they don't want to.

New Yorkers have gotten pretty good at avoiding it. People in general often don't want to uncover what's lurking in the depths of silence. What's hidden in the murk under the constant noise that perpetuates our every day. What's hidden in that void could be feeling of inadequacy, questioning, doubt, the struggle to deal with our own morality. We fear what will rise up when we make the space for silence. It's no wonder we reach out for constant stimulation. We use this constant stimulation as drug - to ward off hte depression that may lurk just under the surface, and theree seems to be no bigger users than New Yorkers and no bigger pusher than New York itself. New York, in essence, is one big distraction from silence.

So where can I find my silence? I guess that's one of the reasons I wake up at such an early hour every day. I know this is the city that doesn't sleep, but somehow the hour between 5 and 6 on a weekday morning is pretty darn quiet. There are no honking horns, no crowded sidewalks. I often walk to the park or the gym without seeing another soul.

The park I guess is my sanctimony. It's the one constant in my time here and something i wouldn't trade for anything. The dog is an excuse, but I wake up every morning and head to the park with other dog owners as most New Yorkers are hitting the snooze button or fighting the crowds, already deep into their commute. I walk around the aptly named great lawn, I take in the weather, the changing seasons reflected in the dense trees that surround the park, and occasionally exchange a glance with my puppy. I run into other dog owners and we'll make small talk, but many mornings, we'll say nothing at all. And that silence, like the sunrise we often see over the skyline that early in the morning, is truly golden.