What the Quiet Knows

We treat silence like an absence — the gap where the real thing hasn't started yet, or has just ended. Empty air to be filled.

But sit in it long enough and you notice it isn't empty at all. The quiet is where you finally hear what you actually think, as opposed to what you've been told to think, or what you say out loud to keep the conversation moving.

A day with no inputs feels, at first, like deprivation. By evening it feels like having your mind handed back to you.

I don't trust conclusions I reach in a noisy room anymore. The good ones tend to arrive later, uninvited, in the quiet.

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