Breaking The Silence

Silence is intimidating. After enough silence has accumulated, the answer to the question of whether or not to break the silence becomes like a test of social competency. "But, will it be awkward? So much time has passed. What if there's nothing to talk about— if the silence penetrates the present? What is there even to say, at this point?" You begin to convince yourself that endings are best delivered through silence.

It's been a couple of months since I've written or published an article. Honestly, after what felt like so much time had passed, to return to this began to feel way too much like a reintroduction. I had given that period of silence so much meaning that the act of breaking it could no longer feel casual.

This is something I do all the time—it's something many of us over-thinkers do. I start to assign immense meaning to things that don't deserve it and then end up immobilized by that construct. It's a friend you haven't talked to in a while, it's a hobby you once loved but strayed from, it's the gym membership you've all but forgotten. It's a blog you aren't even sure if anyone is reading. And it's that underlying insecurity— those compounding thoughts of "what's the point?" or "no one cares anyway," or "it doesn't matter" (which is really a shrouded confession of "I don't matter")— that keeps us, that keeps me, from progressing: from giving your friend a call, from relearning the piano, from getting back in the gym, from publishing a blog post.

It's so human.

It's the most basic demonstrations of insecurity showing themselves in the most menial places. Silence soon becomes comfortable and to break it becomes uncomfortable. So, we remain. Comfortable.

It's fear. And, once it's been overcome, it's regret, for you allowed those meanings to form a barrier between yourself and something you want. Yet, we remain. Fearful.

And, when that silence serves to hurt someone (ourselves included) it is cowardice.

I resent this propensity of mine, of many. I resent the small part of myself that would prefer to remain comfortable than to be proactive; not to be dramatic, but it just about goes against everything I believe in.

Remain comfortable for too long and you lose your vigor.

Remain fearful for too long and you forfeit that which brings you joy.

Remain silent for too long and you forsake the ones you love.

In some regard, I am grateful to assign meaning to situations like these, for our decisions of whether or not to 'break the silence' do indeed matter. These situations are precipices, and the action or inaction that we choose as our response so alters our proximity to joy.

The greatest achievements of bliss lie behind our fears.

So, be bold. Say 'yes.' Lean into insecurity and, in doing so, disprove it.

Call your friend. Try something new. For God's sake, go to the gym.

Reclaim your joy. Break your silence.

If I can do it, what's stopping you?