It was election night and before the polls had a chance to close I was already settled in my favorite chair.
I was ready. A bowl of munchies and a diet Coke on the table to my right, my phone and laptop to the left, and across the room – the TV. I was ready for the coverage. All of it.
Other than during the Olympics, elections are the only time I want multiple sources of coverage. I simply don't want to miss anything so I silence the devices while I watch numbers change, screens get updated and maps get coloured in.
The mute button is key. I can watch multiple platforms but not have to listen to any of the pollsters or pundits.
It makes me rather sad, to be honest. This was the part I used to love about election coverage; the number crunching and the nitty gritty coming out of campaign war rooms. But that changed, longer ago than I care to admit. Now it isn't analysis so much as it is animosity.
Comments drip with partisanship. Observations are filled with overtone. Arguments seem endless. But with the volume turned down I can take in the information without listening to the quarrel. It’s part of an effort to protect my ears … at the least.
The human ear is a remarkable organ. In addition to its incredible sensitivity and ability to pick up on the smallest of sound vibrations, its complexity allows it to respond to the widest range of stimuli of any of our senses.
Our ears are always on the job. Always taking in sound waves, sending them down the ear canal to the eardrum. Always causing that eardrum to vibrate, sending fluid into motion. Always changing that movement into electrical pulses to be sent up to the brain where they can be interpreted as sound. That’s what our ears are doing for us. So what are we doing for our ears?
Noise is all around us. From the moment we wake until we collapse into our beds at night, our days are filled with noise. Machines, vehicles, conversation, music, podcasts, TVs and the continuous onslaught of beeps, rings and alarms that keep us alert to what is happening on our devices. Noise, noise and more noise clamouring for attention. Demanding action.
Our ears are required to absorb it all and it is having an effect. There is a constant din piercing our ears. The more sustained the decibel, the greater the assault, as well as the potential for damage.
But what about the sounds so lacking in volume that damage is also being done —not to our hearing, but to our hearts. Sounds that have been so drowned out by the noise we're unable to hear the calls. The quiet cries of the lonely. The silent hurt of the grieving. The painful rumblings of the hungry. The hushed desperation of the isolated.
Our attention is often drawn to what is loud, but what a difference we could make if we were to shift that and listen for the quiet—the quiet longings of voices. Voices that need to be heard.
The first step is to counteract the roar. We need to turn down, turn off and silence what comes at us. Turn down the voices reaching through the screens trying to dominate our time.
Turn off the coverage that doesn't edify. Silence the phones that are unrelenting in their demands. Turn it off, just for a while, just to try it out and see how it feels.
Part of protecting our hearing is physical. The other part is being aware of what we're welcoming in. There’s damage to our well-being when we allow all that noise to have constant access to our souls.
Our ears rarely get a rest, unless we are intentional about giving them one. Protecting our hearing involves being cognizant of what are we listening to, but also what we may not be hearing at all. The decision to push a button and silence the noise may very well mean we are able to respond to what we really need to hear. That's my outlook.
