Stuffed

One year my family went to the Cheesecake Factory for my birthday. I don’t remember exactly what it was that my brother ordered, but it was basically a giant hamburger with several other kinds of meat stacked on top of it. He was a teenager, undaunted by the feat of consumption in front of him. He conquered that burger, but it was not a victorious ride home.

He lay down in the back seat, moaning and clutching his stomach. He claimed he was so full he couldn’t manage another bite of anything. Ever. He was so full he couldn’t even think about anything else.

That is how my brain has felt lately. It’s just so full. Much of the space is taken up with logistics; emails that need to be sent, school forms that need to be returned, items to add to the grocery list, the revised soccer schedule. Much of it is taken up with space for people I love; reminders to pray for those who are hurting, questions about how my friend who is far away is doing, concern for one of my kids. And a lot of space is taken up with noise. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just noise. It’s the news, social media, emails, books, podcasts, the kids from Stranger Things.

It’s everything and its nothing, and it’s just so busy up there. Trying to quiet my mind sometimes feels like trying to dress a resistant toddler.

It’s not a new problem, and it’s definitely not one that’s unique to me. We live in a world that has very few blank spaces. We fill our schedules and our silences. We look at our phones while we stand in line. So much of it doesn’t even feel like a choice; so much of what we fill our minds with feels non-negotiable, essential to the lives we lead.

I’ve heard and read a lot lately about taking steps back, simplifying your schedule and intentionally being less busy. I think these are good and wonderful ideas and recommendations. But I don’t think it completely solves the problem. Feeling mentally overwhelmed from time to time seems to be an inevitable part of living in this culture, of living with the constant onslaught of noise and information. It's information overload, and it's near impossible to avoid.

As the days get shorter and the weather gets colder, I feel myself called to silence and stillness. I feel a pull toward slowing down and listening.

I need a silent night. I need a chance to step back and actually practice gratitude on Thanksgiving. I need to look my people in their eyes without any screens between us. There is a lot of noise that is good and necessary and meaningful; and then there is some that I can let go.

For me, quieting the noise means stepping away from my phone, particularly social media. It means sometimes driving home in silence instead of listening to a podcast, even one I love and get a lot out of. It means spending more time creating and less time consuming. It means going to bed earlier and getting up a little earlier. It means going on walks, even in the bitter cold.

For me, quieting the noise means practicing mindfulness. It means tuning into the smell of the candle, the warmth of the dishwater, and the sound of the wind. It means creating space to think and feel and listen. It means consuming enough and leaving some room.

This won’t happen on accident. Quiet and space are no longer a natural, automatic part of the rhythms of our lives. But we can create the space our hearts and minds need. We can silence some of the noise, say no to the unnecessary, and practice presence.

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