Last Wednesday, as I meandered to my “sit spot^*1” — a tree-lined cliff-edge on a friend’s land, a stone’s throw from their vegetable garden — I hurriedly adjusted my earbuds, flipping through a friend’s Spotify playlist in search of some rad tunes. I generally enjoy listening to a pleasant beat while in transit, and I found myself dancing as I made my way up the graveling road.
Strolling past a fellow country dweller’s front yard, I caught a glimmer of movement: my neighbor Janalee, her expression tense as she mowed her lawn in the mid-June heat. I couldn’t hear the lawnmower (the aforementioned ‘rad tunes’ were, of course, quite bopping) and it occurred to me how far apart my neighbor and I were even in such close proximity — separated not by distance, but rather by awareness. Engrossed in the lawnmower’s hubbub, she kept her eyes trained on grass trimming, and I slunk past, ghost-like in the 5 o’clock sun. Perturbed, I stuffed my headphones into my backpack, pressed pause on the “Glass Animals” single I’d been jiving to.
I was met not with an absence of sound, but rather a symphony chaotic and beautiful. The lawnmower’s growl, the chatter of an unknown bird^*2, the croon of the wind. Gravel crunching underfoot. Rustling leaves. Countless critters scurrying to and fro in the swaying grass. An ecosystem of which, I — heedless music listener, gravel stomper — am a part. An ecosystem which I’d been ignoring.
Conditioned by prevailing capitalistic society, I realized I feel (or so I realized post-earbud removal) an unceasing desire to consume: media, music, knowledge, entertainment, food, affection, experiences. Moments of silence — of introspection or calmness or solitude, moments of just being — are vastly underrated. How often do I find myself pausing in my moments of transit to (NO, I am *not* about to employ the silly cliche of ‘stopping to smell the roses’) contemplate an army of ants toting crumbs along a sidewalk? A strand of thistle on the roadside? The dull red glare of sunlight in a mud puddle? Rather than recognizing nature intentionally (as in, murmuring to myself “okay, Lily, we shall now appreciate this tuft of grass”), I’d like to make my awareness of bugs and briars and passing clouds habitual — something as subconscious as itching a particularly itchy spot on my foot. Perhaps that was a strange analogy.
Yes, I’ll continue dancing to my rad bopping tunes. But I’ll also dance (at least inwardly) to the wild, wild cacophony of a June afternoon.
Wow, I really like this piece. You’re a phenomenal writer. The last two paragraphs along with your earlier line: “separated not by distance, but rather by awareness” are what stand out to me the most. I appreciate how (presumably) honest and realistic you are when you don’t say you’ll give up listening to Capitalistic Goods entirely but instead will look to balance the two. I concur the idea to consume and keep consuming is quite problematic. I wonder if awareness of nature, long before any sort of modern day society, was as subconscious as addressing an itch.
I like the idea of tuning into nature, that it has a station, a frequency to turn on and listen to. We understand the words streaming into our ears through the music we enjoy. Do we understand the language of nature. What does that screech mean? What does that chip chipping mean? “Wild cacophony of a June afternoon” is such a wonderful and rhythmic phrase. Delightful post!