We live in a world filled with noise, both the noise we generate internally from all of our mind chatter, and the externally created noise we are confronted with at the moment we awake. There is soundless noise, and there is loud, obtrusive, and incessant noise, which is not merely an alert, but a demand, or an instrument of torture.
My boyfriend and I are of the same persuasion. Certain noises, unfortunately present in everyday life, make us want to do bad things to total strangers, like throw a brick through the windshield of a car whose alarm is going off for no damned reason at all.
Take, for example, a lovely Sunday afternoon in Antigua, Guatemala exploring the ruined portion of a cathedral. There is a working church on the site, and followers are praying and chanting and singing in the Sunday mass, and a breeze is picking up the ash dumped by Fuego days ago and shaping it into churlish clouds. Fractured baroque architecture hangs above, incomplete and covered in soot and dust, and absolute lovely for everything it was and is no longer.
There are birds, and worshippers, and ruins and the moment is one to fold up and put into a tin of memories. Until a freaking car alarm goes off. And continues to go off. Not for a little while, but for the next 20 minutes.
The spell is broken. We speed through the fetishes and votives, and flee from the jarring WAH WAH WAH of the car alarm, which we discover is attached to a new Black Mercedes parked in a handicapped spot though there are no plates or papers or placards denoting a need for handicapped accessibility of any kind. What’s worse, is that the doors of the church have been open during the entire mass and the car is parked not 50 feet away directly in front of them.
No one comes out. No one has made a move to turn off their screeching car alarm even though, one could surmise, the owner of the car is sitting right there.
Another example lurks within the walls of our own home. Suspect No. 1: the microwave. Why does a microwave have to yell when it’s done? We live in the age of advancing technology, of coding geniuses. Why can’t we have chimes, or our favorite song, or how about a simple text message to say ‘hey, I made something for you and you might want to get it out of my belly and into your belly now’? Why does it have to beep that jarring beep better suited for a real emergency, like fire or smoke? And it’s not just one beep. Four, or if you’re unlucky five, angry trill declarations will resound upon completion of the warming task. The frequency of the beep is not the only thing that drives us crazy, it’s the pitch, too. [Aside: there was a New York Times article about what sound drives people crazy. A certain kind of baby cry, and a specific cat yowl had an equitable effect on helping people lose their rationale minds.]
Our coffee maker announces itself in this same attention seeking way. It beeps when it’s finished brewing, and again three hours later when it decides the coffee in the thermal carafe is no longer drinkable.
I do understand these features, particularly on kitchen appliances, are desirable for some people. I yield; however, a little extra engineering would give the rest of us an option to be free from beeping.
But now, one of my biggest nail-biting, head banging, ear gouging stimulus: lip-smacking, openmouthed chewing. This, more than car alarms, microwaves and coffee makers, makes me want to navigate the world with my ears stuffed with wax.
Other people don’t have the same sensitivity to this, and for the longest time I thought I was the crazy weirdo with super hearing. As it turns out, I’m probably only misophonic. Yep. Thanks to another New York Times article, I have diagnosed myself with this syndrome, which is so pervasive it is actually a syndrome with its own name. Selective sound sensitivity syndrome (i.e. misophonia) is suspected when a person (like me) has an acute negative emotional response to specific stimuli. The sounds of eating and fidgeting are popular triggers. The response? Annoyance, irritation and on the other end of the spectrum, actionable anger (the term sounded more pleasant than rage) and panic attacks. I wonder if Hieronymus Bosch was afflicted by something like this.
We are impacted by the noises in our environment. Car horns and alarms, speeding engines and squealing tires, arguments and anger. And what do these sounds, or the sounds of gun shots, bombs, or the cries of someone in pain do to us? These frequencies ripple through our world. They reshape us in the moment, and sometimes beyond. We become to attuned to them; we bend to their peaks and troughs. From this perspective, consider the importance of silence. Consider the critical nature of laughter, music, the sounds of the wind and birds and rain, and the joy the voice holds when we discover and wonder at something.