On spending time without my headphones.

I realised only recently that I had spent the last four years of my life with my headphones on for most of the day. Walking out of the door to work or uni ? Put headphones on and listen to an album. Pile of dishes to clean ? Catch up on a witty podcast. Hard time falling asleep ? Listen to an audiobook. In my own auditory bubble canceling the noise from the outside I conducted a symphony of my own choosing. Late nights walks from a party sounded like an acoustic John Martyn album, the train to work had a 90’s hip hop vibe, buses were my jazz space. It wasn’t only my commute, living alone allowed me plenty of occasions to consume more, no task was too small for some audio stimulation.

I can still remember my first pair of decent over ear headphones at the age of thirteen. I wore those out until they could not be repaired. I played games, listened to music, watched movies and videos with them on. I now had a space of my own, a little environment I could control and that belonged only to me. I had access to the internet and the obsessive and nerdy kid that I was realised how much cool shit there was out there. It did not help that this was around 2010 when the internet was a wild and wonderful place. There was a time when you still needed to actively look for the information you wanted, you had to work to get an answer. Spending nights researching specific guitar recordings, watching all kinds of tutorials, reading forums with music on, I became great at finding always more interesting, more salient things to watch and listen. Today most of that new engaging content is served to me on a silver platter all day long, at the press of a button. A machine so well oiled, every detail engineered to reduce friction, its sight on one metric : keeping the user engaged. And I was engaged.

I have never been much of a scroller, standing from my noise-canceling-hifi-high-horse I even judged the Tiktok crowd and the Instagram junkies. I never was a visually oriented person, I guess I am just lucky this type of media never had a strong pull on me. I would often watch most of a public bus spend their morning commute time scrolling their eyes raw on reels, from the kid whose hands are too small for his gigantic phone to the mother of two ignoring her stroller. A Mike Stern solo blasting in my ears I observed. Every generation staring at a piece of glass, their head bowed while out of the windows flowed the french Alps. Occasionally I would cross gaze with a fellow listener or more seldom someone who was simply present, without distraction. There is a split second human connection, a simple recognition. Only an instant but an instant that technology would have robbed me of.

Audio is convenient, you can be engaged in all sorts of tasks and still consume it. In the golden age of podcasts and audiobooks it has become an amazing learning medium. From neuroscience to history, philosophy and design there is a really good resource to listen to. How amazing is it that we can listen to world experts explain their fields of work in an long and uncut deep conversation ? How can any curious person not be drowning in a sea of relevant and useful information ? Youtube was my drug. I would devour a three hours podcast on the mechanisms of neurotransmitters, I would gobble up a classical guitar masterclass shot on tape in the 80’s then I’d listen to an entire discography. The problem with learning is that it calls for more specific learning. Once you understand any basic subject, your needs become more precise, you seek more advanced knowledge. That constant hunt for new interesting bits became my daily life, when I was not listening and watching I was gathering new useful things to later engage with. In the name of a great idea, the pursuit of knowledge, I locked myself into a digital prison of my own creation.

It took a conversation with a close friend to make me question my habits. As I was defending the virtues of not engaging with social media with such vehemence it made me investigate my legitimacy in such claims. Am I really free of the shackles I so easily point at other people’s ankle ? That question pulsed quietly in the back of my mind as I went on with my day, headphones on surrounded by more music, more words. Only the next day did it hit me. On a train at night, watching my two carriage companions under the bleak light with AirPods on, slouching over their respective screens. The scene suddenly looked absurd.

I took my headphones off.

The noise was uncomfortable, I had forgotten how much rattle a train made. Getting out at the next station the cold assailed my ears so used to a leather cushion. As I stood there awkwardly waiting for my connection my attention was grabbed by a conversation. Train platforms were usually accompanied by a very different type of soundtrack. One I chose depending on my mood. I would never hear conversations. In my world other people had become silent, every stranger only a visual representation. That basic conversation about office life and uncomfortable shoes drew me in like nothing had in a long time. I eavesdropped shamelessly to hear what Pierre had to say about the new intern, what the Berlin trip would be like. These people were strangers yet I passively shared an indirect moment in contact with their lives. They were not only shapes on the train platform anymore, they had become persons. Persons I hadn’t interacted with and that I will never see again but persons with a story. A story that technology would have robbed me of.

For the next few days I made a decision, to stop using my headphones when I engaged in another activity. At first the idea of doing a daily chore without auditory distraction was painful. I watched myself unconsciously walk toward my headphones and thinking about what I would listen to while cleaning my bathroom only to stop at the last second and face the discomfort. I went on walks without the familiar weight of those cans on my head and felt diminished for a second, a part of my usual self missing. Every addict knows the pull of the coveted substance. The familiar tune that only you can hear emanating from a pack of cigarettes or a box of medications. You have danced to its rhythm for so long you truly have become crazy for those that could not hear the music. So I shut my ears wide open and ignored the call for escapism, I refused to dance. I walked outside listening to the sounds of the city for the first time in what felt like years. I washed dishes, went shopping, commuted all to the sounds of the real world and of my own thoughts.

My inner voice seemed timid at first, it had lost the space to speak. Bathing in other people’s ideas and music I had forgotten my own. Slowly at first then with a fury contained for too long my own interior world came rushing to my awareness. Ideas, memories, melodies were running wild enjoying their newfound freedom. They flowed like a tumultuous river when the dam uphill finally breaks. I was reunited with a friend I had lost long ago, myself. My escape of what I thought was the outside world revealed itself to be a flee from my own voice. In my defence, my monkey brain hasn’t been my most supportive ally. Shutting it up only seemed like the healthy thing to do. Alas, locking it up in a stereo-surround cage never removed its weight from my back. Setting it free allowed for the rebuilding of a healthier relationship. Now a great listener I could actually pay it the attention it deserved and with care heal our shared wounds.

I had not realised how much of a strong do-not-disturb signal wearing headphones sent. The amount of people I interacted with when out and about without them astounded me. I had a long heartfelt chat about dogs with a fellow afternoon walker, I shared jokes with a cashier, I learned about the history of the city from a lovely old lady. There is no shortage of amazing humans in this world and I am slowly waking up to the tragedy of shutting them off. This tragedy we all play a part in by turning inward, navel gazing with the help of our godlike technological tools. So absorbed we are in our digital pointless meanderings that we won’t acknowledge a fellow human being. Watching other people from afar, pretending to have a life worth living, we walk away from our own. We wonder about meaning yet never spend a minute alone with our thoughts. Spoon-fed by the algorithm we turn mentally obese, triggered by our echo chambers we become radicalised to ideas that aren’t even ours.

My thirst for knowledge has not leaved me. I have not got rid of my amazing Bowers and Wilkins Px7, I still love them to bits for what they are : a tool. Just like any tool they should serve a purpose, an intention. I still listen to some of the podcasts I love, I still obsessively play some tracks on repeat and enjoy a great audiobook. I just apply myself to being intentional, carefully choosing a moment dedicated to listening and listening only. Most of my days are now accompanied by the soundtrack of the world, avoiding distractions I feel more present. I actually look forward to long silent walks, alone with my thoughts and open to my surroundings, they feel like a special place in my busy life. I wonder at the amount of ideas I now have, maybe I had them all along but couldn’t hear them under the constant hum of distraction. I am no monk advocating for reclusion, I feel blessed to live in a time with easy access to more knowledge and art than I could ever engage with. I simply refuse to let myself be absorbed.

In a world of entertainment it is a super power to embrace boredom for it is the soil on which your uniqueness grows. Spending time without my headphones I realised, the true music of life is painted on a canvas of silence.