Chicago does not lend itself to quiet moments. Most of the time horns are honking, people are shouting across a crowded street and an airplane is flying overhead to land at one of the airports in the near vicinity. Quiet never comes.
This morning I was walking to my usual bus stop in the heart of the city’s Little Italy neighborhood that is more little than Italy these days. As I was about to cross the street, a siren became audible from a few blocks away. Another delightful symphony produced by city life. At first, the cars and pedestrians around me were hesitant but continued to their destinations knowing that they still had moments before they would have to stop to let this ambulance pass.
As the flashing emergency vehicle approached the intersection that I was standing at, a rare thing happened. Everything, everyone stopped. I had always seen this happen, obviously, since the law requires you to stop at the sound or sight of such a vehicle, but I never noticed the quiet that results. Now I’m not talking about actual quiet, since the blaring siren was loud enough to urge the woman next to me to hide her ears beneath her hands trying to produce a type of faux-earplug.
The quiet that surrounded us at that intersection was the quiet of a crisis.
I have only experienced a few crises in my life, but they all produce that same still yet acute quiet that I saw on the corner this morning. Cars came to a halt, people walking on the streets instinctively stopped their movement and looked at the approaching vehicle, the world for a second became completely centered around this ambulance. Centered around this symbol of unrest, of emergency.
Such a quiet is not peaceful for it stirs within you a worry for the outcome, a desperation for resolution, and an anticipation of its passing. Crisis in life can come as an unexpected death, the recurrence of an illness, the dissolution of a relationship, the loss of a job, or the questioning of your own purpose. Crisis can look different, but crisis always results in the same. A chaotic quiet.
A quiet that is self-centered, survival focused. One of my crises was my own acceptance of my on-going battle with anxiety and depression. For months, my life was like that scene at the intersection. Nothing else moved or mattered except my sickness. No one existed except myself in relation to this crisis. Everyone and everything revolved around navigating around my own crisis. But see, unlike the ambulance that speeds quickly past freeing the surrounding world to return to its noise and routine, crisis feels like a slow motion switch has been hit and you are waiting, watching, hoping that the ambulance passes next week, next month, next year.
Crisis is an unbearable quiet that demands not only your attention but your entire world. As I was waiting this morning, thinking about this idea, though, I became encouraged in a way that only a person not experiencing such a crisis at the moment can. I was encouraged by the passing of such quiet and the world resuming to its own rhythm and pace. For it always does.
Yet during a crisis you can’t see that. You spend most of your energy reorganizing your life around this crisis that you get to the point where you can’t even imagine losing that quiet in your life. You begin to love the self-focused quiet. But that quiet fades. And you return to a more aware world where things happen that are good and bad but that are, in the end, bigger than yourself. And you find equilibrium within the noise once more.
We must remember that equilibrium when crisis is far away. We must learn to live in this noise without the fear of yet another pause of crisis. We must learn that crisis is not a permanent state, but it is, just like the ambulance, just a passing moment of stillness, of navigation, and of quiet.
Such an idea reminded me of one of my favorite songs, Comes and Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell. As you listen to this song and read the lyrics, remember that life changes, it is fleeting, it is filled with both noise and quiet. But what this song reminds us of most importantly is that you are not alone in this silence. All around are other people preparing for crisis, in their own crisis, or emerging from a crisis. We must take heart.
Comes and Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell posted on youtube by GregLaswellMusic.