Telluride Times, Thursday, December 26, 2025

“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.” – Rumi

Remember, just a short time ago –15-20 years, say — when it was considered rude for someone to be talking on their cell phone at the grocery store? I specifically recall my own indignation when a person in the dairy section was out loud oversharing personal, day-to-day details. Please, lady, stop with your friend gossip and your chocolate chip cookie ingredients?

Way back then, even grocery stores constituted a kind of low-level quiet shared space where one might hear queries or brief interactions but not much else. Now of course, the geography has changed dramatically, and we have changed with it. I could very well be that person with a ringing phone or answering it in a public space; in fact, most people could. With fewer spaces offering real quiet, it is harder to mirror this within ourselves. Ambient noise is the going soundtrack.

But sometimes — for a moment, maybe a few very long seconds — the world stops spinning, going relentlessly forward with the volume on, flashing and distracting and sucking us in.

In these moments of quiet, we might realize, for example, that we are holding our shoulders up, then drop them and take a deeply quenching breath. We might stop in the forest at a bird’s crystalline call, splitting the silence in two. Or hear ocean waves, lapping gently, drawing us into deeper rhythms. I think of these moments as gifts, essential acts of grace we may or may not be lucky enough to receive.

Some time ago, in the very early morning hours, wide awake, I wandered over to the bedroom window holding my phone, who knows why. I pulled back the curtains, looked out, and thought, as I often do at this hour, “Why on Earth am I awake?”  (For this reason and my attempted fixes, I am targeted by every conceivable marketer of supplements, meditation and white noise apps, and cognitive behavioral therapy geared to 3 a.m. insomniacs….)

In the moment, having no expectations at the window other than seeing white pin-prick stars against the black velvet, what came next surprised me. My phone, out of nowhere, started playing a song I had forgotten I’d ever downloaded, called “Be Still my Soul,” the acapella version sung by a boys’ choir. Because I’d forgotten, I thought the music was literally beaming out of my palm, like magic, to help me through the moment. Be still and wait, be still and listen, just be still. Stop reacting, trying to fix. It’s OK that you’re awake staring out into the night: In fact, it’s probably fantastic.

The benefits of stillness appear throughout the mind-body health spectrum, spanning mental and emotional wellness to the physical body and nervous system, as well. We work to calm, still, or empty the mind, averting cognitive overload and leaving space for insight.

The heart, in stillness, can feel emotions and release them more quickly. In a state of quiet, the body lowers cortisol, and the nervous system finds safety. There is no doubt, for the purposes of greater wellbeing, that being able to encounter and even create stillness is a tool for the ages, but especially this age.

Though the majority of us who live in the mountains consider nature the greatest and most potent cleanser of modern-day noise, we still have to deal with the default level of internal restlessness fed to us daily by the world at large. So here are a few ideas for checking into stillness after the holidays, during the holidays or whenever you can.

Stay physically very still for just a few minutes — without multitasking. (Look out a window with no agenda.)

Remove one source of input for a defined period. (Silence your phone for five minutes or turn it off completely.)

Block calendar time with absolutely no phone. (Label it “free analog” time.)

Shift attention to one sensory anchor. (Mindful breathing or listen to every sound around you.)

Meet restlessness by accepting discomfort, learning to resist distraction. (When restless, sink profoundly into boredom.)

We can think of stillness as any bit of calm we are able to experience, at any given moment. It is available pretty much all the time — as long as we linger long enough to recognize it.