There is a quiet place I carry with me, I wrote once. The words still hang on an index card beside my desk. No matter where I go, or how busy my life has been, or how many distractions I feel around me, that quiet place is there if I pause and wait for it. 

But so many things bombard that quiet place: Motherhood, because children cannot always be gotten away from. Marriage, because I voluntarily surrender some of my space for the fulfillment of intimacy. 

Smart phones.

“I’m so busy, I don’t read much anymore,” I told a friend recently. 

“But is it because you have a smart phone?” she asked. She does not. 

Her question got me thinking. In The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture, Shane Hipps writes that media is not just a neutral carrier of information. Rather, the shape of our media shapes our brains. 

An illustration: The print revolution ushered in modernity. Long chains of words read alone nurtured abstract thinking and independent reasoning. Society swung toward logic, formulas, individualism, answers for everything. 

Now, in a postmodern era guided by the graphic (visual, less focused on the written word) revolution, we are coming full circle to the intuitive, evocative mindset of medieval times. 

Considering this, I consider my smart phone. 

Is it true I don’t read anymore because I’m too busy? Or has something fundamental changed about my brain? Because not only do I read less, I engage with books differently. The story no longer immerses me, pulls me into itself. Now I am an onlooker, skimming for information, taking away tidbits to think about. 

Is this because I am an adult moored in real-life responsibilities? Or is it because my brain is constantly scrolling, continuing the motion of my screen?  

The motion of our scroll mirrors the motion of our society, caught in perpetual rush hour. 

“I go for movies over books,” an aunt of mine commented once. “I don’t have time to read a book, but I can watch the movie of it in an hour.” 

A book in an hour, like a fast-food version of thought itself. 

“We are the first generation walk­ing Planet Earth that doesn’t have reg­ular access to solitude,” said Carlos Whitaker, author of Reconnected (reviewed in AW, October 2024), in a podcast. A 2017 study shows we scroll through more information in the 30 minutes before bed and after waking than our great-grandparents consumed in a month. 

In his quest to become less attached to his phone, Whitaker spent ­seven weeks screen-free. His time in a mon­astery, with an Amish family and with his own family soon moved from being an experiment about technology to an experiment in community, solitude, wonder and other aspects of being human. 

Amazingly, tests before and after revealed that Whitaker’s memory moved from being in the 50th percentile for a man his age to the 99th. Five years of healing in seven weeks, the neurologist told him. 

Studies show that just the presence of a phone lying face down on a desk reduces working memory and cognitive performance. I know it reduces my presence with my family to hear a notification beep in the middle of a family hike. And often, in the middle of a busy day, I open my screen to complete one task and am bombarded by so many distractions I forget why I’m there. Even trips to the toilet become opportunities to check my messages or order that item from Amazon. 

Is the price of convenience no chance to rest?

I am not the only one feeling jaded and overwhelmed. Flip phones are making a comeback with Gen Z — a move I seriously considered making. But in the end, I decided against it. Not yet. My smart phone is integrated into every part of my life. Photos. Recipes. Calendar. Family chat.  

Here’s what I’m trying instead to make more space for quiet:

Turning off notifications.

Checking messages at designated times instead of whenever I have a free minute. 

Buying physical clocks for the spaces where I need to be aware of time. 

Deleting some apps.

Going physical when practical, like printing out favorite recipes. 

Whitaker tells his students to practice one hour of silence a week. No phone, no book, no journal. Just sitting and seeing what emerges. I’d like to try that.

I have begun taking time out in the middle of my day to read. Books.  

And I try more often to do one thing at a time. Making pie and just . . .
making pie. Not talking to a friend or listening to an audiobook. Enjoying the feel of soft dough beneath my fingers, the thump of a rolling pin on the counter. A child or two watching, entering the experience with me. 

This, maybe, is the sound of silence.