May I Make A Suggestion? Listen.

The darkest and most difficult period of my life were the two years that I lived with my mom as she progressed from early to middle stage Alzheimer’s dementia. I lived in a state of constant despair. My son, Berry, was in elementary school and, I hope that one day I can forgive myself for his suffering. I thank God for my boss at the time. I was leaving work constantly to either collect my mother from some kind person who found her walking around confused and disoriented or to speak with the principal after Berry caused an uprising in defense of someone or some perceived attack at school. I still get anxious when I think about who I was then. After those two years, I picked up an old habit of running. These mini-flights away from home became my therapy. I woke early on the weekends and I would go for miles, for hours, releasing the breath that I had been holding in when I was trying to keep it together. I always ran with noise in two forms of medium: music or long form podcasts. When my music became disruptive, I would turn to a podcast about health and wellness. I was running from my mom’s illness while gathering information to spot the signs of Alzheimer’s trying to catch me. That music, those podcasts propelled me on my routes. I felt like I was flying, barely touching the pavement and never giving my brain a break from the noise.

I stopped running a year ago when it started to feel more like work than freedom. It became a chore, so I stopped. Now, I take long walks. I am blessed with several tree-lined trails nearby that chase creeks and rivers and touch the perimeters of peaceful lakes. My favorite trail is a 9 ½ mile loop located one block from my home that borders a reservoir and weaves in and out of wooded areas and busy arterials. I have created music playlists for all of the trails, but this is my Sunday trail and the mix is composed of my favorite gospel songs that send me through a series of emotions. It hits differently when I am surrounded by structures that man did not create, walking on dirt and rocks, hearing the voices of men and women who are testifying about God’s greatness. It is miraculous. I have a few rest stops along the way. I take my time. It takes over three hours to make the loop.

In springtime there is movement in the enclaves, and birdsong in the trees. The flowers are glorious. In this season, I removed my headphones to listen to the gifts of nature. It was difficult. It was boring. I was not impressed with the vibrancy of the birdsong. Birds cannot compete with Yolanda Adams telling me she has talked to God on my behalf, but I was ready to experience some peace, and that requires sacrifice. In the beginning, I increased my speed to reach the high traffic areas, using the excuse of loud vehicles to get back to my headphones. When I admitted that trick to myself, I slowed down and leaned in. The sounds were inconstant and variable; rustling tree leaves, running water, scattering rodents, bustling deer, and the silence in between. I was listening to songs of a different world; some so strange, I would stop to try and locate the origin and some that made me put some pep in my step as a precaution. But all were offering me an awareness that was new. I felt that listening would change me if I committed to gaining access to this treasure every time I went for a walk, so that was the plan.

After months of receiving the lesson, it is still difficult to pause the music or the podcast when I am on the trails. I still resist silence, but I stay devoted to the practice and I bring home the goodie bag that has transformed my communication style. No longer am I quick to think that I understand what others are going through. I am gaining patience, and I listen to the silence between words. I am learning to shut up sometimes and I appreciate the peace that accompanies my stillness. When I was running, I used the podcasts and playlists to quiet my thoughts. Now, I am walking and I allow my thoughts the freedom to float about unhindered, evolving into ideas and stories and purpose.