Sound. It’s all around. In every action, in every object, in every word, in every moment. There is a sound to go with texture, a sound that goes with taste, a sound that goes with everything we see. I was keenly aware of sound the other day: of what I heard, of the things I had been hearing and knowing for thirty years. I was this aware, because someone was hearing for the first time that day.

I saw a friend of mine recently and immediately I noticed something was different. Before I even got out a “hello,” he was bursting with good news—his girlfriend could hear..for the first time ever! He spoke through a smile that I swore stretched all the way around to the back of his head; a smile that was as irrepressible as the sun bursting through clouds after storm; I could barely make out what he was saying at first. Then I remembered. He had told me how there was this new technology which would allow a deaf person to now hear more than technology has allowed in the past. I was almost tearful the first time he spoke about it and now—oh what a celebration it was! Words worthy enough can hardly be conjured to describe such a moment of awe and wonder.

My mind reeled as I thought about sound, as I thought about what it would be like to hear for the first time, as I thought about this new world of hearing for this woman.

As I went through my day—and even now—I think about
the sound of keys clicking on my keyboard
the fan whirring cool breeze
the crickets chirping their evensong
sirens blaring through the night
breeze through trees whispering
the muffle of paper towel unrolling and the zip of a sheet torn off
the rumble of tires on textured pavement
the ring of my singing bowl
the crackle of power lines
the tinking of water dripping on a pipe
the echo of a sink draining
the melody of a voice floating through windows open
the rumble of large trucks
the pop of a motorcycle
the fizz of soda
the creak of a door
the beep of an alarm
the hum of the cd changer
the whine of windshield wipers
the splattering of rain on a pond
the clamor of dishes colliding
the sizzle of a pot boiling over
the scrape of a razor on skin shaving
the rattle of pills in a bottle
the squeak of a Styrofoam container
the clang of glasses raised to Cheers
the sound of a symphony
the hush of dawn

Then I thought of silence. The power of silence comes only in contrast to sound. I think about the power of silence in a conversation, in a song, in the midst of grief, after a storm, before a first breath—here silence is its own kind of sound.

But it’s different when silence is all you know. When words on hands are danced skillfully before you, when music is not heard but felt and the rhythm beats through your body like a pulse; it’s different when silence denotes neither good nor bad but merely is.

And so, as I think about this woman hearing for the first time, I offer up a psalm of thanks for all that I am able to hear each moment—sounds that wake me up, sounds that warn me of danger, sounds that move my soul, sounds that help me communicate, sounds that make me laugh, sounds that elicit every emotion on the spectrum, sounds that make up my life.