>The Silence

>Starting two days ago, I began what I am calling a Silence, and I think that it is something that everybody needs to try. What happens is pretty simple, actually: I am cutting out all superfluous noise in my life for two weeks in an attempt to fill my head less with what other people are creating or saying and replacing it with what I'm creating.

I started work on a new album and I have been having a terrible time giving it a unique touch, and it dawned on me that this is because I have everybody else's ideas floating around. So I'm taking a break from the deluge of extraneous thoughts and doing everything I can to start fresh. Zeroing the scales. Resetting the status quo.

Doing this has already affected me: when I'm driving in silence, I roll the windows down and let God serenade my ears with the sounds of whatever's chirping or whirring or purring or chugging or sputtering along outside of my car. I let myself get lost in the sound of my engine as I shift from first to second, second to third, third to fourth. I hear the people in the cars next to me talking to their spouses, best friends, lovers, sisters, teachers, doctors; I hear white kids blaring Rihanna and black kids blaring Nirvana and the sun helps me see that this world is a more beautiful place than I originally realized. My thoughts have drifted away from myself and I begin thinking about where the person in the green cadillac is headed, where the lady driving the red F-150 lives, if the girl in the blue Bug knows that I can hear her belting Avril Lavigne from across the intersection.

Atticus Finch only said half of it when he told Scout to see what it's like walking in another man's shoes. You can't just walk in their shoes, you have to deprive yourself of your own shoes. Once you take yours off, it's that much easier to slip into somebody else's.

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.