On full blast!

The pounding outside the house was loud and constant. Workers were digging up the neighborhood updating the fiber optic lines and one worker operating a loud jackhammer (I believe it’s called a pneumatic drill in the rest of the world) seemed to be coming from the next room, even though he was far down the street.

I shut the door to my office and cringed, annoyed by the distraction. I needed to get a ton of work done before noon and, of course, I found it difficult to concentrate. I needed to send out several important emails, but I was finding it difficult to write the most basic of sentences.

I tried to write, but the best I could get out was a caveman-esque, “Me say hello, me want to communicate with you.”

Waking up the dead

I’ve noticed lately how our concentration sometimes is right where it needs to be and, then other times, how the slightest noise or change can shake us to the core and give us problems. Forget about monster trucks and construction equipment rumbling through my quiet neighborhood.

Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.

The jackhammer had been loud previously, but it now seemed to push the noise up a few notches. I contemplated going outside and giving the workers a piece of my mind, but I knew it wouldn’t do much good, they were just doing their jobs. Plus, I thought I might come across a few dead bodies roaming the street, you know, the dead woken up from their graves by the loud noise. I’m kidding about the zombies, but certainly not the noise.

A jackhammer is comparable to a revving motorcycle and can reach as high as 130 decibels. In comparison, safety experts caution that noises above 70 decibels over a prolonged period of time can damage your hearing.

“Just go away,” I thought to myself.

Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat.

For crying out loud

I tried to start up again on my work. I closed my eyes, kept them shut, and typed out what was in my head. When I opened my eyes again, I had three misspellings, two extra spaces, and a bunch of gibberish, but I was making progress. At least, I had something, no matter how pitiful, on the screen.

I worked some more, until another jackhammer or engine started up. This one was more of a steady dah-whoop, dah-whoop, dah-whoop. With this addition, I had the makings of a real band. 

Rat-a-tat, dah-whoop, rat-a-tat, dah-whoop, rat-a-tat, dah-whoop.

I listened some more. Yes, yes, the music producer in me started to get excited. I just needed to get creative. If you threw in a little bass guitar and a hip, up-and-coming lead singer, we could be playing at your local hole in the wall bar come Friday night.

“Let’s hear it now for our new band, kicking off their world tour, for the first time ever, let’s hear it for Brian and the Decibels!”

The sound of silence

A few minutes later, I noticed something. I stopped to make sure I was hearing it right. It was silence. There was no rumbling, no trucks in neutral, it was pure solitude. The workers seemed done for the day. I felt like how I suspect Paul Simon of Simon and Garfunkel fame felt when he first came up with the song The Sound of Silence in the darkness of his bathroom.

“Hello, darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.”

Yes, yes, dear old friend, good old sweet silence. Of course, I sat back down and prepared to dive into my work again. I even gave myself a pep talk. I was going to knock the ball out of the park. Or so I thought. Of course, I sat at my desk and I couldn’t thinking of anything to write. I came up empty again.

What could be the problem now?

It was too quiet. 

Images by Pixabay.