Having spent more than ten years in South Korea, it’s only recently that I’ve come to realize just how noisy life here can be. From the cheerful little “bing-bong” every time someone hits the “stop” button on a city bus, to sing-song announcements, the beeping of transit card scans, and the sound of soju-fueled karaoke sessions echoing through the alleyways—there’s K-pop blasting out of every corner, and the rapid change of tunes as delivery bikes zoom past.
Upon reflection, constant noise has been a steady backdrop throughout my adult years. Unbeknownst to me, it provided a peculiar sort of company, helping me fend off loneliness. It started back in my post-university days when I was just making ends meet with jobs I didn’t really enjoy. Evenings were filled with the ambient noise of “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit,” which I played endlessly. It wasn’t about the storyline; it was about the comforting background chatter of Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler closing in on wrongdoers.
Fast forward a few years in Korea, and I was in a better place mentally, yet I still craved distraction from the reality of my life—a hefty $60,000 in student loans and a persistent sense of impostor syndrome. My solution? I invested in all ten seasons of “Friends,” letting the familiar squabbles of Ross and Rachel play in the background, offering a break from the inner critic nagging me about my mediocrity and mounting debt.
The 2016 U.S. election intensified my noise habit. I constructed a makeshift surround sound system for my iPhone, ensuring that segments from MSNBC or CNN filled every silent gap—from morning showers to evening chores. I became intimately familiar with the voices of news anchors and reporters.
While my surroundings were rarely quiet, it took me until 2023 to truly notice. During a solo writing retreat—a deliberate escape from home distractions—I picked up fiction writing again after over a decade, and it was liberating. I felt creatively accomplished for the first time in ages. However, the real epiphany was still to come.
Once at home, the noise barrage picked up where it left off. It wasn’t until I stood in the shower one day, without any noise playing, that I recognized the value of silence. As thoughts freely flowed, bringing a surge of ideas for fiction and pitches for publications, I realized I had been drowning my creativity in an ocean of sound. The need for a change hit me hard.
The truth was stark: the constant noise was sapping my productivity. Projects took twice as long, and fresh ideas were a rarity. We all understand that excessive sound can have adverse effects; noise pollution is linked to ailments like heart disease, hypertension, and even lower birth weight. A researcher fittingly termed our sound obsession as “aural litter,” likening it to discarded fast-food wrappers cluttering our environment.
While I’m no expert, it appears evident that as we immerse ourselves in incessant noise, we distance ourselves from meaningful interaction. Our relationships with others become secondary to podcasts and news updates as we seek external stimulation over introspection. This leads us to overlook our inner voices—those that fuel our creativity, choices, and perception of the world.
Awareness of my noise dependency was the catalyst for change. I’ve cut down on YouTube, left my phone out of the shower, skipped news during chores, and removed earbuds on my commutes. When I need some background at work, I’ll stick to instrumental music or, better yet, work at a coffee shop to enjoy natural ambiance. At times, I indulge in silence, letting my thoughts meander and experience the profound impact it’s had on my writing.
On election night 2024, while visiting Times Square in New York City, I tuned out the election chaos, using a “no news” focus on my phone to preserve the tranquility I had embraced. These small changes were more enlightening than anticipated: I found I needed—no, deeply desired—silence in my life. My creativity thrives on it. Opting for silence can still be challenging, but the rewards outweigh the desire for constant sound.
