Reclaiming Our Silence and Stillness

the case for downshifting in a world that’s constantly accelerating

Since publishing the last essay on my apprenticeship, we’ve unveiled Downshift and the response has been amazing! In the spirit of connection and exploration, we’re hosting a Q&A session this Friday, March 15th, at 12 p.m. EST. During this time, Steve will share a detailed overview of the program and what you can expect if you’re a part of the inaugural cohort.

Would love to see you there! Now without further ado, my essay on reclaiming stillness, a vital initial step to downshifting.

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This morning, I glanced at my stack of unread books and one in particular caught my eye. For a couple years now, Seeing Silence by Pete McBridge has sat untouched, sandwiched between other coffee table photography books, collectively collecting dust.

cover image of Seeing Silence

As I riffled through images of the world’s most quiet places, I couldn’t help but marvel at how rare silence and stillness has become.

Silence is not something traditional communities seek or crave, it is a steady presence woven throughout their daily lives.

Silence, the absence of sound, must now be actively pursued, in the form of earplugs, sensory deprivation chambers, and turning on Do Not Disturb mode. Its once reliable cyclical nature, like the tide rising and falling, has washed away.

Quiet — defined at least, as the absence of man-made cacophony — was, once, a human birthright. When we were small as a species, we didn’t take up much space — the light from our campfires didn’t penetrate too far into the night, and if you stepped outside the circle of the flames you were in the dark. Similarly, if you left the village behind, it grew quiet around you, or at least the noises changed. The background hum of cricket wings took over, or the wind, or the surf. Indeed silence — like the darkness and solitude — was perhaps most easily available to those who had little. Now these things seem like prizes for the affluent.

What was once a birthright is now a luxury. In a world that continues to grow louder and louder, how can we preserve our sense of inner quietude, that calming presence which keeps us grounded?

Mo Money Mo Problems

Armed with modern technology and scientific knowledge, we have never been more capable at solving problems. But as society has become more advanced, new problems have sprouted like weeds after a plentiful rainfall. Although I recognize the usefulness in inventions like noise-cancelling headphones, white noise machines, and blackout curtains, they are only necessary because of modern problems created by other man-made innovations.

Nowadays, we live in concrete jungles where street lights, car horns, and billboards bombard our senses even when we do not consent. For those who reside in rural places or live seasonally, even when we live in quieter places, it can still be difficult to cultivate stillness. No matter where we are, there’s usually something in our ears, strapped to our wrist, or burrowed adjacent to our crotch in our pants pocket that buzzes, glows, and hisses incessantly, seemingly by our own choosing.

We used to stargaze surrounded by the physical warmth of loved ones and the bonfire. Now we eat alone while watching other people eat through a screen. We used to only feel anxious when resources were dwindling or we heard a lion rustling in the nearby brush. Now we feel it whenever we snooze our alarm one too many times or see a late-night Slack notification from our manager, all from the comfort of our duvet-lined bed.

Despite my tirade against tech, I’m not advocating that we tear down our starry cities and toss our phones in the trashcan. The reality is, we are not going back to a society of stillness and silence. The flow of information is speeding up, leading to more mind-clutter and disorientation. The world won’t halt to a standstill. Times Square and Shibuya Crossing will continue to bustle under an umbrella of artificial illumination. I’ll still switch browsers from Chrome to Arc just to shave off milliseconds like an F1 driver.

We may not be able to rewind the passing of time or transform Earth back to its once quieter version, but we still have agency over our internal stillness. The outer world seems to be at the mercy of markets, corporations, and geriatric rulers, but our inner landscape remains protected. (At least until they stick a bunch of Neuralinks on our heads.)

What is this inner silence and stillness that I refer to? Well for starters, you don’t need to be sitting cross-legged in a soundproof room to experience it. Gordon Hempton, an acoustic ecologist, collects natural soundscapes from all over the world, and although his work is at the planetary scale, I find his definition of silence is apt for both the outer and inner worlds.

Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything . . . It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other.

In the absence of noises filled with regret and anxiety, presence emerges. Besides not dwelling on the past or worrying about the future, presence implies, in Steve’s words, “fully perceiving and experiencing the current moment with all our senses.” Cultivating presence is something that I still struggle with. My mind is often adrift, concocting future plans or adding to my mental checklist. But presence is also not completely foreign to me. I have felt fully immersed in “the now” before. Being present is often associated with being still — like in yoga and meditation, but for me, I find my mind can also be still even when my body is moving.

Still Mind, Moving Body

On most days, I live a normal life, sheltered in an insulated box, hunched over a pixelated rectangle. However, on a few occasions, I’ve ventured beyond and had glimpses of pure silence and stillness. Both on the inside and outside.

On a backpacking trip in the wilderness of Denali National Park, the lack of designated trails and fear of grizzly bears demanded my presence. It’s easy for the mind to wander when walking down a sidewalk or driving down a straight road, but when every few steps is a toss up between bushwhacking or crossing a glacial stream, you start to pay attention. I’m glad I did. If I was on my phone or thinking about the future, I might’ve missed the 15 minute window when Denali peak became visible. Apparently only 20% of visitors end up seeing it.

Almost exactly a year later, I found myself in the exact opposite environment on Kauai. For five days and four nights, I solo backpacked along the Na Pali coastline, nestled between cliffs and waves. In the days leading up to this trip, I loaded up my phone with songs, podcasts, and audiobooks, ensuring I had the proper digital rations to never be starved of stimulus. I feared that if I had nothing to listen to or read, then I’d be bored. Back then, I believed that if you strip away the external voices and digital distractions, then what’s left is boredom. A different type of boredom than what I sometimes felt as an only child with no one to play with. The boredom that I once feared as an adult was a sense of incompleteness. That I was not enough. The fear that if I was alone in a room with nothing but my own thoughts, then there would be something missing.

A coincidentally timed phone call with a friend who had just returned from a 10-day Vipassana retreat inspired me to start the hike with my phone turned off. But I was still prepared to boot it up at the first sign of boredom.

After the first day of full-on hiking, I took a couple days to wander and explore. Far away from any signs of civilization or other campers, I entered a cave and grounded myself in the cool sand that had never met the sun. Thoughts came and went, like the crashing waves in the distance. Easing into a state of deep awareness, I could tell how far I was from the droplets of water that dribbled down the cave walls based on the varying pitch and loudness. My sense of time started to shift as my mind emptied. Instead of the anticipated boredom creeping in, I felt whole. I was far away from home, but I didn’t crave or miss anything. The afternoon went by and when I emerged out of the cave, it was golden hour. Walking along the line where land meets ocean, I looked up and saw a double rainbow had appeared. Despite being in the wilderness, I felt a pure sense of security, awe, and humility.

Another year later, I roadtripped back to Wyoming. I was in the middle of marathon training and although it was the eighth month of my sabbatical, I was feeling rushed in life. There was inner tension between the desire to immerse myself in nature and the fear that I couldn’t leave my work behind. So instead of carrying a heavy pack of camping gear like I did the year prior, I stuffed snacks into a day pack for a 20 mile loop up one canyon and down another. After ascending 4,000’ to the top of Paintbrush Canyon, I refueled on an assortment of carbs and mentally prepared for the 11-mile descent.

Even though my intention was to be on my feet moving continuously, breaks were inevitable. When I arrived at Lake Solitude, I remember debating with myself on how long I should rest for. There was a part of me that felt like I was “on the clock” and needed to keep charging forward. I paused for a second and reminded myself where I was and why I came here. The physical challenge of the hike was certainly a factor, but more importantly, I was here to find stillness within nature, after a few busy months of traveling and living in NYC. After finding the perfect spot under a tree, where my butt could sit flat and my back had something to lean on, I took off my sweaty socks and shoes. I still remember how refreshing it was to walk barefoot on sun-warmed boulders by the reflective lake. After a snack break and a quick chat with some fellow hikers, I was back on the trail. In choosing to take a longer break and find stillness, I may have lost some momentum, but I gained presence, which carried with me throughout the rest of the adventure.

For my first time properly trail running, I was careful not to trip over the rocks that lay strewn throughout. But once I got into a rhythm of efficiently rolling one step into the next, I picked up the pace. Without time to think, I dodged incoming rocks and hikers coming the opposite way. I was hurtling downhill on this narrow lane packed with landmines, but in the moment, it was more like boulder ballet. From the outside, my movements looked erratic as I was rarely ever running in a straight line. But on the inside, I felt formless and shapeless, flowing like an effortless river that encounters gravity.

source, I didn’t bring my camera because I knew I would be running

Cultivating Silence and Stillness Daily

These three memories serve as powerful reminders for what presence feels like. Even as I recount these stories, I can feel the residual sensations for what it was like to be in those places. At the same time, I recognize the practical constraints and my other ambitions which has led me to choose NYC as a home. Voluntarily seeking out the chaotic, intense energy of NYC further reinforces the importance of finding stillness within myself. I try to balance the rapid pace of constantly doing something or going somewhere with daily journaling and stretching every evening, but man it’s hard. I know it would be easier to be in presence if I was still in that cave back in Kauai, but I’m also not trying to become a monk.

I’ve started meditating again, after previous short-lived stints, and this time I’m optimistic I’ll be able to stick with it. In my conversations with my coach and mentor Steve, I’ve come to understand the importance of presence for both coaching and general wellbeing. I started working with a meditation coach who happily answers my intellectual questions… even though we both know the real work is in simply being still.

As I look forward to being back in the city again, I’m well aware that my physical environment will rarely ever be quiet, but I also accept that I have the agency to find silence and stillness within myself. Cultivating presence can certainly happen in the Alaskan wilderness or Na Pali coastline, but it can also be found in morning meditation, yoga at St. Mark’s, or running in Central Park. Inner peace can be found in a Hawaiian cave and within the walls of a tiny apartment in Brooklyn that visibly shakes as semis drive by.

What I Am Noticing

These reflections on stillness were prompted in part from embarking on my apprenticeship journey, but also from recent observations. A decent amount of my friends are now entering their next chapter in life. We’ve had a few years now to dabble in the corporate world, save up a few bucks, but also realize that the path we’re on is not the path we want to stay on. In my experience, finding the new path sometimes requires getting off the current path first. It takes time to untangle past stories, shed old identities, and recover from undiagnosed burnout. But all too often, instead of intentionally creating space for silence and stillness, we trudge onwards.

One friend stayed up working until 5am despite having a new job lined up already. Instead of taking time off, she has chosen to forgo any sort of rest, and instead overlap the two jobs for one week.

I caught up with a founder friend who recently wound down their startup. His cofounder immediately went out and recruited for a new job, but he hesitated to. It wasn’t until we were mid-conversation when he realized that he was still burnt out and needed more time to relax.

Another founder, who I’ve never spoken to, recently followed me on Twitter. With “sabbatical” in his bio, I sent a quick DM to say hi and asked what he has been up to. Part of me was intrigued to find out since his startup was acquired, so maybe he was now living it up. Instead he replied, “trying to take a sabbatical / not rush into anything... though not easy to just chill lol”.

With curiosity, I wonder, why is it not easy for us to just chill? Why can we program mind-blowing artificial intelligence algorithms and forecast profitability for complicated businesses, but not know how to be still?

An Invitation

Since going on sabbatical over a year ago, my aperture has been widening to other forms of self-exploration and rest during periods of transition. Over the coming years, I predict there will be a greater awareness of the broad selection of non-work to choose from. From sabbaticals to think weeks to retreats to other forms of experimentation with work, new modalities, experiences, and businesses will be formed for people to guide themselves or be guided during periods of transition.

I’m excited to share that I’m taking part in this prediction! Since starting my apprenticeship, I’ve been helping Steve with Downshift, an 8-week decelerator program to help high performers cultivate presence, self-discovery, and renewal.

I may be biased, but I’m stoked for Downshift because I think something like this is much needed in today’s world. It’s unfortunate that a private equity investor will admit that the only thing they think they’re good at is investing, but be unwilling to take the time to slow down and discover more about themselves. It’s unfortunate that a lawyer keeps Tylenol in their work bag for the headaches that occur on the occasional 14-hour days. It’s unfortunate that a hedge fund investor who wants out is convinced his only option is shelling out for b-school when he already knows his heart isn’t in it. These are not fables; these are recent recollections.

In a better future that I envision, it will be okay to admit when we’re feeling lostness or burnt out instead of grinding harder and moving faster. And when we do admit that we’re lost, there will be people, places, and communities there to welcome us. Creating this future will be a long journey and my initial role in this will be helping to build Downshift, the world’s first decelerator program.

The first Downshift cohort will start on April 17th with a two-day retreat in upstate New York, followed by 8 weeks of virtual workshops, guest lectures, exercises, and plenty of resources to go along. We’re doing a free Q&A session this Friday and if you already know this type of intentional community is for you, apply here! If financial constraints are a concern, I’d encourage you to still apply because we offer scholarships. Hope to see your face at the Q&A or your application in my inbox ✌️.

Lastly, I’m starting to coach on a 1:1 basis. You might be feeling stuck in your current job, recently laid off, or feeling lost in general. If you’re feeling the need to get still, let’s chat!

If you’re feeling especially resistant to the idea of slowing down, consider this: It is only through stillness that we arrive at presence. Only then can we find the awareness that leads us to rediscover our agency. Stillness, presence, awareness, agency. These are the foundational building blocks to creating a life that is yours. They also happen to be the four phases of Downshift 😊.