Silence 🗞️ Slow News Day #87

Hey,

“Dan really did live his life like Fatback [his dog]. He got up when we wanted, lay down when he wanted, spoke when he wanted, stayed silent when he wanted. Unlike white people, he never explained his actions, or announced when he was going to do something, no matter how abrupt it might seem.”

So writes Kent Nerburn in Neither Wolf nor Dog.

Nerburn and I both agree – modern-day mythologising about Native American mysticism isn’t pretty or useful. His writing captures the ordinariness and difference in American and Native American cultures.

I’m not writing this to proselytise or prove any worthiness, I’m writing to share that lovely thought: being more doglike. I think my second ever newsletter was about watching a dog pick itself up off the floor and head to its water bowl. Instinct, self-knowledge, uncommunicable.

It’s the line about silence that really catches my eye in that passage. Life is noisy and humans are the source of a lot of it. I’m a sucker for filling (what I perceive to be) an awkward silence. We love to talk, to drone, to be heard. But we don’t do a lot of hearing.

I’ve nothing revolutionary to share this week, maybe not even anything interesting, but I’m going to be playing around with silence in the coming weeks. Seeing what fills the space when I don’t fill it.

I love a nice quiet room, but silence in the presence of others is another challenge entirely. How do you feel about silence?

Slow down guide

Need a little help moving slower?

Ease your way out of Friday afternoon with this newsletter, a nice cup of something, and a little background music. Steal my setup if you aren't sure where to start.

After I press send, I’m going to savour the memory of the filter brew I drank this morning. Hand-ground, Clever Dripper brewed, enjoyed to the bottom of my mug. We’re getting through a bag from FCB that Bex brought back from her trip to London. It’s good, they’ve got lots of cafes around the South East. If you’re there, do send them my regards. They won’t have a clue who I am and you’ll probably get a weird look.

And this week’s music can only be the resounding, triumphant, crashing beauty of Etta Marcus’ Theatre. Quiet, loud, quiet — you know the drill. Throw in some soaring operatic vocals, a twang of tenderness, and you’ve got yourself a Slow News Day anthem.

Take it easy,