Voices
to see if I was the only one imagining things. I had such a persistent
headache that I had to slip a note
to a classmate pleading for Advil.
I didn’t have a big “ah-ha!” moment that I can use as the headline for this essay. I didn’t have
a breakdown and I didn’t deflate
with loneliness on New Year’s
Eve or on my 29th birthday, even
though I was absolutely alone.
I commemorated the changing
of the New Year by laying on my
back in the darkness at the edge
of the pool, drawing imaginary
lines between the stars in the sky
and counting the seconds between
waves crashing. My alarm chimed
quietly, as if not to disturb me,
at midnight. It was 2014. I didn’t
miss the parties or the candles or
the shouting and the hollering. I
fell in love with every moment of
quiet that I found in Big Sur.
Quiet didn’t come as the result
of a dramatic breakthrough like I
expected it to. It just was.
I didn’t feel any of the despair,
anxiety, rage or sadness that have
colored my twenties as I dipped
in and out of good health. Being
quiet didn’t aggravate any of the
emotions swirling within me. It
actually quieted them down. The
act of exaggerated silence filled
SASHA
BRONNER
HUFFINGTON
02.09.14
me with the purest sense of calm I
have ever felt.
The retreat only lasted five
days, and I’m no longer silent.
But I am quieter. I still take
pills in the morning and at night,
but I’m taking less and less of
them. The medical bracelet
on my wrist feels less permanent
and more temporary. Talking
and laughing and reading and
The act of exaggerated
silence filled me with
the purest sense of calm
I have ever felt.”
music still make me feel alive.
But so does silence.
It can feel scary and it can feel
dark for a few moments when I
try to fall asleep at night, thinking
about all of the unknowns at age
29, and 39 and 49. So I turn on a
noise machine and fall asleep to
the sound of crashing waves, and I
imagine floating weightless, staring
up at the brightest stars in
that infinite black sky.
Sasha Bronner is the Los Angeles
editor of The Huffington Post.