I struggle with being alone. I struggle with the silence that comes with it, the realization that my life may actually mean very little if nobody is around to see it. The easiest solution to this, naturally, is to turn towards the noise.
When I am alone, I open the windows so I can hear conversations on the street and blaring sirens. I turn on my T.V. just to play the first episode of a show I have already seen six times. Every time I leave the house, I let a constant loop of music, podcasts, and audiobooks bombard my ears because it provides safety and context to my identity in a world that is constantly in motion.
There is always something to listen to, somebody to watch, something to learn, so I’m never left wondering what to think about next. I’ve lost the magic in wondering.
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This morning, I fished my coffee punch card out from the recesses of my wallet. Nine stars. I had bought and consumed nine brown sugar iced cappuccinos, which now meant my tenth one was free. I particularly love this place 1) because it is very close to my apartment and 2) because it draws a crowd that inspires me—the early morning runners, the stay-at-home dads, the solo-date creatives. All the kinds of conversations that are fun to listen in on, the type of people who push you outside your comfort zone with their small talk.
I stood and watched the barista make my drink, and she complimented my shirt. I told her I had just discovered the magical world of Ross, and she laughed sweetly. She handed me my coffee and a new punch card, a reminder to restart the nine-punch process.
Walking to my car, I was prepared to go home, get ready for the gym, and blast music through the house. Then, I passed a local bookstore that has been sitting on my bucket list for some time now.
Curiously, I entered.
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Bookstores are portals to an alternate dimension, one where everyone is curious because you must be in order to enjoy that kind of perusing. It is wildly inefficient to pick up books you will never buy and read the backs of novels you will forget the names of. You wander through sections about subjects you have never cared about, and maybe you stop in your tracks to learn a bit about alien conspiracies or Descartes.
I traced the perimeter of the store, sipping my drink, listening in on the chatter around me, and jotting down names of books I would someday return for.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a mother and daughter reading together. The daughter, maybe three years old, sat in her mother’s lap, mesmerized by the beautiful colors in the picture book. Her mother read,
“Each year in October or November, we celebrate Diwali, the festival of lights! Diwali is a Hindu festival honored by many people all over the world.”
Her daughter giggled, and they continued on.
I watched them for a moment, appreciating the fact that this little girl knew about, even cared about, Diwali. Eventually, I saw them buy the book, and it brought me joy to know that there are parents out there still fostering creativity and curiosity in their children. I tried to remember at what point I stopped doing that for myself.
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After circling the entire store, I peered down at my list:
- Play It as It Lays, Joan Didion
- Sunrise on the Reaping, Suzanne Collins
- Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk
- I Who Have Never Known Men, Jacqueline Harpman
- Read an essay—research some interesting ones (?)
- National Dish, Anya Von Bremzen
- Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll (STAFF pick)
- ART SECTION!
I ended up buying Bird by Bird, an instructional on writing and life by Anne Lamott. The opening sentence of the book reads, “The very first thing I tell my students on the first day of a workshop is that good writing is about telling the truth.”
I left curious. What is my truth? How do I find it?
Just because I am technically learning all the time doesn’t mean I stop to think about why I care in the first place. I can ask AI any question before I even have time to think about it. I can get the synopsis of an academic article without reading it; learn the plot of a movie without watching it. I can form my opinion as a collage of the myriad opinions I hear every day.
When I got home, I got out my journal and made a list of some harsh truths—things I know but would be embarrassed to admit out loud. Things like, “I think I trust AI more than I trust myself.” And, “I can’t imagine a world where people once lived without the constant noise.”
It scared me, but it also satisfied me in a way no podcast or TV show has. It drove me to change.
Once upon a time, I was also a three-year-old with light in her eyes, excited to learn and take on new challenges. Living life on autopilot may make me productive, but it is not satiating. Asking questions and admitting I don’t know the answers fuel my ability to have compelling conversations, to write consistently, and to be proud of my imperfections. TV and music and short-form content can drown out the silence, but in the silence, I can truly hear myself think.
My senior year bucket list is filled with exciting, loud experiences. I want to go places I have never been and meet people I do not know. But between the pages of new books and lone adventures, I hope to leave undergrad with more quenched than just my thirst for adventure. I want to read things that confuse me and write things that scare me. I want to be sure of myself, knowledgeable, and satisfied. I want to kill a lot of cats and then step into the world with more questions than ever.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing.”
— Albert Einstein
Happy Living,
Ria Pai
chocolate and politics 