Photo by hotblack on Morguefile.com

Talking with my husband tonight, I realized that our definition of quiet has changed dramatically over the years. When we were younger, it might have been a slow swing on the outdoor swingset, listening to the steady creak of the chains. Now it might be an hour catching up on Facebook or reading the latest news. Our periods of quiet have become loud in their own way.

My moments with my husband are usually filled with the talk of chores or daily happenings. There are times, though, when we lie in bed with our cats and listen to their purring. Our walks through the neighborhood can also bring quiet, watching the squirrels play in the local park or simply holding hands as we sweat through a humid summer night.

And yet I feel guilty about those periods of rest. They bring respite but no accomplishment. I’ve begun to feel a bit like the Ferengi from Star Trek, always seeking a new way to make money. Considering our situation, that is most likely a natural result of our situation. However, I wonder if I am missing something in the process.

Quiet is different now. Whether it is a function of adulthood or technology, I don’t know. Perhaps our changing definition is simply a side effect of necessary sacrifices.

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