Making the most of the light

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For one day, I stopped talking. Apart from meal times, I spent that whole day in silence. Now, I really enjoy talking. So this felt a tough personal challenge. The other walkers in my group were remarkably supportive. Or at least if they thought I was odd, they didn’t say so to me.

I assumed the silence would help me appreciate the landscape more fully. And it did. But the biggest change wasn't around me. It turned out to be inside me. Without the usual conversations, podcasts and endless stream of information, thoughts began to emerge. Reflections on relationships I’ve been thinking about for months. Questions I'd been avoiding. And a renewed awareness of God.

When I want to improve something, my instinct is usually to add. More information. More activity. But sometimes what helps most when life is busy is taking something away. Psychologists call this the subtraction paradox.

On that day in Portugal, I didn't gain insight by adding anything new. I gained it by subtracting something I'd never thought much about before: my own voice.

It also made me think about something I’d found curious in the Qur’an, the book Muslims turn to for guidance. Mary, the mother of Jesus, undertakes a fast from speech. I think of fasting as giving something up, usually food. But perhaps the purpose isn't the loss of food or voice itself. Perhaps it's the space that loss creates. Space to reflect. And space to notice what has been beneath the surface all along.

I came home to exactly the life I'd left behind. Family conversations. Work deadlines. Meetings. I haven't managed another day of silence since, though I’m sure a few family members would be very happy if I did.

But every now and then, when life feels too much, I remember that sunny path in Portugal. And I remember that sometimes making the most of the light isn't about finding somewhere brighter. It's about being quiet long enough to notice the light that was there all along.

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