Recently, while out of town on vacation, I was treating myself to a hairstyling. Seems I never have time for this simple grooming task unless I'm at least as far away as seven hours from my computer. The stylist I trusted my coifing to was recommended to me by my daughter so I took a chance and was looking forward to a brief encounter with a bit of pampering. The salon was upscale and interesting but for nearly an hour, while I sat having my hair sculpted, I was also having my brain cells rearranged by a relentless, thumping racket literally assaulting the room via four throbbing speakers.

These were positioned strategically in each corner, presumably to reach optimal auditory absorption. What it succeeded in doing was something akin to physical torture. After awhile, my stylist must have sensed my mounting discomfort because she stopped several times to try and change the selection on the stereo. It didn't work. Every number was the same. Same driving beat, same clanging, same eruptions by a nearly human voice droning repetitiously in some forgotten language. Finally, the stylist turned the stereo off completely. The silence was palpable. My deep sigh must have tipped her off that I had been approaching lift off. Our pact was unspoken, and for her intuition, not to mention a good cut, I tipped her generously.

Lately, I have become overly sensitive to the noise pumped through and into our environment and wonder why it has to be this way. Are we are afraid to be alone in our own heads and who first figured out this dysfunction? When did it become necessary for us to have background music underneath everything we do? Doctor and dentist offices, car repair waiting rooms (although the insults there are mostly brain-numbing daytime talk shows) and even some grocery stores are now encapsulated in some kind of audible electronic stimulation.

Frankly, more than once I have simply turned around and exited a store that was filled to capacity with nerve-jangling din forced out supposedly as entertainment. Am I the only one who retreats without buying anything because the background music is holding my thought processes hostage? Allow me to insert here that I am a great music lover. I relish all sorts of music, from nearly every genre. And I use my home music system in parts of every day. I just don't need it going on twenty-four-seven. Here's an anomaly, I can even ride in my car without turning on the radio. Amazing, huh? What I am trying to say is, quiet is good. It is remarkable to me that just plain old silence has become a precious commodity in this overly wired world.

Unfortunately, piped-in music is not the only discord we endure. The other day, sitting in the airport, attempting to catch up on a little reading while I waited, I realized I had to read the same paragraph twice. Unsure of what was annoying me, I shifted in my seat and looked up to find on my left a young man banging away on his guitar accompanying himself as he practiced the same slurred lyrics and four chords over and over. Then I glanced up and discovered a TV suspended from the ceiling blaring a CNN broadcast. Added to the mix the computer at the airline check-in desk was relentlessly ticking and scratching out something. Suddenly, I noticed everything; the cacophony of the concourse in multiple layers. Babies crying over the low buzzing of hundreds of indiscernible conversations underneath announcements coming through the loud speakers at different gates, cell phones trilling, pagers chirping. I had to hold on to my seat for fear I might stand up and shout, "People, in the interest of sanity, we will now observe two minutes of silence!"

For me, it comes to this, I can accept the natural noises, particularly those I have sought out. I like bird calls in the morning, even the sometimes obnoxious repetitive ones, when I'm sitting on the deck appreciating my first cup of coffee. I like the night noises, thick and complex, rising up out of the darkness. I like rain patting the roof and dripping from the gutter and the whooshing of leaves in the wind. I like thunder, whether it is the low grumbling type or the crashing attention-getting kind and the snap and sizzle of lightening. I like the gentle zuzzing of bees in the blooms of my Pink Gaura plants. I even like the creaking and groaning the dock makes when it's being bullied by the ever restless water. What I dislike is artificial noise that is arbitrary, altogether unnecessary, and forced on me. What I especially don't like is the assumption, made by people I don't even know, that I need some sort of programmed noise to keep me occupied. I am not afraid to be left to my own thoughts and internal resources while I shop, wait for appointments, ride in elevators and walk around in public places.