Silence is rare and life is noisy - work, traffic, the constant ping of a phone somewhere. It’s not realistic to escape it all, and honestly, I’m not sure I’d truly want to. The sound of a busy house or the city waking up can be its own kind of comfort. The trick, I think, is tuning in to the right bits.

At the festival the mornings start softly. You can hear birds, kettles boiling, the low buzz of people starting their day, someone strumming a guitar in the distance. It’s not silent, but it’s peaceful - a reminder that calm doesn’t always mean quiet. That’s the feeling I try to find now, even when real life is a bit louder.

Listening as presence

Long before we had cities or alarms or playlists, we listened for birdsong as a sign that it was safe to rest. If the birds were singing, it meant there was no danger nearby. And now, thousands of years later, the sound of birds outside a window can still calm us without us realising why.

Lately I’ve been trying to listen properly again. The sound of rain on the windows while I’m making breakfast, the kettle clicking off, the scrape of a chair as someone else wakes up. It’s ordinary, but if I actually notice it, it pulls me back into the moment faster than any app or guided breathwork ever could.

Music that holds space

Music does the same thing. The right song can change the whole energy of a room - or a morning. At VERVE our sound sessions are never about performance; they were about feeling. You’d lie back in the grass, let the sound roll through you, and for a few minutes the noise in your head would match the rhythm of everything around you.

At home it looks simpler. I’ve got a playlist for mornings that helps me ease in and one for evenings that helps me switch off. It’s not curated or perfect, just the tracks that make the house feel calmer.

The quiet kind of attention

Stillness doesn’t have to mean silence. Sometimes it’s just listening properly for a moment - to the room, the people, the small sounds that remind you you’re here.

When life’s full, I try to find that pause. Usually with tea in hand, something on the stove, the world carrying on, and me just listening. It doesn’t last long, but it helps me remember that calm can live right in the middle of the noise.