A few weeks ago, at Christmas, I offered the unsolicited opinion that the only thing I prefer about living in this blighted modern world — when comparing today with what life was like before X and iPhones — is the LED light, which allows us to brighten our winter interiors without burning the house down or consuming undo amounts of fossil fuels. That, however, was not a correct statement. There is one other thing I enjoy about contemporary life: those bedside gadgets that, while annoyingly illuminated and persistently startling you by barking out advertisements, offer a menu of “sleep sounds” and white-noise options to lull you into sleeping oblivion.
Have you been trying out Sleep Jar or the ambient noise function on Alexa?
The ambient noise function seems like something I’d hate, but I thoroughly appreciate it.
The annoying little Alexa bot on my bedside table offers so many sounds to the drowsy that I haven’t even made a dent in the list yet. You can fall asleep not just to the mundane white noise (soft television static) but “green noise” (indistinguishable from white noise, to my ears) or “brown noise” (no, thank you!). I gather there are people out there who slumber like babies to “oscillating fan,” “shushing male,” or “shushing female,” but I prefer the sounds of nature — not just “rain,” but “rain on a tin roof,” “rain on a tent,” “rain on trees,” or “jungle” (rain and tropical birdsong). My favorites are the variety of wind sounds, including “windy trees” (rushing) and “windy leaves” (rustling).
Ever since I gave up green box iced tea, back in high school in the 1980s, I haven’t actually suffered much from difficulty falling asleep, but even so, in these brain-sore and mentally crushing times, I like the effect these ambient sounds have on the workings of the tired thoughts. We have stormy weather out there in geopolitics this February. Cyclones in Myanmar, sandstorms in Sudan. This week, the world watched agog as a South African billionaire prone to “accidental” Nazi salutes meddled with Americans’ federal financial systems and Social Security information, and I discovered a new favorite in “wind chimes,” a varied wood-and-metal tinkling on a brisk breeze that reminds me soothingly of icicles.
If you are a dog owner, I recommend you do not ask Alexa to play any of the thunderstorm options, even “distant thunderstorm.” My own dog, at least, cannot differentiate the faux weather from a real storm. I’m also personally never going to take “fireplace sounds” for a midnight spin, either, because I live in a dry shingled house and do indeed have an actual fireplace and know in advance that I would not find the sound of crackling and sparking restful all night long. I also have declined to try out “cat purring,” which strikes me as a bit melancholy; why no real cat? Apparently there are lunatics out there who crave the sound of an air-conditioner or vacuum cleaner, but that lunatic isn’t me.
My sleep sounds of choice are wintry and stormy. The chill blast. I particularly like to fall asleep to the one titled “blizzard.”
It’s my opinion that we come hardwired into this world with preferences like these, for the rain or for the “babbling brook.” You can play “ocean” on Alexa, but although I grew up within earshot of the eternally lapping waves of Gardiner’s Bay, I find “ocean” all night more disturbing than lulling. Perhaps this is because the Atlantic was my genetic paternal ancestors’ workplace, and they ran toward it in January and February to rescue strangers from wrecks or to catch fish with red chapped hands; it’s not a restful association.
It’s not just nurture, it’s nature. As the parent of two children adopted from a faraway continent, it’s my observation that we are all born with certain affinities and gestures, inherited in our DNA, and I would dare to assert here that this extends to the affinities of the ear. My son certainly moves his elegant hands in gestures he got from his maternal birth grandfather, who I have met twice and who shares Teddy’s large ears and broad smile, as well. Teddy came into this world with a dislike of chocolates and indifference to sugary sweets and I believe I came into this world wired to feel most cozy when a gale was blowing outside the house.
The snow comes less frequently and falls less thick.
Sitting in my office on Monday, the boughs of the Green Giant arborvitae outside the window were heavy with a wet few inches of snow. They bobbed slowly and rhythmically on the wind, which I couldn’t hear through the double panes, and I wondered what we will lose when we lose winter weather once and for all and finally to climate change.
Peace and stillness. That’s what we will lose, as humans, psychologically, when we lose blizzards, icicles, blankets of silent white, and the delight of being snowed in. Hibernation and respite.
In 50 years, we will probably only know the peace and stillness of a blanket of snow from the digital simulation of old-existence weather. I also happened to read, this week, that certain scientists suspect that Great Britain may possibly experience a reversal in its weather patterns, with climate change dropping temperatures precipitously, rather than heating them up, as the wildfires rage in Australia and the earth cracks and dries in California and apocalyptic scenes of riot and mayhem play out in our capital cities. Hmm. It may be the Scottish Highlands for me.