🤫 The Silent Retreat

This post is intentional and transformative. Space.

Aug 05, 2022

What is the longest you’ve gone without speaking? Last weekend I went 36 hours. Well, truth be told I accidentally said two words. Stay tuned and I’ll tell you what they were. Any guesses?

My wife Laura and I went on a “Silent Retreat” last weekend. I’m a big fan of experiencing new things and taking on challenges. And this was definitely an EXPERIENCE and a CHALLENGE.

It was also hilarious in many ways so I’m going to use my Friday post to write about it. If reading about someone else’s silent retreat is not your thing, I don’t blame you. Close this out and I’ll see you next week. We’ll be back to talking about The Dad on Monday and Channel 3 on Friday.

Heavy disclaimer: The retreat was 100% lovely. I appreciated everything about it. I highly recommend it, even if you’re cynical like me. That said, what follows may be considered “making fun” and I apologize. I don’t mean to be condescending towards the retreat or anyone who was there. Humorous observations are just my jam.

Laura was out of town the week before the retreat. So it was just me, attempting to work from home with both kids, who are somehow STILL on summer break. Here’s an artistic rendering of my son describing YET ANOTHER YouTube Short to me.

The kid is hilarious. And smart. And outgoing. But my god he talks a lot. So I was in the mood for a lil silence.

We had to drive an hour and a half to the “Institute” where the retreat was held. Laura and I talked nonstop the whole drive to get it out of our system.

Laura wants to be able to talk to each other quietly when we want to. I’m not having it. Are we doin this challenge or not? She says it’s not a challenge, it’s supposed to be relaxing. I tell her “Talking during a silent retreat is like stopping to take a nap while running a marathon.” I’m intense.

Driving down the highway, with farmland on both sides, I tell her that it feels like the opening scene of a horror movie.

Things to watch out for that may indicate we’re in a horror movie:

The staff are EXTREMELY nice and always smile while making intense eye contact.
There’s a random guy working in the background, such as a janitor, and he seems out of place.
The other attendees are certain characters:
- Quiet young girl with a traumatic past
- Comedic relief
- Overstressed type A lawyer
- Super nice dad figure who is probably going to die first (oh no is this me?)
- Wise older person (possibly blind?) who has been there many, MANY times

(If anyone wants to workshop the script with me, it could be good. “THE SILENT RETREAT. Silence is back and this time it’s pissed.” Ahh shit I just remembered The Quiet Place. Nevermind.)

We roll in at 5pm. We go to the office, which is a run down cabin, not a good sign. The director is there and she’s super nice. (Oh no.) While we’re chatting about the property, a skinny older guy with a scraggly beard opens the creaky door behind us. (Oh no.) His name is Scott and he’s the chef. He’s wondering what time he should have supper ready. (If I’ve done my job, you read that last sentence in a creepy voice.)

As we walk to our room I tell Laura, “Scott is obviously the killer. So predictable. This movie sucks.” She’s ready for silence.

At supper (they call dinner “supper” and lunch “dinner” so they can be hipsterly, but they slip up all the time and still call dinner “dinner” like normies), I meet the only other male there. He is a salesman of a machine that electrocutes water so that when you drink the water later it cures diseases. Just like we all wanted to be when we grow up. I guess if water electrocution was easy everyone would do it.

After dinner (crap, I mean supper), we head to the Spirit House for Circle Time. We decorate a candle with markers, discuss the property, and go over some ground rules. Then we place our candle on the altar and we get busy shutting the hell up.

I’m a big nature fan. The property is pretty cool. We’re in Appalachia. It has indigenous roots and they’re very respectful of the cultural history. It’s lovely and beautiful.

It’s also next to a GE Jet Engine testing facility so from time to time it sounds like a 747 is taking off but it never does. Just revs for 45 minutes. The soothing sound of silence.

The leader asks us what our intentions are for this transformative experience in this healing space. Everyone here LOVES these 3 words: intentional, transformative, and space. Everything is a space. There are no buildings or rooms or areas or bathrooms. Only spaces.

A lady says she feels called to go in a field and play a tongue drum. She seems awesome. “Hell yeah, queen. Play your tongue drum. Self care.” The leader asks her if others feel called to join her, if they may. She’s like (I’m paraphrasing here), “Um, I guess? I couldn’t give a shit less. I just want to rock out on my drum.”

And it suddenly dawns on me that we’re going to be silent all weekend, in this same transformative space, TOGETHER, as a big group. This bugs me the most. I’m excited to be silent. I’m excited to be in nature. Off the grid. Refreshing. But I don’t really need to be silent WITH OTHER PEOPLE. That feels awkward. So this lady is playing her drum in a field and if I’m walking through the field. I just look at her, and give a knowing nod and continue on?

Another lady is reading my mind and says that she’d like to mention that sometimes it’s best if everyone observes “Noble Silence.” That is, you shouldn’t feel obligated to acknowledge anyone or anything around you. No obligation to wave, or nod, or even give a little forced smile.

Now we’re talkin. Noble Silence is my jam. Let’s freakin gooooooo.

Someone raises her hand and says that she watched the video (WHAT! There was pre-work???) and loves that although we can’t speak, we can laugh and cry. (PHEW.) She says if anyone is up for it, she may feel called to write on the message board a time and a place for folks to gather for intentional laughter.

Whoa. Hold up.

So we all quietly go to a conference room or whatever at 3:33pm, check our watches, glance at each other, and then start intentionally laughing? Holy shit. I’m in.

I tell her on break that it sounds amazing and I absolutely have to witness it. I wouldn’t even plan on being there to laugh, just to watch. But I guarantee I’d laugh too. It sounds hilarious. I imagine it’s EXACTLY like this (Intentional Laughter Lady is Dr Evil and I’m the guy on the right):

After this, we go around the circle and tell the group why we’ve given ourselves this transformative experience. Laura is on my left. I hate going too late for these things. I’d rather just get it over with. But I know if I go first, Laura will have to go 2nd, and I don’t know if she likes to go early. Her hand shoots up. She says she’ll go first. So I’ll go last. F.

There are 30+ people here. They all have powerful stories and reasons for being here. A woman is celebrating her retirement. Today was her last day. There are a couple of nurses who have been through hell with the pandemic, and they need a well deserved break.

When it’s forced laughter lady’s turn she closes her eyes and takes deep breaths for a solid 30 seconds. Everyone stares at her like “Yo are you gonna go… Or is this it? Is this the silence? Has it started?”

Some are pretty lighthearted and funny. That’s my style.

But the person before me says she’s gonna need a few minutes to tell us what she’s been through. It’s heartbreaking, and tragic, and devastating. I’m happy for her that she’s here to get a break from the stress of what happened to her but I feel so bad for her.

I also feel bad for myself, because of course I have to follow that. “Oh um hi, I had a stressful job making memes, and now I have a stressful job playing video games.” Good time to mention I’m wearing a Mario Kart shirt.

After my speech, the leader says she’s never seen anyone decorate their candle like I have. Most people just do flowers and butterflies, crap like that.

Alright, it’s quiet time baby. I am very intentional about my last words. I say “I love you” to Laura. Then we light our candles and place them on the altar.

I love this artwork, but why’s the snake gotta bite her in the V?

I really do recommend this entire experience. But I do not recommend going with your significant other. Being quiet alone is great. Being quiet next to the person you talk to the most is kind of weird. The rest of the night we read books in our space, which was nice. But it feels forced to just get up, brush your teeth, turn the light off, go to sleep, and say nothing to each other.

We keep a pad of paper to write messages to each other.

I sleep in and then go for a run in the morning. I decide to walk to the woods and run there, to try to get away from people. But forced laughter lady is on the path. She’s doing something kind of like a lunge mixed with skipping? Every once in a while she lets out a “whoop!” like Brick on The Middle.

I awkwardly sort of squeeze by her and as I’m walking away I swear to god I hear a maniacal laugh.

I get to the woods and it’s amazing. I’m trail running. All alone. Not a soul. Loads of space. Then I round a corner and suddenly there’s a woman sitting there sketching or something. I plant my foot and do an instant 180. No smile or nod or anything. Noble AF.

To avoid people, I leave the property entirely and run down a road until it ends. I take some photos that are symbolic of moving on from The Dad and transitioning to a new, unpaved road.

Yes. I’m doing it. I’m being transformative!

After my run I see a cat. Instinctively I say (out loud) “You’re cute.” NOOOOOOOOOO. I spoke! I failed! I’m upset with myself but c’mon, look at this guy, can you blame me?

I admit to Laura on our notepad that I failed. She writes back, “Why does it have to be all or nothing for you? It’s about the EXPERIENCE.” Ugh. Okay.

I read books the rest of the day. If you’ve never heard of it, I highly recommend The Daily Stoic. It’s a great intro to stoicism, which is my core life philosophy. This book is an entry a day, designed to be read through the course of a year. I binge read 4 months in a single day. So zen.

At this point I can tell Laura is OVER IT. When we see each other she whispers, “Want to go for a walk?” Whoa there, chatterbox. I respond “SHHH” and glare at her. She DGAF.

After supper we have guided meditation. I love meditation. But for this, everyone goes in the Spirit House and lays down, covered with a blanket. The leader comes around and for reasons I don’t understand, places a rock on each person to take with us on our journey or something? I decline the rock by vigourously shaking my head but otherwise remaining silent.

The guided meditation is great. She essentially gives us creative writing prompts, which is up my alley.

“Imagine you’re in a meadow.” For me it’s the farm where my mom lived when I was a kid.

“Suddenly there’s a tree.” For me it was the Tree of Life from The Fountain.

“There are ‘beings’ under it.” For me it was my 8 year old self and my family from when I was a kid.

“Suddenly a being steps forward.” My younger self steps forward.

“You have a question you’ve been carrying that you want to ask this being.” “What is my life’s purpose?” My 8 year old self says, “To create cool stuff.” Rad. This little guy gets me.

“Another being steps forward.” For me, it is my son and my daughter, but when they are old. They answer the question. “We are your life’s purpose,” they say. Little self-centered but on brand.

“The last being steps forward.” It is Laura, at her present age. She says “Family” is my life’s purpose. Nice.

“The beings interact to show how they work together.” Simultaneously as if time is fluid, my younger self ages and marries present day Laura, and my kids are babies and then they grow into their older selves. It’s magical.

“It’s time to leave the meadow. You walk down a path…”

Back in reality, in the Spirit House, at this very moment, someone on the other side of the room rips a huge fart.

THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER EXPERIENCED. You couldn’t script it any better. I’m biting my tongue to try not to laugh. I hear a little giggle in the room. Maybe from the farter or maybe from forced laughter lady or maybe they’re one in the same, I don’t know. But what an incredible moment.

I have to text the kids.

After guided meditation/flatulence, we write down something we want to give up and place it in a bonfire. At the same time, people are roasting marshmallows on the same fire, which must be symbolic of something. I write down “silent retreats,” crumble it up, and set it on fire, but Laura doesn’t even smirk, not even a little bit.

The next morning I wake up and Laura says, “We still doin this?” I take a deep breath and say my first words (other than “You’re cute”) in 36 hours: “Fine. I guess I’m done.”

Laura is very much a leave-early-to-beat-the-traffic kind of person so we don’t stay for the closing ceremonies. I write a note on the message board: