“Finger-like palm fronds sway in the breeze framing the ocean that reaches out to the end of the world – Bucerias – a small Mexican town that oozes relaxation. I listen to the splish-slosh-swish of waves as they bounce onto the shore, I am mellow.”
And Two Weeks Later…
Those have been the first lines of my draft blog post for the past two weeks. Sounding like a dull travelogue, I have hesitated to publish.
Since coming back from the tranquil paradise that was Bucerias, the mellowness has drained from me like the blood from a vampire’s victim. Trying to relive the experience I think about the lovely setting (beach, palm trees, colourful sunrises) and the warmth of the sun, but the sound of the waves. Yes, the sound made life feel easy.
Now back at my usual writing haunt, I sit at a beige desk on the 5th floor of the Vancouver central library, and listen to the clattering of an empty escalator, feeling strangely calm.
Is it the quality or rhythm of the sound that makes it soothing?
Why does a sound soothe?
Maybe it’s the steady rhythm like a heartbeat that gives me a sense of harmony. Waves are in constant motion as is an escalator. After travelling great distances to escape to ocean front getaways, I have discovered that the sound of an empty escalator can be as rhythmic and calming as a perfect beach setting. Ok, so there isn’t any colour or heat, but still…
Why does a sound grate?
Veering to the opposite end of the soothing sound spectrum, my jaw locks as I hear the sounds of the upstairs neighbours, at all hours of the night. Jarred awake by ‘heel-walking’ giants wearing ski boots on a polished cement floor, I am tortured by the people above me. Reliving a scene from a spy thriller, I am the sweaty prisoner cowering in the corner covering her ears from the blaring sound.
Is it the actual sound that makes me tense or is it the lack of control over it?
I try to visualize myself back in Bucerias listening to the splish-slosh-swish of the waves. This isn’t working. Maybe I should invest in earplugs.