24/100: Silent Disco
This article looks at Day 24 in a series of 100 visits detailing what happens at my local library
It’s dead quiet here today. If I close my eyes, I might as well be completely alone in the room. Open them, and a teenage girl sits to my one o’clock, silently grooving in her seat to whatever music her headphones are playing.
She’s giving silent disco vibes; swaying to her own beat, rhythmically swerving her hands in the air. She lipsynchs to what must be a rap song; there are too many words for it to be anything else. Though she makes no sound, the swagger pulsates out of her. Whatever the music is, she’s lost in it.
On any given day, about half the people at the library wear headphones. I always bring a pair but often end up leaving them in my bag on account of wanting to overhear all the gossip. But they’re useful; whether to drown out someone else’s noise or simply create an illusion of privacy. The frequencies they transmit serve to transport me to a different plane while staying in the same place. The writer Derek Thompson once wrote that “the triumph of headphones is that they create, in a public space, an oasis of privacy.”
Spending time surrounded by people over the past four weeks has brought to light the intense human desire to be alone, together.
We seek the comfort of being among strangers while avoiding interaction with them at all costs. Stop & Shop Lady builds a barricade of bags, Red Coat plays dead under his jacket, I blare white noise to drown out background echo chambers. Silent Disco dances like no one is watching, even though we are.
We look for ways to import our personal preferences into these shared spaces. These unique comforts, the things that make us feel happy and safe — we can still enjoy them in the company of others, without interfering with anyone else’s flow. With the help of material things, we can live at once in our own world and the real one.
A recurring theme in this series is the notion of shared experiences. Every day I sit with these people, all of us in the same building surrounded by the same books, the same strangers. The same events occur in front of us, and I of course have no idea how any of these people feel about them, or whether they think about them at all.
All I can say is what it’s like for me.
There’s no way of knowing what song Silent Disco is listening to. I can’t share the song with her, nor do I necessarily want to. What I know is that the music inside her head moves her, it brings her joy. And she has chosen to share a little hint of that joy with me.
Thanks for reading to the end! Check out more of the series here:
