No Talking Tuesday Concludes

I’m about a year late in posting this, but I concluded my no talking Tuesday practice.

For the last sixteen years and some change, I didn’t speak from midnight to midnight, every Tuesday. I could laugh, cough, sneeze, or make any other involuntary noise, so long as it wasn’t deliberate and communicative. I messed up sometimes, and spoke reflexively out of habit, like saying “sorry” when I bumped into someone on the street, or “Thank you” when a waiter refilled my water. Slip ups like that mainly happened in the first few years, but eventually it became easy enough to just keep my mouth shut every Tuesday. I can say with some pride I never once deliberately broke the oath, and was never even seriously tempted. It was a practice I assumed I would maintain until my death, and didn’t think about it much beyond that. 

But about a year ago I decided to end the practice. I had a child on the way, and it didn’t seem fair to him or his mother to lessen my presence in their lives, precisely when they needed me most. And wouldn’t you know it, my son was born on a Tuesday. Greeting him as he came into the world felt like the perfect way to retire this sixteen year practice. I’ve been meaning to write about it, but now that it’s over, and I’ve had time to adjust to my life without it; I’m not sure it’s necessary. Any good that came from the experiment has already been pretty well documented here over the years, so maybe I’ll just briefly sketch some overall thoughts. 

Early on the experiment was about self control, subduing my ego, making space for others, and developing a meditative humility. As the years wore on, the practice became more about leaning into discomfort, learning to be bulletproof to social expectations, and testing the compassion and inclusiveness of others. Then as the practice became more personal, I showed more discretion and understanding for others, and regarded my Tuesdays as a recharge of thoughtfulness and introspection, choosing to step away from social interactions. And by the end, I believe the practice had outlived its usefulness and became as automatic and unthinking as brushing my teeth or putting on my socks. 

The practice changed me permanently in some ways. I learned not answering a question, or letting others answer it for you, is often a perfectly valid response. I learned silence provides fertile ground for others to project their own biases and assumptions onto. I learned most of the time people are too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice. 

Retiring the practice now that I’m a father feels right. This practice was born from when I was young, and trying to figure out my place in the world. I now am secure in the place that I occupy and my responsibility is no longer to build or break down my own virtues or vices, but to be supportive and useful to others, particularly my family.