A sunday of silence
no audio, podcasts, or music
This past weekend, I needed quiet. I knew it in my bones, I knew it in my mind, and I knew it in my heart. I realized I’ve been in go mode since September, coming off my book tour, launching and rebranding this Substack, saying yes to brand and networking events again, setting up coffee meetings with people I’m curious about, diving into wedding planning, and reading multiple books at once (some for pleasure, some for work, some for book club).
So on Sunday morning, I awoke, made coffee in the Chemex, whipped out my journal, lit some warming loose incense (in a cool new way, which I get into on the list at the end of this newsletter) and sat on the couch and watched the sunrise hit the metallic buildings over Manhattan.
From our living room, we can see both bridges, and I love watching the tiny people crossing the Brooklyn Bridge as I journal in the morning. I see the tourists in little clusters, all cozied up in puffers and parkas, walking and stopping for pictures every few feet.
The sight of tourists reminds me, no matter what is going on in my world, there is a whole other world of discovery out there, millions of people, with their own little inner world, too. I love accessing the wonder and awe they must feel as they walk across the rickety wooden slats of the Brooklyn Bridge, the blue water beneath them, the boats carving through the choppy water, the two pieces of land, Brooklyn and Manhattan, shining bright and pink as the day rises over them. I can channel that feeling within my own memory bank, of being in a new city, watching a new corner of the world come alive—the anticipation, stories and fantasies colliding with reality, forming a memory of something so simple and human as being a tourist. Magnificent.
Most New Yorkers see tourists as obstacles; slow, in the way, always stopping mid-sidewalk. I view them as little reminders of the openness and delight in seeing a place for the first time. (Except, yes, they are a little slow sometimes and we New Yorkers are always rushing).
On this particular Sunday, I looked up from my journal just as the sunrise caught the Empire State Building, turning it a soft peachy pink. Down below, everyone on the Brooklyn Bridge stopped walking to take it in, and for a moment, it took my breath away.
That’s when I got the ping to have a Silent Sunday. I decided I’d go about my day as usual: head to the Co-Op for groceries, cook breakfast (burritos), make a homemade pumpkin spice latte with real pumpkin, walk Samson slowly, chill at home, run an errand, all without listening to music, podcasts, or absorbing any social media. The only media I’d be allowed to consume was the book I’m reading: Ask Not: The Kennedys and the Women They Destroyed. I could talk, but I couldn’t listen to any media.
Here’s how it went.
I got into my car to drive to the Co-Op and lasted all of six minutes until I reached for the screen to turn on the music. I always listen to music while driving, it’s part of the reason I enjoy it in the first place. I’ll just listen to something calming, I told myself. Maybe classical or opera. I turned on my car’s audio, and a deep house Hernán Cattáneo Burning Man Mix blasted through the speakers at full volume, piercing the empty streets of quaint Cobble Hill and disturbing my quiet little bubble of Sunday Morning peace. The rest of the drive, I listened to a quieter, calmer Essential Mix (le sigh, I am such a simp for a DJ set, even after being sober for nearly 7 years) and let myself forget about the challenge completely. I just wanted music, sound, distraction so badly. I’ll try another time!
I did, however, grocery shop without headphones, which I think is really important, especially at a community shop like the Co-Op. It’s too small to listen to music, you need to be spatially aware in case someone needs to grab the sprouted mung beans you’re standing in front of while you search for the right kind of diced tomatoes. This happens more than you’d imagine.
On the drive home, I completely forgot about my challenge (“forgot”) and turned on my favorite comfort podcast, Every Outfit,—a Sex and the City rewatch pod hosted by two very smart best friends, Chelsea Fairless and Lauren Garroni. (It always makes me laugh and feel like I’m up late at an all-girls slumber party, gossiping about everything that matters within my own little pop-culture universe: the Sex and the City cast, light celebrity news, and delicious deep dives into fashion, history, and nuance, but I digress.)
In the afternoon, after walking Samson, making breakfast, scrubbing the dishes, and folding and putting away the laundry (my least favorite task), I did a 40-minute Yoga with Adriene “Twist and Reset” flow in my living room—all in silence, without music or background noise. Afterward, I headed out to Marshall’s, one of my favorite calming activities for the mind.
It’s about a 15 minute walk from my apartment, so I grabbed my headphones without thinking, hit the pavement, went to open Spotify, then remembered my challenge. This is the one day a week that is truly a rest day. Take advantage of it and enjoy the silence, Lee.
I felt the push and pull in my brain. I really wanted some walking music, to pump me up and match my upbeat mood. It was a crisp fall day and I was feeling grateful and alive in my sweatpants and comfy sneakers. Music would sparkle my brain and add the warm and fuzzies, most certainly increase my heart rate and give me a beat to walk to (I like to walk to the beat of the music).
I wondered why I was finding this so hard. I thought this would be easy. It’s not like I was doing Vipassana and foregoing communicating for seven days. I was just trying to go one day without a playlist!
But I knew deep down why this was so tough.
I wanted to get into the zone—that familiar headspace I reach for when I turn my music on. The place where stories start to replay in my mind, where I can tune out the noise and slip into my own little world. Even when it’s filled with good thoughts and happy memories, it’s still an escape—from the stillness, from routine, from the quiet itself. Walking outside in Manhattan or Brooklyn, it almost feels required: music or a podcast, always something in your ears.
The constant stream of information, music, audiobooks, articles takes me out of my own head while somehow pulling me deeper into it. The more I listen, the further I drift from what’s right in front of me: the trees, the light, my breath, the quiet movement of the world around me.
I picked up my things at Marshall’s with my headphones on but no sound playing, just the “noise cancelling” button activated. I needed something, even if that was manufactured silence.
Later that night, after our usual wind-down at home, I placed my book on my chest and closed my eyes. I may not have perfectly completed my self-imposed challenge, but the soft hum of the fan and the faint sirens below were enough to lull me to sleep.
Maybe it’s less about blocking out the noise and more about noticing what fills the quiet when it finally comes—the fan, the city, the man beside me, the world outside my window waking up or falling asleep. Maybe it’s in the pause to notice the small sounds: Samson taking slow laps from his water bowl, the elevator ding in the hallway, the water dripping through its filter. Maybe that’s all it takes: a pause, and the willingness to notice. Just like a tourist in our own homes.
I thought I’d incorporate a new little short list to include at the bottom of this newsletter at times: introducing little rituals! A place reminiscent of 10 Offline Things I Did This Week that call back to the tiny little moments, objects, and hobbies we can pick up that take us back to ourselves. I hope you enjoy :)
Candle-lit incense. A beautiful reader sent me a slow new way to burn incense and it’s very Hand Wash Only-coded. You set their blend of loose resins/flowers/herbs/woods on a mesh plate which sits a few inches above a slow-burning tea light. It’s a quiet, steady way to scent your home—no synthetic fragrance, no smoke, just warmth. People sensitive to scented candles and diffusers love it, and now I do too. I burn it in the morning, while working, and before bed. It’s very dreamy and cozy.
Cleaning my boar-bristle hair brush with this little pick. A few minutes of cleaning my brush each week makes it feel brand new and so clean it almost hurts your scalp (in the best way).
Colostrum. I’d been hearing about it over the last few years but once I heard my trusted friend and nutritionist talk about it, I knew I wanted to try it. I started taking ARMRA Colostrum about a month ago and I’ve noticed stronger hair, a more resilient immune system, and quicker recovery between my sculpt workouts. ARMRA is cruelty-free and only uses surplus colostrum from grass-fed cows which would otherwise go to waste. If you want to try, they’re offering 15% off your first order with code LEE. Thank you, ARMRA, for sponsoring this edition of Hand Wash Only.
Collecting stamps. Dahlia’s, American flags, Goodnight Moon, fish lures. It’s wedding season in our house, and I’ve been stopping at any post office I pass to collect more stamps. I loveeeeee setting the mood with a stamp. I think it’s really important! We chose dahlia’s for our save the date’s, a fall flower that symbolizes beauty, strength, elegance, and commitment that still nods to the hope of new blooms come spring when we’ll be getting married. Sounds about right!
Keeping my nails short, bare, and round. No time for dirt, hang nails, or polish to fuss over. I do miss a wine-colored nail, and I may indulge come the holidays. But for now, keeping things clean, simple, and…bare!
That’s all for today. Have a wonderful weekend everybody, and I’ll see you next week.
