Might as Well Laugh

I’m very sound sensitive. If I walk into a store and the music is jarring, I’ll walk right back out. I’ve often asked if the music can be turned down in a restaurant. I crave places where there’s no human sound at all. Not to live in all the time, but to get deep rest in nature.

So when my downstairs neighbor (whom I’ll call Kathy) brought in a houseguest over the summer, I was not happy. The fact that he was a man posed more of a problem because his deeper voice carried further. I’d taken great efforts to cultivate a good neighborly relationship with Kathy so we could make requests of each other directly and politely. But this one was up to the landlady.

I was afraid to lose my tentative camaraderie with Kathy, so I didn’t act quickly enough to share my views of this houseguest. It’s the moment I’ve played over and over again, trying to shift from self-punishment to self-forgiveness. Ever had one of those?

The morning after I found out that Kathy wanted her friend to stay for two more months, I saw my landlady walking across the parking lot towards one of the cottages. I thought to myself, I should follow her and let her know this is a major issue for me. But I was working intently on a project, and I easily let fear kick in and stop me. What if Kathy sees me and realizes I’m the one who has spoken up? It might destroy the connection I’ve spent a year to build. I further procrastinated, I can talk to her later today. I’ll text her— she’s quick on the uptake with texts.

What I didn’t foresee was that Kathy and her guest would run into our landlady in the parking lot 15 minutes later. I saw the train wreck happening outside my office window as if in slow motion. Oh, no! I ran for my phone to send a message Please don’t agree to anything with them until you’ve spoken with me. By the time she got back to me minutes later? Sorry, too late. But talk with me anyway.

I did share my concerns. Very fortunately, the agreed length of stay was one month. But that still left four more weeks of discordant sound. So I had to find a way to deal with this, at bedtime in particular.

I got out my iPad and headphones. I looked up reruns of TV shows that made me laugh—like the BBC’s Miranda or old Carol Burnett Show sketches.

Then I took a deep sigh and gave myself a lot of credit. Yes, I’m learning to speak up, to forgive myself, to let go of the little things, to breathe into the moment. None of these are easy. But my state of mind is my own responsibility, and I refuse to be a victim. If the situation requires I get more playful and creative? Guess I might as well laugh.