I went on holiday recently, and I went alone. All by myself, sans family of any kind and friends who were near, but also far enough. Before I left I wondered if I would be lonely in my flat with nobody to talk to, whether it would be dull to walk around without anyone to point out things to and ride the bus late at night with. Of course I packed my bags and went off quite joyfully, and settled down in my cosy flat, population one. And it was wonderful. Google maps and I walked all over the city. I found little places where I could squash myself into a sofa in front of a big window and read my book and watch the world go by, carrying satchels and pushing prams. I rode the bus quietly, I had breakfast alone and I pottered around every bookstore I passed with nary a word passing my lips other than to ask where the Mortdecai books were.

After all that blessed solitude I realized one thing: how much we talk back home. We are constantly surrounded by people and forever speaking to them, one way or another. We’re telling the cook what to make for dinner, we’re giving instructions to colleagues, haggling with the vegetable man and chivvying our children to hurry up. We’re chatting randomly with the person next to us at the doctor, we’re going to weddings and dinner parties to meet yet more people and we’re screeching at each other on television. Silence is alien to us. We would rather perish than be quiet. Weddings abroad are marked by the solemn quiet of certain rituals, our weddings are explosions of music, dancing and noise (which makes them so beguiling to foreigners; they’ve never seen anything quite so mental and fun before). People aren’t even quiet at funerals here. What is it about silence that is such an anathema to us, I wonder? Is it squeamishness at having to confront one’s own mind? Discomfort at the idea of entertaining oneself? Children, when left to their own devices, are perfectly content to play alone. Sometimes they talk to themselves while doing it. Evidently they haven’t yet been socialized into the idea that being alone is somehow bad—a little scary and pathetic. They are quite happy to bash their blocks and chatter to their dolls by themselves. It’s something we are perhaps intuitively meant to do, but quash as we become more and more entrenched in our social contexts.

It is not a coincidence that the great thinkers, writers and philosophers of any time did their best work alone. Most creative thinking is best done in a quiet space, what Virginia Woolf called ‘a room of one’s own’. It is vital, that distance from other people and their chatter and problems and intrusion. The fundament of prayer and meditation is the same: quiet time that allows you to introspect and focus on your mind and spirit. It is exhausting and draining to perpetually be surrounded by people and talk all day and all night, and our culture seems to be particularly keen on company 24/7. It isn’t strange for someone to be eating by themselves in a restaurant abroad because many people do it. You cannot always guarantee that a friend, spouse or relative will be available whenever you feel like going out, and given the choice many people would rather go out and enjoy themselves than stay home just because they don’t have someone to go with. It’s a choice I have been making more myself, even when home, and it’s very refreshing. You can’t always have a partner in crime, so sometimes it’s really quite fun to take yourself out.

Constant bombardment of information and people seems to be a sign of the times too. The combination of social media, cell phones and cheap phone plans has created a social monster. We are so used to sharing every random details of our lives with (quite literally) hundreds of people at a time that we have begun to think it’s normal—even desirable— to be surrounded by people and their opinions all the time. There was a time when you could eat a meal without Instagramming photos of it to the entire world, or checking in to the restaurant on Facebook. You didn’t necessarily read things because so many people “liked” it, and nor did you know in such great depth and detail about your acquaintances’ political views, opinions on rotisserie chicken or the state of their mental health. This is all de rigeur now. You can’t blink online for a multitude of bathroom selfies with people calling the subject ‘stunning’ and reminding them to ‘stay blessed’ (as if there were an option). No wonder our brains are fried and we are tired all the time and there just doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day to do what you truly want. We are losing the art of silence.

Any self-respecting yogi will tell you about the importance of balance, of inner equilibrium. One can only achieve that balance in silence, and quietude comes at the expense of company—there are few people one can just be with and not say much. Ennui is such a modern dilemma because we lose our inner balance when were are caught up in the relentless stream of jibber-jabber coming from our phones, our televisions, the people that surround us. There is too much talk, the most there has ever been, and we just aren’t equipped to process these levels of it. We are also caught in a culture that encourages us to be ridiculously polite, so saying no becomes problematic to people who want to come to tea, or offer opinions about too many things. For our own sakes though, it’s time to stop shouting and scowling and rushing about. Try silence for a change.