A quiet life
On reducing the noise and knowing when enough is enough
Up to this point, almost every Substack I’ve written has been penned from my sofa. A dog curled by my side, a TV re-run quietly unfolding in the background, very likely a snack on hand.
As I write this, there’s a refreshing breeze on my face and the unmistakable tingle of sun on my skin – something almost unfamiliar at this point, following what feels like months of solid rain. People stroll past me immersed in conversation; a lone snowdrop clings onto the last breaths of winter ahead of me; and the sweetest Australian shepherd just joyously frolicked by my feet, presumably elated by the feel of scattered leaves beneath his. Because today, nestled in the middle of a busy day in the office, I’m writing from the park.
I’m trying to regain a sense of balance. A calmer working week, a little more time away from the screen (don’t worry, I see the irony here), and dare I said it, a slightly quieter way of living.
As a child, I was often called quiet. ‘Lorna needs to speak up in class more’ was a near-constant note from my teachers throughout my years of education, and the concept of ‘quiet’ was always something I subconsciously viewed as a negative. These days, amongst the constant tide of overflowing content, competition and commotion, we’ve found ourselves shouting at each other to be seen.
One tap onto Instagram and I’m being shouted at from all angles – “THIS is how you get paid to just exist”, “Try this ONE trick for overnight happiness”, and “DO NOT post on Instagram until you turn on these 4 settings that will skyrocket your views” are just three examples of loud, empty promises that blasted into my eyeballs within the last 5 seconds (I’m not sure what that says about my algorithm, having only posted 7 times in the whole of 2025). Then there’s the before and afters, the ‘POVs’, the life hacks, the perfectly styled homes, the vacuous AI-generated captions and life advice, and frankly non-stop videos that overstimulate to the point that I feel exhausted when I’ve not even moved an inch. And that’s just the empty noise – the overwhelming news app is a whole other kettle of fish, and don’t even get me started on my inboxes.
I’m tired of the noise. Only 5 years ago, I would have felt embarrassed to admit that I just want a quiet life. My first step came with realising that I was an introvert. My second with the acknowledgement that I’m a complete homebody. And today, I’m unapologetic in my desire for calm – a longing that doesn’t negate my ambition by any means; it merely shapes it in a way that’s helping me to craft a life I love. I’ve always been drawn to the idea of slow living, but I’ve come to recognise that ‘slow’ doesn’t always feel like a realistic fit for me. Quiet, however, clicks.
So what does a ‘quiet life’ mean to me?
It means prioritising real-life connections over comparison, muting the mental noise from endless notifications and non-stop messaging.
It means returning to my hobbies, relishing in the peace and satisfaction that comes from creating with my own two hands.
It means knowing what ‘enough’ is. Acknowledging that more doesn’t mean better, and reducing the pressure to own more, achieve more, do more, be more.
It means resetting my nervous system. Connecting with nature, tending to small joys, and engaging with activities that speak to my soul.
And, first up, it means embarking on a social media break.
Since the age of approximately 12, not a day has gone by that I’ve not spent time on social media in some capacity. Last week my average phone screen time was three hours a day. On top of an 8-4/5/6 job, plus commuting, cooking and cleaning (and redecorating), I’m not sure what else that leaves time for. From tomorrow, I’m setting myself the challenge of deleting all social apps for a week to see what difference it really makes. What will I spend those three hours doing, what will I miss, and, most importantly, what might I learn about myself?
I’m a little daunted, I’m embarrassed to admit, but I’m also excited to see what – if any – differences I notice. I’ll report back.
Are you also longing for a bit of quiet? If you’ve found the key to success for muting the noise, I’d love to hear – truly!