I’m sitting in my car, trapped in the never-ending traffic on my way home from work at Cinecittà. The sky is dark and gloomy, and the rain comes down hard, pitter-pattering against my windshield. All I can see ahead of me through the rain-drenched glass are the usual red taillights, glowing like fiery embers in the darkness.
I can’t help but reflect on how wasteful it is to see that each car on the road only has one person in it, and I ponder the pollution that all these cars are generating every day on this road. The traffic is thick and slow-moving, each car crawling along at a snail’s pace like ships in a sea of people, all moving together but alone. The road is slick with water, and the headlights of the cars in front of me create a hypnotic dance of light and shadow.
Someone behind me honks impatiently, wanting to pass and go faster; they, too, feel trapped in this gridlock, feeling lost in the middle of a vast ocean.
But then I think how after a day at the design office where everyone is talking, running from one meeting to another in a frantic pace, and soon when I get home, my two-year-old son, who I love dearly, will want to show me all his toy cars and play with his red ball.
I realize that this car ride is one of the few moments of solitude and silence in my daily life, like a peaceful island in the midst of a chaotic sea.
The pleasure of silence and solitude is something we all need, as Henry David Thoreau said, “I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” These moments of stillness and quiet profoundly impact our mental and physical well-being, allowing us to reconnect with ourselves.
With the heat on and an audiobook playing in a warm and low voice, I try to turn this moment in a pleasure, sitting here in quietude for half an hour.
