Quiet and silence are not the same thing.
My mornings during the week are a shock to the system before 7am. The kids need to get up and get out the door for school, usually without having everything in order, and I get up with them. The dogs need to go out, of course, and they need to eat, of course, and they need attention from everyone.
But once I get the kids and the dogs all that they need to start the day, I can get a cup of coffee and settle in for a bit of work. This is the quiet that I enjoy.
If there was nothing else for me to do, I could sit all day and work away on my laptop, only getting up for the dogs once again. And for food, I suppose.
The little noises our old house makes keep a rhythm throughout the day, a sort of popping and creaking song that I type to in time. When the heat kicks on, the radiators moan a bit, shifting and reminding me to change my position as well. If a neighbor dares to walk another dog on our street, the barking alarms go off and my quiet disappears for a moment or two, returning once my savage beasts come back for more cuddles.
It’s not silence. It’s a quiet symphony that surrounds me and helps me focus on the task at hand.
To call it a form of meditation may be a bit of a stretch, but to me, that’s what it is. On days when my calendar is full and I don’t have this time to sit and work, passively listening to all the little things that happen around me, I feel off track and out of sorts. True silence would not work for me — I’d probably lose myself in meaningless wastes of time. But quiet I need and enjoy.