How aware are we of the way our hand reaches for music automatically rather than intentionally while doing something? Whether we are cleaning, studying, walking, or even sometimes trying to fall asleep, we feel the urge to play music. What we listen to usually doesn’t matter; sometimes we don’t even notice what is playing. The goal is simply to break the silence. Because silence has a way of confronting us with many things at once.
Most of the time, we don’t truly listen to the music that is playing. While it flows quietly in the background, we focus on our own tasks. We often don’t notice when the song changes, what is playing, or who is singing. Here, music stops being something we listen to and turns into a companion that fills the silence. The aim is not to listen, but merely to fill the emptiness—to quiet the mind’s voice and soften the noise of our thoughts.
Why Does Silence Feel Uncomfortable?
In daily life, we rarely experience true moments of silence. Between phones, classes, work, chores, friends, and errands, we hardly find time to listen to ourselves. But the moment we pause, when we are left alone with ourselves, silence begins to pull us in. That is exactly when music steps in—not to face silence, but to avoid standing face to face with ourselves.
Silence is rarely peaceful. It pushes us to think. In silence, suppressed thoughts, emotions, and unspoken confessions surface. In that sense, music is not an escape, but merely a postponement.
This postponement leads us into a false sense of calm. What we suppress does not disappear; it waits for the right moment to resurface. Over time, music turns into a habit, and we begin to feel unable to do anything without it. When the music stops and silence grows louder, a sense of unease appears. In truth, what unsettles us is not silence itself, but what silence might reveal.
The Body Speaks Too
Sometimes our need for music is not only about thoughts; the body has its own language as well. Subtle fatigue, accumulated tension, and emotional waves we fail to notice during the day become more noticeable in silence. Turning on music is a way of quieting these bodily signals. When we find a rhythm, our heartbeat steadies; when we hear a melody, our breathing softens. So while music may seem like an “escape,” it is often a way of soothing ourselves.
At times, we turn on music simply to feel better. Being honest with ourselves in silence can be difficult. With music playing, we feel more in control—we can regulate our emotions and feel less scattered.
Of course, music is not always about suppressing emotions or avoiding silence. Sometimes we reach for music when we cannot cope with our feelings. When we are sad, we choose melancholic songs, wanting that sadness to feel familiar and controlled. Or we play something upbeat, hoping it will lift the weight we carry. Rather than risking the unexpected emotions silence might bring, we choose a musical moment we can manage.
Modern life constantly surrounds us with sound. The television stays on, videos play endlessly, and headphones remain in our ears for most of the day. Silence has almost become abnormal. Even when we are doing nothing, we are expected to be listening to something. Yet silence is not a lack—it can be a space. Entering that space, however, requires courage.
This does not mean that music is bad. On the contrary, music understands us, accompanies us, and sometimes truly heals us. But if we feel the need for music in every moment and during every task, perhaps we should ask ourselves an honest question: What happens in silence that makes me uncomfortable? Which thought am I trying not to hear? Which emotion is being pushed into the background by a song playing quietly?
Facing Silence
Staying silent may feel like a solution, but it is not. It is simply a moment of self-awareness—a chance to notice what we are running from, what exhausts us, and what we lack. Music only postpones these realizations; it does not resolve them. When the song ends, we inevitably have to face reality.
The issue is not removing music from our lives. It is learning to listen—to silence and to ourselves. Taking off our headphones from time to time, doing something we usually do with music without it, walking while listening not to lyrics but to our own footsteps. It can be challenging, even uncomfortable. But without discomfort, we cannot truly understand ourselves.
In the end, the point is not to silence the inner voice, but to have the courage to listen to it. When the background music fades, life does not stop. The numbing noise simply quiets down. And in that silence, something remains—unsettling at first, but gradually familiar: ourselves.