I started reading Pride and Prejudice to my son when he was two weeks old. Other than the constant hum of my voice, it didn’t matter to him which book I was reading.
Something delightful started to unfold as I kept doing more and more of this across the weeks. We would read a couple of paragraphs before he saunters off to sleep. Jane Austen’s words slowly worked their magic on me. Seducing me into their warm embrace. Allowing me to swim in the beauty of their construction and wit.
Ozu, Bresson, Bergman have been keeping me company during the back-breaking feeding schedule of a newborn. Rarely are we given the luxury of finishing a movie in one go. It took us a few movies to realize what a gift this was.
The pause allowed the movie to grow in me, pushing itself to all corners of my being. Unlocking a deeper, richer experience.
Right at this moment, I paused on Pig, a John Wick-esqe revenge story of a man trying to retrieve his stolen truffle pig. Pig twists the genre on its head. Two-thirds into the movie, the profound themes of the movie keep blossoming. The pause allowed me to be surprised by what the movie had in store for me.
The deep truth about pausing is that it goes against our grain. Our desire to check things out. Rush to the next in-thing.
For the first time in a long time, I found the space to let silence speak.