Silence is disappearing.
This isn’t happening by accident. It’s intentional.
We live in a world engineered to keep us scrolling, clicking, watching, and reacting. Every spare moment is occupied. Every calm space is occupied. All pauses are interrupted.
The algorithms are relentless.
This is why silence remains the final frontier untouched by algorithms—it’s the only state they can’t infiltrate.
I have a confession.
I don’t actually like social media.
I know it sounds strange for someone who runs a marketing agency to say this. Social media is how I make a living. I get it. I build strategies, track engagement, and focus on targeting and reach. But I also know my industry adds to the digital noise in our lives. Marketers like me help shape what you see and keep the cycle going. I think it’s important to admit our role in how these platforms affect attention and culture.
And still… I don’t like it.
Here’s why.
I’ll open Instagram to post something for a client. Just a quick upload. Thirty seconds, maybe a minute.
And then suddenly it’s thirty minutes later, and I’m sitting there wondering what just happened.
What happened is I’m scrolling through content designed specifically for me.
Relationships. Parenting. Comedy. Inspiration. Fitness. Faith. Skiing. Business.
It’s like an alcoholic casually walking up to the bar.
Except the bartender knows my name, my preferences, and exactly what will keep me sitting there.
The algorithms draw me in.
The ironic thing is, I know exactly how it works behind the scenes. This is what I do for a living.
And it still works on me.
That’s how powerful the noise has become.
Noise has become the norm; silence, a rare and precious commodity.
The average person spends less than fifteen minutes a day in silence. Studies show that background media and notifications fill most waking hours. According to a 2023 Pew Research Center survey, most Americans rarely experience true quiet. Silence is measurably rare.
Every day, I make an effort to set aside time to be still before God. For others, stillness comes through meditation, quiet reflection, or just being in nature. However we find it, taking that pause matters.
To be grateful.
To pause.
To sit in silence.
Sometimes I go for a walk outside. I listen to the breeze in the trees. I enjoy the sound of the birds or the ocean.
Other times, I just sit quietly with a cup of peppermint tea before anyone else wakes up.
No phone.
No music.
No input.
Just quiet.
And I’ve started to realize something.
The enemy of silence is noise.
Distraction.
Notifications.
Pretty shiny things on our feed.
Today’s world is designed to keep us from being alone with our thoughts.
Something powerful happens when we finally get quiet.
The modern world fears silence because silence reveals _______.
Silence has a way of clearing the fog.
It reveals what we’re avoiding.
What we’re worried about.
What we need to change.
What we need to forgive.
What we need to let go of.
Noise numbs us.
Scrolling numbs all of that.
Busyness numbs all of that.
We scroll to avoid silence and end up missing what silence teaches us.
I see it in myself.
When there’s a hard decision ahead.
When something feels unsure.
When emotions are sitting just below the surface.
It is so easy to reach for the phone.
Just five minutes.
Just one scroll.
Just a quick distraction.
But this distraction is by design.
It’s engineered.
The algorithms are patient.
They will wait for us.
They always do.
In the age of information, ignorance is a choice — but silence is a rebellion.
Choosing silence today feels almost radical.
It means stepping away from the stream.
It means refusing to be constantly stimulated.
It entails choosing presence over performance.
It signifies choosing truth over distraction.
And maybe that’s why it matters so much.
Because silence is the street where clarity lives.
Silence is where gratitude grows.
Silence is the place faith deepens.
Silence is where God speaks, not in noise but in stillness.
The world keeps getting louder.
Notifications. Headlines. Reels. Podcasts. News. Endless opinions.
Endless opinions.
And somehow the louder everything gets, the more valuable silence becomes.
Peace doesn’t shout.
It waits within the quiet.
The algorithms know what I like.
They know what makes me laugh.
What makes me think.
What keeps me scrolling.
But do they know who I truly am? What exists in the space that algorithms can never measure?
They don’t know who I am becoming.
That happens somewhere quieter. Somewhere slower.
Somewhere the signal can’t reach.
Because silence is still the one place no one is optimizing for.
Maybe that’s exactly why we need it.
