When I was younger, I was okay with most loud noises, at least for short periods of time. I didn’t love or crave noise, but I accepted it for what came with it. I happily endured the roar of a packed stadium at a major sporting event – and I even contributed to with my own cheers and jeers. I went to occasional concerts, even rock concerts, but tried to sit back far enough from the monster speakers to spare my ears and brain
But as I got older my ears and brain, or maybe just my patience, started changing. These days, the same decibel levels I once put up with now feel like an assault. I avoid restaurants with loud music and big crowds, I watch the big games on TV, and I can’t wait for the red light to change so the person in the car next to me with the blaring stereo will drive away.
With age, the loud feels louder, the shrill is shriller. I’m on my way to getting hearing aids, probably due in part to the noise of my youth, so someday soon I’ll have some volume control.
As an older person, peace and quiet are luxuries I’ve earned
There is, however, one exception to my noise avoidance – my grandchildren. They can laugh and squeal and even occasionally melt down and I’m okay with it. At least for short periods of time.
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