I've lost the knack of quiet. Instead I rumble through my house, clanging pots, clinking dishes, shuffling bills, groaning under the weight of one burden or another. Adulthood is many things, but it is not quiet. When I stumble into a pocket of quiet it's like hitting a bump on the airplane- I'm suddenly suspended, unmoored, unhinged.
It's one of life's pettier cruelties that one prepares and prepares, in one's early years, but never for the right things. Solving for x instead of scrubbing poop out of bathmats. History instead of taxes. How to sing instead of how to shut up.