Muzak Mornings

Dearest Rachel –

It might go without saying, generally, but it’s definitely different to be traveling with someone than to be doing so on one’s own. You become aware of your own habits that might conflict – or at least contrast – with theirs, leaving you to question why you maintain them.

One of the most obvious ones for me is the amount of time I would prefer to spend in the cabin, rather than being up on the deck or otherwise out and about. Sure, I wander about the ship a bit during the morning, when I’m awake and antsy, but need to give Lars time to continue to rest. But given my druthers, more often than not, I’m just as happy to make myself at home in my own space.

Which seems silly, especially in such a place like this ship. There’s so much to see and do; why should I prefer to sit around and do nothing? I may not want to lie out in the sun and catch some rays, like Lars does, but there are so many other things that are available to me, and little to no chance of doing at home; why am I not taking sufficient advantage of them, in the limited time I have aboard?

It took until our departure day for me to figure it out. Well, maybe I just hadn’t been giving the matter sufficient thought until then. Or maybe it wasn’t early enough and quiet enough for it to occur to me… which is sort of the point.

You see, in the stateroom, there is no noise, other than whatever its occupant creates. Yes, there’s the television, but – apart from that last day, when our attendant leaves it on with the program talking about what you need to know and do in order to disembark the following morning – that’s up to you, the guest, to decide whether to turn it on and make noise. Likewise with any other device, whether a computer or phone or speaker hooked to either one; those are things you brought, for your use, at your command (or not, should you not wish it). Even the public announcements don’t get into the room; I probably expressed some irritation to you last year about how that tone would go off, and I’d have to prop open the door to find out what was happening – and more often than not, it wasn’t something I was interested in, anyway. So I appreciated the opportunity to ignore that.

Outside of the room, however, there is no such opportunity. Naturally, throughout most of the day, the common places are crowded with other passengers taking advantage of the same amenities as you are; as much as it seems comically obvious to point out, the public spaces are not private. This means that there is the noise of the crowd you’re dealing with, no matter where you go. You wouldn’t expect, say, to be able to study in the middle of the retail hustle and bustle of Woodfield Mall during Christmas rush; so too with the Promenade. Likewise with the more open-air sections such as the Boardwalk or Central Park; some noise may float up into the ether, but some also comes down from the pool decks above, too. And on the topic of the pool decks, you can imagine what they’re like, especially when the sun is out, and you can’t so much as find a deck chair for love or money (well… for money, you probably can, since they offer several little cabanas – they call them “casitas,” or little houses – which can be rented for… I actually didn’t bother to check, since it’s not my thing, but I’d lean toward the “if you have to ask…” theory).

But even at a time when most of the crowd is still asleep, or otherwise not making itself felt as much by its presence as its absence, there is no place you can go where there is silence. No matter where you go, there’s Muzak being piped in. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not offensive – in fact, its whole point is to be unobtrusive (as an example, Central Park in particular has crickets, birdsong and the sounds of slight rain as its ambient theme, as opposed to music, per se) – but it’s all-pervasive, existing in every public area. There’s no escaping it, even in the more solitary areas, like the card room or even the bathrooms – which is where this realization dawned on me.

The fact of the matter is, you’re never completely alone with your thoughts because of this. Now, for some – hey, let’s be generous and say most – of us, this is a good thing. You’re on vacation; you don’t want to think about the ‘real’ world and its cares while you’re here, lest it spoil the wonderful time you’re having. Too much silence, and it’s possible that your mind will drift toward some intrusive thought about those concerns, and we can’t have that, unless you really want it, in which case, you can go back to your stateroom, and please don’t let your worries infringe on other people’s desires to have a good time. Now, I know I’m being overly harsh about the implications – I’m sure it’s not exactly the message that’s meant to be conveyed here – but that conclusion can easily be reached. And until now, this fact hadn’t occurred to me, either; everything was a certain way onboard the ship, and I accepted it as the normal way of life here, without thinking overmuch about it.

But now that I have someone to compare against, whose habits are different than mine, I’m questioning my own behavior, and think I’ve arrived at a rationale for why I do what I do. Whether I’m aware of it or not, I need those moments away from the music – it’s not the life soundtrack I would have picked for myself, in any event – and so I (want to) spend more time in the room, where I can control whether and what to listen to.

Even if it’s only what’s in my own head.

Anyway, I still have more to tell you about, honey, but I’m also going to have to get on with my day. So I’m going to let you go for now, but if you can keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, I’d appreciate it all the same. After all, I’ll still be needing it.