In 2007 I went on a five-day yoga retreat with Art of Living. I had done a first workshop and I liked the balance between yoga, meditation and philosophy. I must admit that I don’t follow any of their practices anymore, but it was a good community for me to be in at the time. The workshop was a residential retreat in Copenhagen and on my arrival I was full of expectations and looking forward to a couple of days of yoga, meditation and hanging out with great people. There was just one crucial piece of information that I had somehow missed and did not find out about until I arrived at the venue:

The major part of the retreat would be in silence.

When I first got the news my mind could not quite grasp the concept. What do you mean, being silent? How can I be silent around other people? It is rude to not talk to people! I’ll be missing out on all these people! What if I need to ask something? Like to pass the salt?

These thoughts kept bouncing around in my mind and did not leave me alone until the next day, when I had already been a few hours in silence. I had not previously realized that I was terrified of being silent with other people, afraid of missing out on or losing contact with the people around me, afraid of being alone.

But here’s what happened: After moving into silence, the first thing I noticed was how relaxed all the meals became, and how much more I could focus on the food I was eating. The meditation, yoga and lectures were always in silence so it was the breaks and meals that stood out to me. As I didn’t have to focus on maintaining a conversation with the people around me, I was able to focus more on the here and now and to just enjoy what was served. I remember the calmness I got from doing meditation, yoga and listening to lectures without having to talk to anyone. If we had questions we were asked to write them down in the breaks and the teacher would answer them after each break. Not many questions were turned in.

During our first evening in silence we had a few hours of free time after the scheduled program had ended. I walked to the kitchen where I found four other participants sitting on the sofa drinking tea. So, I got myself a cup of tea and sat down with them. To my amazement it did not feel the least bit uncomfortable to sit there without talking. It was a huge relief to not have to talk! Simply because I did not have to perform, did not have to be funny or initiate an interesting conversation and did not have to come up with good responses to what people said. I could just sit on the sofa, drink my tea and just enjoy being in the company of other people. We managed to create a connection, one that even felt deep, without talking. And we sat there enjoying one another's company for over half an hour. Then, as if acting on a hidden signal we all stood up, washed our cups and went to bed.

The second thing I noticed during the retreat was the chatter in my head. My mind simply cannot stop its association-driven machinery and most often when I hear something it makes me think of a joke. As this started happening I of course had the urge to share! This amazingly witty thought will wither away if I’m not allowed to share it with the world! I tried to hold on to them, hoping to share when I was allowed to talk again, but as I kept my silence, the jokes sadly disappeared.

But then some time during the second day of silence as the teacher was talking, another joke popped into my head. This time, with the joke came a new thought: I am really funny! Or to be exact, I think I am really, really funny.

I love my own jokes!

And with that reaction came the realization that it is OK to laugh at them. So instead of letting the jokes wither because I could not share them and instead of sticking to the norm that says you shouldn’t laugh at your own jokes, I ended up sitting in silence and laughing at my own jokes. I could be meditating when a joke popped into my mind and instead of being annoyed at the thought of losing it; it made me smile. When the lectures reminded me of something funny I smiled. It made me smile when I was standing in a yoga pose that I thought was funny or a bit crude. Most of the time I laughed “internally”, but I am pretty sure that my smile got wider and I might even have giggled (in a manly way, of course). The thing is that I started having such a great time by myself. I started enjoying my own company in a completely new way.

I was enjoying myself so much that suddenly the thought of ending the silence felt terrifying to me. As that last evening arrived I remember wanting to continue in silence. Going to dinner and now hearing everyone talk (in what felt like very loud voices) made me cringe. I just ate very fast and then went to the yoga room to wait in silence for the night session. I needed a lot more time to adjust to taking in other people’s thoughts again. Of course I did adapt to the talking world again, but this experience taught me to laugh with myself. To enjoy my own company, and that has made all the difference.