I’m a bit of a contradiction when it comes to my autistic sensibilities.
I cannot tolerate noise.
Office chatter, traffic noise, dripping taps, ticking clocks, snoring, eating sounds (misophonia), or other people’s phone calls and conversations in general.
This would lead you to think I am sensory avoidant and, to some extent, I am.
However, My autistic noise sensitivity has an exception, I adore music.
Music is one of my great pleasures in life.
My noise-cancelling headphones are rarely off my head. I wear them as soon as I leave the house or office and listen to music constantly.
My musical tastes can best be described as:
“Yes.”
On any given day I might listen to progressive rock, punk, heavy metal, opera, film soundtracks, musical theatre, dad rock, classical music, or, on particularly unusual afternoons, Mongolian throat singing.
Spotify’s recommendation algorithm has long since given up trying to profile me and now simply appears to be selecting tracks using a random number generator and mild panic.
In the world of sound there is a profound difference between music and noise.
Music is controlled, predictable, and chosen.
Noise is intrusive, random, unwarranted and, in most cases, unavoidable.
I live in London.
It’s hardly a haven of peace, calm and quiet serenity and not a place for someone with autistic noise sensitivity!
Well, bits of it can be. More on that later.
But the city isn’t designed to be noisy. It’s not even designed to be quiet. Noise is simply an unavoidable side effect of being a large, bustling metropolis.
London is a loud place.
Then again, it’s not always about volume.
It’s about the inescapable wall of sound and its chaotic, unpredictable nature.
Noise Fatigue
Being constantly immersed in a sea of sound is draining.
Much like Chinese water torture, it slowly chips away at my calm and increases my cognitive overload. External noise increases my internal static and makes my stammer worse.
This results in difficulty concentrating, feeling worn out, exhaustion and an increased likelihood of meltdown.
Death by a thousand auditory paper cuts.
The Survival Equipment
In order to get through the day with minimal fuss, I have an everyday carry survival kit.
- My noise-cancelling headphones (a battered pair of Sony WH-1000XM3s held together with duct tape)
- Loop Quiet earplugs
- A spare set of fallback Bluetooth earbuds (some cheap brand, as I keep losing them)
My morning routine as I leave the house is:
Headphones.
Keys.
Wallet.
Usually in that order.
I’d rather discover I’d forgotten my wallet or my keys than my headphones, which probably says something quite worrying about me.
More worrying, perhaps, is that I’ve frequently forgotten the latter, but as long as I have my headphones I’m fine.
I may not be able to get back into the house.
I may not be able to buy lunch.
But hey, at least I’m not exposed to noise.
Havens of Calm in the Chaos
As mentioned above, not all of London is a hellish soundscape.
For all its flaws, London has an astounding number of parks, museums, churches and galleries.
When I’m in the middle of London I can often find much-needed respite by nipping into one of the many parks and listening to birdsong, or by popping into a museum or gallery to calm my inner turmoil.
And although I’m not a religious person, I do love the peaceful calm of a church or cathedral.
I can understand why those of a more spiritual nature feel something in such places.
The peace is almost palpable.
Like a comforting presence.
Closing Thoughts
So yes, I love sound.
At least, I love music and the sounds of nature.
I love birdsong, babbling brooks, complex harmonies, soaring orchestras, distorted guitars, operatic voices and whatever noise Mongolian throat singers have somehow persuaded their anatomy to produce.
What I don’t love is my brain trying to process every single noise in the environment simultaneously.
The difference between music and noise isn’t volume.
It’s consent.
One I invited in.
The other kicked the door down and started defecating on the furniture.