I spent one week at a retreat in upstate New York for five consecutive summers almost twenty years ago. It offered me a chance to get away from habitual distractions, to meditate, take yoga classes and BE with myself.

A favorite photograph on display near their cafeteria was a large black a white print of a sadhu, a holy man from India, holding his right index finger against his lips in a gesture that has become synonymous with the sound… Shhhh.

It was as if he was telling me to become quiet. Not as a command but as a piece of wisdom. Getting still, getting quiet, was a necessary preparatory step for listening. For hearing certain sounds and for hearing thoughts that came up from inside me. (That’s a form of listening too.)

I just made two important purchases. A lot of listening seemed to take place around both.

This past Christmas, I decided to buy a new dishwasher. The one I had was about twenty years old. Beyond declining in cleaning performance, its retractable racks didn’t slide in an out smoothly. It made a lot of noise.

Far from buying something in order to have the latest version (I had an iPhone 5 for longer than it takes to get a college degree), I am usually reluctant to spend money on something  new.

I decided on a Bosch. Coming into a new year, I thought of the purchase as a way of sending myself a message of regard and faith in better things.

I knew it would take a long time to arrive. Supply chain issues, especially on products manufactured overseas, were well-known. After waiting about nine weeks, it was installed just the other day.

The delivery men were polite. The old one was hauled off. Registration was easy. The manual was well-written.

The day before my German-engineered appliance got installed, I bought a new printer. I had to. The all-in-one (printer-scanner-fax) I had been using for years experienced its last paper jam.

Five years for a printer seemed to be as reasonable a life span as twenty years for a dishwasher. Yet, I found myself irritated about the purchase. After all, it stopped being useful suddenly. Sales people at the store weren’t helpful explaining features. The worst thing, though, is that I haven’t been able to install it myself.

The instructions don’t match the pictures in the manual. The manufacturer provides no phone support (or at least they don’t make it obvious how to reach a person). Their online registration process is flakey.

My mind started to let in all sorts of noise.

I thought about how my feelings on these two purchases were different from the get-go. I bought a new dishwasher because I felt it was a nice thing to do for myself. I bought the new printer because the one I had been using broke.

As I’m writing this, I haven’t run my new dishwasher yet (I live alone and don’t generate many dirty dishes), yet I have a lot of confidence I’m going to be pleased. My new inkjet has not yet printed a single page. The contents of its box are spread out over my desk, along with the manual.

I have calls into some friends in hopes of enlisting help. Meantime, I started watching my thoughts and tried not to obsess over dissatisfactions, frustration or resentment.

When bringing anything new into my home, I recognized there can be a period of adjustment  I’ll tune into the sound something makes — or doesn’t make. Like listening to the breath of a new lover sleeping next to you, I understand some things might require getting used to.

When a new appliance is accompanied by the sound of silence, it seems like a reason to celebrate. I know when my Series 500 dishwasher runs its first wash cycle, it will be gloriously quiet. An all-in-one printer is not a device known for making excessive sound, yet my thoughts about it, have been anything but peaceful. I’ve been so irritated by how difficult it’s been to get it up and running.

Then, I recognized that there’s only one type of quiet that matters.

Turning off the noise in your head is no small thing.