The Noise of Belonging : Why We Crave Loudness to Feel Alive?
There’s a peculiar phenomenon I’ve often observed in myself and others : the magnetic pull toward noise, chaos, and overstimulation. It’s in the way we crowd into concerts, letting basslines rattle our ribs; the way we light up our screens to stream endless reels of flashing images; the way we find comfort not in silence, but in the chatter of cafes, the hum of traffic, or the blare of music in our headphones. Why do we, as humans, seem to crave noise? Why do we equate loudness — both literal and metaphorical — with feeling alive?
In quieter moments of reflection, I’ve come to suspect that this craving isn’t incidental. It reveals something primal, something existential about our nature. To understand it, we must journey into the depths of our sensory makeup, our evolutionary past, and the psychological voids that modern life seeks to fill.
Sensory Overload : A Return to the Womb?
From the moment we are conceived, our existence begins in an environment of perpetual sensory immersion. Inside the womb, we are enveloped by muffled sounds — our mother’s heartbeat, the rush of blood, the resonance of voices filtered through amniotic fluid. There is no silence in the womb, only a constant symphony of vibrations and sensations.
It is no wonder, then, that as infants, we are calmed by swaddling (which mimics the snugness of the womb) and by white noise (which re-creates its incessant hum). These early associations with comfort and stimulation may leave an indelible mark on our psyches, teaching us that noise is not merely tolerable — it is necessary. Could it be that our lifelong attraction to loudness and chaos is an unconscious attempt to return to this state of primal belonging?
The French philosopher Gaston Bachelard once wrote about the “intimate immensity” of childhood experiences, where boundaries between self and world blur. In overstimulating environments — concerts, bustling cities, or even social media feeds — this blurring seems to reoccur. The self dissolves, engulfed by external sensations, and for a fleeting moment, we escape the burden of individuality. Noise, then, is not just a distraction; it is a portal back to the pre-self, a state of unity with the world.
The Need for Intensity
This brings us to a deeper question : why do we crave intensity at all? In quieter moments of life, existential stillness looms. It’s in the silence of an empty room, in the absence of pings and notifications, that we confront our mortality. Without noise, we are left to reckon with what philosopher Martin Heidegger called Geworfenheit, or “thrownness” — the unsettling fact that we are thrown into existence without explanation, purpose, or control.
Noise, in contrast, offers escape. The thrum of a nightclub or the roar of a sports stadium pulls us out of our heads and into the collective energy of the crowd. It transforms our isolated existence into a shared experience. The need for intensity is, in this sense, a need to feel connected — not just to others, but to something larger than ourselves. This explains why we don’t merely tolerate overstimulation; we seek it out, even at the cost of our well-being.
Phenomenology of Noise : The Role of Perception
Phenomenologically speaking, noise does more than stimulate the senses; it alters the very structure of our consciousness. In a silent room, time stretches out. Seconds feel heavier because there is nothing to distract us from their passage. But in a noisy environment, time collapses. The onslaught of sensations creates a kind of temporal compression, making us feel as though we are living more fully in the present moment.
Philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy describes sound as an experience of being “touched” at a distance. Unlike sight, which creates a sense of separation between observer and observed, sound penetrates us. It vibrates through our bones and resonates in our bodies, creating a visceral connection to the external world. Perhaps this is why noise feels so immediate, so alive — it reminds us that we are not isolated minds trapped in bodies but physical beings embedded in a dynamic, vibrating universe.
Overstimulation and Infantile States
There is something oddly regressive about our love of noise and chaos. Overstimulation seems to return us to an infantile state, where boundaries between self and world are fluid. As adults, we construct elaborate mental frameworks to organize our experiences — categories, hierarchies, and narratives. But in moments of sensory overload, these frameworks dissolve. We lose ourselves in the sheer immediacy of sensation.
Neurologically, this regression can be explained by the brain’s response to overstimulation. When bombarded by sensory input, the prefrontal cortex — the seat of rational thought and self-awareness — temporarily shuts down. In its place, more primitive brain regions take over, activating emotional and instinctual responses. This is why overstimulation often feels euphoric or cathartic: it silences the inner critic and allows us to inhabit a rawer, more primal mode of being.
The Existential Anxiety of Stillness
If noise offers us a reprieve, it is because stillness confronts us with the very thing we fear most : the void. In silence, we are forced to listen to the hum of our own thoughts, the faint echo of our unanswered questions. Who am I? What does it mean to live a meaningful life? These questions, which we can ignore in the cacophony of daily life, grow deafening in the absence of noise.
Existentialist philosophers have long grappled with this anxiety. Søren Kierkegaard spoke of the “sickness unto death” — a despair born from the realization of our finite existence. Similarly, Albert Camus described life as fundamentally absurd, a ceaseless search for meaning in a universe that offers none. Noise, in this context, serves as a coping mechanism. It shields us from the absurdity of existence by filling the void with sound and sensation.
Addiction to Stimulation
But there is a dark side to our craving for noise. As with any addiction, the more we indulge in sensory overload, the more we require to feel the same effects. This is evident in our escalating consumption of media, where each generation demands faster cuts, brighter colors, and louder soundtracks. The result is a kind of sensory arms race, where the baseline for what constitutes “normal” stimulation rises exponentially.
Psychologists warn that this constant exposure to overstimulation can desensitize us, dulling our capacity for subtlety and nuance. Just as the palate loses its sensitivity to flavors after years of overeating, the mind loses its sensitivity to quiet joys after years of sensory excess. In our quest to feel alive, we risk becoming numb.
Escaping the Tyranny of Noise
So, how do we navigate this tension between our craving for noise and the existential need for stillness? I believe the answer lies in cultivating a mindful relationship with stimulation. This does not mean retreating into silence or rejecting noise altogether — such extremes are neither realistic nor desirable. Instead, it means learning to embrace noise as a tool rather than a crutch.
This might involve intentionally creating moments of stillness in our lives, not as an escape from noise but as a complement to it. It might mean listening more attentively, savoring the richness of sound rather than drowning in its excess. And it might mean confronting the existential questions we so often avoid, not with fear but with curiosity.
A Personal Reflection
For me, the journey toward understanding noise has been deeply personal. I’ve found solace in both the quiet of solitude and the chaos of crowds, recognizing that each has its place. In moments of sensory overload, I try to remind myself that the noise is not a substitute for meaning but a reminder of life’s vibrancy. And in moments of silence, I try to listen — not just to the absence of sound but to the faint whispers of my own being.
Noise is not the enemy. It is a mirror, reflecting our deepest fears and desires. It is a bridge, connecting us to others and to ourselves. And, above all, it is a question : how do we want to live, in the midst of all this sound and fury? For now, I do not have an answer. But perhaps the act of listening — truly listening — is a start.
Thanks for dropping by !
Disclaimer : Everything written above, I owe to the great minds I’ve encountered and the voices I’ve heard along the way.