My happy place is a dark void. During stressful procedures, noisy MRIs, and moments of pain, I picture myself free-falling backwards. I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness as if it’s wet cement. It probably seems unnerving on paper, but there’s peace in the blackness. Comfort in solitude. Safety in silence. Still, when I first heard the phrase “quiet quest,” I thought it sounded like an interesting idea . . . for someone else.

My happy place may be silent, but I’m the type of extrovert who lives for small talk. Happy interactions and pleasant exchanges are my preferred method of communication. But maybe they’re also a self-defense mechanism. If you fill the room with noise, it’s easier to keep people at an arm’s length. Strangers like this surface level “you” — so outgoing and upbeat. Silence can feel a bit vulnerable in comparison; it forces you to spend time with yourself and let others see you more clearly.

But silence also serves as an escape, and there’s lots I want to escape from right now. A hard breakup. Medical trauma. Frustration with personal projects. The anxiety-inducing state of the world. Maybe immersing myself in silence is what I need to let it all go. I might not be the likeliest candidate for a quiet quest, but I ended up committing anyway: three full days of minimal speaking at the Mii amo spa and wellness resort in Sedona, AZ. Here’s what I found in the silence.

My Quiet Quest Experience

At 2:48pm I say my last (intentional) words: “I love you, bye,” on a phone call with my mom. I feel rattled and anxious. There’s so much to do and I don’t want to miss a thing. The pressure to be silent is overshadowing my ability to find any peace within it. Mii amo is located right in the middle of Boynton Canyon — one of Sedona’s famous energy vortexes. The enormous red rocks tower powerfully over the property. As I drive through the canyon, it’s hard not to feel emotional. If I’m spending three days in total silence, I’m happy it’s here.

Day One

The concierge gives me a few laminated business cards explaining that I’m “embracing silence.” This helps ease some of my own anxiety about offending other guests. I get a quick tour of the spa and the quiet quest begins. It’s a strange transition, but I quickly discover that headphones are my best friend. They allow me to go about my business without feeling awkward (I listen to whimsical instrumentals for the majority of the trip . . . you know, no words).

I kick things off with a meditation in Mii amo’s “crystal grotto.” A sign outside says to pick your intention and drop it into the box to be burned at a later point in time. I write the word “release” and move into the meditation space. You’re supposed to walk clockwise around the circumference of the room until you find a spot that feels right. I sit to the east, which I later learn signifies birth and renewal.

Afterwards, I head to my first treatment: a sound escape. I lay down on a zero-gravity lounger which vibrates with the frequency of sound, and visualize the future I want for myself. I come back to my room feeling far less anxious and a little more settled. I eat rabbit pappardelle by the fireplace and read a book about the color blue. I’m quiet for the majority of the day, but there are moments that cause me to break. An emphatic “sorry” when I almost impale a guest with my umbrella. A quick introduction to one of the staff members. “Thank you” to room service. Quiet conversations with the spa practitioners to ensure I’m getting the most out of my services. We’ll see if this improves over the next few days.

Day Two

Even when I’m silent, social media notifications and news alerts fill my brain with a different kind of noise. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and keep it that way. I start the day with an early hike through Boynton Canyon. For the purposes of the quiet quest, it’s just me and my guide making our way through the red rocks. I let her do most of the talking and we spend several stretches in silence — not the uncomfortable kind though.

“There are no coincidences in Sedona.”

At the end of the journey, I clamber onto a rock and spend a few minutes meditating in the canyon. My guide burns sage around me as I try to find silence in my spirit. Be mindful of what you bring to the vortex, she warns me. Whatever it is has the potential to be amplified. Once again, I call to mind the word “release”. The guide comments on how auspicious it is for me to be here during the full moon — a time of release and renewal in astrology. “There are no coincidences in Sedona,” she tells me. After the hike, I take a few more quiet moments to myself. It’s cold for March (by Arizona’s standards), but I’m soaking it all up. As I walk back to my room, a large group of deer passes me by, evidently unfazed by my presence. We move in tandem, sharing the silence together. There are no coincidences in Sedona.

Day Three

My mind is finally starting to feel calm. My “quietude hike” is rescheduled due to some unexpected snow, so I spend the morning drinking coffee by the fireplace and eating lemon ricotta pancakes. Silence. I’m starting to feel it in my body now. I’ve been on solo trips where I end up feeling lonely, but this is not one of them. My day is full and I am my own best companion. I take my robe-clad body out on the patio and let snowflakes fall on my tongue. I barely even notice the cold.

Later, I have an “intuitive massage” where the masseuse uses energy reading to target certain areas. “When your cup is overflowing, the rest of the world has had enough,” she says, encouraging me to pour as much energy into myself as I give to others.

Takeaways

Throughout the quiet quest, my definition of “silence” evolved tremendously. I stopped stressing over a quick “thank you” to room service, or a wayward “excuse me” to another guest. Instead, I turned my attention to what made my life feel noisy: my phone, social media, certain people, a lack of self-care. One of my favorite parts was simply sitting by the fire and allowing myself to slow down. I felt like I finally had time to rest, cry, and process all the things I had been shoving into the “worry about later” sector of my brain.

I spend plenty of time in physical silence, but rarely do I ever make it my intention. Doing so gave me the time I needed to re-evaluate, re-group, and yes, release. If you also feel like life gets a little noisy sometimes, just know that silence doesn’t have to be scary. In fact, silence is a safe space. Settle into it, and you might just learn to love it.

Chandler Plante (she/her) is an assistant health and fitness editor for PS. She has over four years of professional journalism experience, previously working as an editorial assistant for People magazine and contributing to Ladygunn, Millie, and Bustle Digital Group.