I can sleep through snoring.
Not only can I sleep through snoring but I can fall asleep to snoring. I might even go as far as saying that it actually puts me to sleep.
I love that.
I'm such a sucker for things that pop like a pop of color in an otherwise bleakly hued room, or a stream of rays through a break in the clouds, or a moment in a song where there's only voices. Sometimes those pops are so much more satisfying than a stream of greatness. Too much of a good thing can sometimes be numbing.
In a similar sense, I'm a sucker for newness. I love moving into a new room, getting new clothes or makeup (or toothbrushes... best), and new music in my iPod. But that extends into stuff that gets more serious - new friendships, churches, community, relationships, jobs, geographical location. The old gets, well... old. One of my greatest regrets of who I am is that thing in me that makes my perception of precious things bland because they are no longer new. I use to think it was boredom but I've recently decided it's not really boredom. I need to stop saying that. I'm not bored of my friends or my relationships or my jobs just because they are maybe less "new" than they were. I think it's just that they have such a steadiness to them that I fail to recognize their beauty. This is especially true when my initial impression of them was a heart-stopping, agenda-changing, do-a-180 (not a 360) kind of impression. I get so high and I thrive too much off of that highness rather than stopping and taking a hot minute to realize the beauty of what's around me.
White-noise doesn't have to have such a negative connotation in my life. White-noise can mean that I am at peace. If I chose to view it well, I can pick away at the new things that come into my life amidst a backdrop of artistry and a sustained surrounding of matured and aged blessings. It's a choice of reminding.
Talking today at church about having ears to hear, I realized that for me, it's a matter of tuning in. It's the difference between looking for the new as a way of replacing the awesome that's before me, instead of appreciating the new as it comes while finding that contentment is really about taking note of the environment. The noise is there, and you can hear it, but you might just not really be listening that closely. I've been finding that when I do, I don't need to find new and that I can recognize it as novelty. I think it's possible to have both a sense of novelty in my life while embracing a continual and sustained experience of peace that goes beyond the mountain-top-experiences.