Place offers ‘a quiet experience’ to help cure ‘popcorn brain’
MINNEAPOLIS — Can the Quietest Place on Earth cure the phenomenon known as “popcorn brain”?
The term applies to a scattered attention span, exacerbated by social media use, that sends one’s brain flitting from one idea to the next, much like kernels bursting in the microwave. I’m feeling it now, struggling to write a column in the face of so many shiny objects — from the next item on my to-do list to breaking-news notifications.
Enter Orfield Laboratories. Decades ago, this spot — once home to recording studio Sound 80 — was known for helping birth some of the most notable music to emerge from Minneapolis, including Lipps Inc.’s “Funkytown,” Bob Dylan’s “Blood on the Tracks” and Prince’s early demo tape. Now it’s on the map for its world-renowned silence.
The lab’s anechoic chamber (“an-ih-KOH-ic,” meaning it’s free of echoes) is so quiet that the lab’s owner, Steve Orfield, says you may hear things you’ve never heard before. The quieter the place, the more sensitive your ability to truly listen becomes.
“If you stay in the anechoic chamber for 30 to 45 minutes, you could hear your own heartbeat,” he says. “You could hear your knees and elbows scraping together when you move your joints. You can hear the blood flowing in your carotid arteries up to your brain. You’re the show.”
If the idea of “being the show” intimidates you, you’re in good company. I’m thankful to live in a time when I never have to be alone with my thoughts. Podcasts and playlists can entertain us on our walks. A million diversions beckon from our phone. Why sit down and focus when I can watch a video of a horse farting on a Siamese cat?
But don’t be fooled by myths about entering Minneapolis’ anechoic chamber. Over the years,
Orfield
schedule. “I decided to put it off a month or two,” she explained, “because I didn’t want to be running around New York City at the mercy of a toddler who says she has to go into every single public bathroom.”
It worked out, as these things do. That toddler was now the birthday girl turning 24.
“This isn’t potty training,” I gently pointed out. “You don’t get to control the schedule.”
We had a “Would that I could” moment.
From there, we unwound all the needs and prioritized. Dad’s comfort and care were #1.
Raising magnificent young women was also important. I gently reminded Friend. “Seeing someone you love out is as important and magnificent as bringing someone in,” I pointed out. “Daughters need to know this.
See this.”
Friend appreciated my counsel.
The family called in hospice. Her dad passed a few days later, two days after his granddaughter’s birthday.
That same granddaughter was holding his hand, singing to him as he transitioned.
In a few weeks we will all gather for the wedding. Tears will splash. For the joy. For the loss. I have no doubt Friend’s father will be there in spirit. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.