But when I think of loud, I instinctively want to put fingers in my ears. I think of huge crowds at basketball games in indoor gyms where the noise can't escape and instead pulses through me. I think of groups of little girls who think screaming in enclosed buildings is fun. And I cringe, as I remember the daggers to my brain that every noise would make back in the days when I suffered migraines ever so often.
To me, loud usually equals pain.
But I've also been trained to hate loud. Having a young child with autism, I can't tell you how many times I wanted to yell at the guy who honked his horn on our street, or the one who startled my child and made him cry. (Can I mention that my child cried really LOUD?)
Can we do loud quietly?
Probably not. But I look forward to the day when I can be like an older lady whom I once saw long ago. She was sitting at a table watching these babies try to outdo each other with back and forth screams. And she was laughing.
Can I get to that point and still be able to hear the birds sing? I hope so!