A true story of a weird addiction.
In 2017, I landed my first job in the U.S. as a software engineer. One of my most vivid memories from that period was buying my first expensive purchase - a pair of Bose QC2 noise-canceling headphones. At $380 (with taxes), it felt like a big decision. I wasn't sure if I should splurge, but after borrowing my roommate's pair, I was hooked. I took the plunge.
From the moment I put them on, I was in love. I even posted on Facebook with the hashtag #boseclub. The headphones became a daily part of my life - on my commute, during meetings, and for anything I listened to, whether on my phone or TV. I flaunted them in public, feeling like a cool, tech-savvy software engineer, lost in my own world.
My headphones became an extension of me. Life moved forward, fueled by ambition and the comforting hum of noise-canceling perfection. Among my friends, I had even earned the title of "the headphones guy," a label I embraced. In 2022, a friend gifted me the Sony MDX-1000, which I liked, but I stuck with my trusted Bose. Then, in 2023, another friend surprised me with an upgrade: the Bose NC700. I couldn't have been happier.
But in July 2024, tragedy struck. Overwhelmed by depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, I lost all motivation - to work, to talk to anyone, even to eat. By August 2024, I was at my lowest point. Yet, with my family's support from India, I began to pull myself out. I started therapy, focused on my physical and mental health, and began going to the gym six days a week. Sundays became my escape - long walks around lakes and trails gave me solace. I immersed myself in learning new tech stacks, exploring stock and options trading, and quitting alcohol.
By the end of 2024, things had improved. I had lost 32 pounds, built muscle, and become financially responsible. I had expanded my technical skills and remained alcohol-free. I also grew closer to my family, appreciating their support more than ever.
Despite this progress, my headphones remained constant. I spent hours listening to podcasts on mental health from Mel Robbins, Andrew Huberman, and HealthyGamerGG. I devoured YouTube tutorials, history documentaries, and calming music - always with my headphones on. They were my shield from the world, my constant companion.
The first thing I did after waking up was put on my headphones, and the last thing I did before bed was place them on charge. The only time I wasn't wearing them was when I showered or worshipped. I convinced myself I was progressing, rebuilding myself, and leaving the past behind.
But something was shifting. Maybe it was the guilt from the tragedy, or maybe I couldn't face the weight of sympathy. I started cutting myself off from my friends. Conversations felt unnecessary. My headphones became my best friend - the one thing I could rely on without fear of judgment. I convinced myself I was healing in my own way.
Then, on February 25, 2025, I woke up gripped by panic. My headphones were still on, but for the first time, they felt unbearable. I tried everything - calming music, meditation, journaling - but nothing worked. My mind spiraled faster than I could catch my breath. Desperate, I refreshed YouTube, hoping for something to calm my thoughts. But nothing helped. My headphones, once my comfort, now felt like a weight I couldn't carry.
In the middle of the night, I called my parents. The moment they answered, they knew something was wrong. They comforted me, urging me not to worry. Through my tears, I whispered, "I feel so lonely. I barely speak to anyone during the day. It's just me and my headphones, listening to anything I can." My mother suggested I cut down on my headphone use. At first, I didn't understand how it would help, but with a heavy heart, I decided to follow her advice.
The next day, I took a different path. I went for a walk around the lake instead of heading to the gym. This time, my headphones stayed at home. For the first time in six months, I walked without them, and it was surreal.
As I walked, I felt the cool breeze on my ears, a sensation I hadn't experienced in months. I could hear the soft tap of my footsteps against the pavement. For the first time in months, I noticed the stream flowing beside me, its gentle rush soothing. I heard the rustling of leaves as squirrels scampered and the chirps of birds overhead. Everything felt alive in a way it never did with headphones on. I had been walking this route for so long, but this time, I was present.
It was silly of me not to realize the true power of nature. I had gone on countless walks listening to self-help audiobooks, thinking I was reducing stress. But I hadn't truly experienced nature - I had been too distracted by the white noise of my headphones.
When I got home, I felt like I had discovered a superpower. I sat down, thinking about what to cook for dinner, and spoke aloud, "Let's cook daal-chawal the traditional way." I paused, surprised at myself, thinking, "You don't sound that bad!" And in that moment, it dawned on me: I had forgotten what it felt like to hear my own thoughts. In the chaos of tragedy, I had isolated myself, exacerbating my loneliness and fueling my anxiety. I hadn't truly spoken to myself in a long time.
Now, I've become more conscious and mindful, noticing the simple things I had overlooked before. The sound of doors opening, the clink of a spoon stirring in a steel vessel, the tea being poured into the teapot, or the rustling of leaves in the wind - these sounds are magical. Nature had been trying to connect with me all along, offering its subtle comfort in the healing process. I had turned a "deaf ear" to its call, but now, my ears have opened my eyes.
Have I recovered completely from the tragedy or my addiction to headphones? Not completely, but I'm now 100% sure I'm on the right track. There are still moments of anxiety and panic throughout the day, and an urge to put my headphones back on without any real need. But small things, like hearing kids play on the streets, a car passing by, or even just the sound of the heater turning on, help pull me out of negative thoughts and bring me back to the present. I'm learning to find peace in these simple moments.
To those who, like me, have used headphones to block out the world: Remember this - sometimes, the silence and the sounds around us hold the key to healing. It's easy to get lost in the noise, but by tuning out, we miss the simple beauty of life and the peace that comes from being present. Take small steps to embrace quiet moments - go for a walk without distractions, listen to the world around you, and reconnect with yourself. You don't need to drown out the noise to heal; sometimes, being present is the most powerful thing you can do.
P.S.: I still talk to my parents while wearing headphones (I don't want to bother my roommate). Her next advice is to have lunches in the patio! Love you, aai.
In 2017, I landed my first job in the U.S. as a software engineer. One of my most vivid memories from that period was buying my first expensive purchase - a pair of Bose QC2 noise-canceling headphones. At $380 (with taxes), it felt like a big decision. I wasn't sure if I should splurge, but after borrowing my roommate's pair, I was hooked. I took the plunge.
From the moment I put them on, I was in love. I even posted on Facebook with the hashtag #boseclub. The headphones became a daily part of my life - on my commute, during meetings, and for anything I listened to, whether on my phone or TV. I flaunted them in public, feeling like a cool, tech-savvy software engineer, lost in my own world.
My headphones became an extension of me. Life moved forward, fueled by ambition and the comforting hum of noise-canceling perfection. Among my friends, I had even earned the title of "the headphones guy," a label I embraced. In 2022, a friend gifted me the Sony MDX-1000, which I liked, but I stuck with my trusted Bose. Then, in 2023, another friend surprised me with an upgrade: the Bose NC700. I couldn't have been happier.
But in July 2024, tragedy struck. Overwhelmed by depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, I lost all motivation - to work, to talk to anyone, even to eat. By August 2024, I was at my lowest point. Yet, with my family's support from India, I began to pull myself out. I started therapy, focused on my physical and mental health, and began going to the gym six days a week. Sundays became my escape - long walks around lakes and trails gave me solace. I immersed myself in learning new tech stacks, exploring stock and options trading, and quitting alcohol.
By the end of 2024, things had improved. I had lost 32 pounds, built muscle, and become financially responsible. I had expanded my technical skills and remained alcohol-free. I also grew closer to my family, appreciating their support more than ever.
Despite this progress, my headphones remained constant. I spent hours listening to podcasts on mental health from Mel Robbins, Andrew Huberman, and HealthyGamerGG. I devoured YouTube tutorials, history documentaries, and calming music - always with my headphones on. They were my shield from the world, my constant companion.
The first thing I did after waking up was put on my headphones, and the last thing I did before bed was place them on charge. The only time I wasn't wearing them was when I showered or worshipped. I convinced myself I was progressing, rebuilding myself, and leaving the past behind.
But something was shifting. Maybe it was the guilt from the tragedy, or maybe I couldn't face the weight of sympathy. I started cutting myself off from my friends. Conversations felt unnecessary. My headphones became my best friend - the one thing I could rely on without fear of judgment. I convinced myself I was healing in my own way.
Then, on February 25, 2025, I woke up gripped by panic. My headphones were still on, but for the first time, they felt unbearable. I tried everything - calming music, meditation, journaling - but nothing worked. My mind spiraled faster than I could catch my breath. Desperate, I refreshed YouTube, hoping for something to calm my thoughts. But nothing helped. My headphones, once my comfort, now felt like a weight I couldn't carry.
In the middle of the night, I called my parents. The moment they answered, they knew something was wrong. They comforted me, urging me not to worry. Through my tears, I whispered, "I feel so lonely. I barely speak to anyone during the day. It's just me and my headphones, listening to anything I can." My mother suggested I cut down on my headphone use. At first, I didn't understand how it would help, but with a heavy heart, I decided to follow her advice.
The next day, I took a different path. I went for a walk around the lake instead of heading to the gym. This time, my headphones stayed at home. For the first time in six months, I walked without them, and it was surreal.
As I walked, I felt the cool breeze on my ears, a sensation I hadn't experienced in months. I could hear the soft tap of my footsteps against the pavement. For the first time in months, I noticed the stream flowing beside me, its gentle rush soothing. I heard the rustling of leaves as squirrels scampered and the chirps of birds overhead. Everything felt alive in a way it never did with headphones on. I had been walking this route for so long, but this time, I was present.
It was silly of me not to realize the true power of nature. I had gone on countless walks listening to self-help audiobooks, thinking I was reducing stress. But I hadn't truly experienced nature - I had been too distracted by the white noise of my headphones.
When I got home, I felt like I had discovered a superpower. I sat down, thinking about what to cook for dinner, and spoke aloud, "Let's cook daal-chawal the traditional way." I paused, surprised at myself, thinking, "You don't sound that bad!" And in that moment, it dawned on me: I had forgotten what it felt like to hear my own thoughts. In the chaos of tragedy, I had isolated myself, exacerbating my loneliness and fueling my anxiety. I hadn't truly spoken to myself in a long time.
Now, I've become more conscious and mindful, noticing the simple things I had overlooked before. The sound of doors opening, the clink of a spoon stirring in a steel vessel, the tea being poured into the teapot, or the rustling of leaves in the wind - these sounds are magical. Nature had been trying to connect with me all along, offering its subtle comfort in the healing process. I had turned a "deaf ear" to its call, but now, my ears have opened my eyes.
Have I recovered completely from the tragedy or my addiction to headphones? Not completely, but I'm now 100% sure I'm on the right track. There are still moments of anxiety and panic throughout the day, and an urge to put my headphones back on without any real need. But small things, like hearing kids play on the streets, a car passing by, or even just the sound of the heater turning on, help pull me out of negative thoughts and bring me back to the present. I'm learning to find peace in these simple moments.
To those who, like me, have used headphones to block out the world: Remember this - sometimes, the silence and the sounds around us hold the key to healing. It's easy to get lost in the noise, but by tuning out, we miss the simple beauty of life and the peace that comes from being present. Take small steps to embrace quiet moments - go for a walk without distractions, listen to the world around you, and reconnect with yourself. You don't need to drown out the noise to heal; sometimes, being present is the most powerful thing you can do.
P.S.: I still talk to my parents while wearing headphones (I don't want to bother my roommate). Her next advice is to have lunches in the patio! Love you, aai.
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