About a week ago my husband got me a book and said, “Here.  Read this and tell me if there’s anything I should know in it.”  First of all, wasn’t there a Seinfeld episode where George has someone read books for him?  Anyway, the book is about the online media — specifically big blogs — and how they manipulate and overload people to encourage clicks and page views and user activity.

I don’t really like the book or the author — who admits he was a PR guy who did all the same sleazy things he is chastizing bloggers for doing now.  I’m not even sure I believe what he’s writing — he tells such a back story of how he couldn’t be trusted with his copy online, why should this book be any more truthful?

But, here’s what sticks with me.  What’s wrong with a little quiet?

To be successful, he writes, a blog has to be noisy, constantly updated, larded with clicks and provocative headlines.

I got nothin’.

This blog is quiet as a mouse.  I’ve had one click in the 3 weeks it’s been up.  Full disclosure — that one click was me.  And, I clicked by mistake.  Even I didn’t mean to click on this site.

But, I kind of like the quiet.

It’s like baseball.  Baseball is so quiet.  Nothing happens for these long, sweet intervals.  Everyone just stands there, watching and waiting.  All there is … is a green field, a handful of guys, and waiting.

It’s not that the players are standing around stupid.  Instead, they are being present, being ready, and — like a game of chess — have expanded the stillness into all the possibilities that may come.  You’ve got to be pretty good to keep yourself so centered when things seem so quiet.

I love that.

Yoga is like that.  And, it’s what scares many people away.  In the middle of a flowing series, I sometimes ask my students to stand still.  And, many get antsy.   They don’t want to.  They want to DO something else.  You are doing something, I insist.  You are standing there.

According to the book I’m reading, the best blog posts are 200-300 words.   This guy clearly doesn’t understand how exciting extra-inning games can be.  I bet he hates baseball.  I bet he thinks nothing happens.  He’s wrong.

Now, I’ll just soak in some quiet.

For awhile.