Some people call me a night owl. And like the Denver Nuggets’ season, that’s almost on the mark, but not quite.

I’m a quiet guy.

Late nights. Early mornings. Moments free from the clock, where the endless soundtrack of life fades out for a while. Unhurried, undemanding time where the mind can find itself again.

That’s my recharge. And maybe about as un-American as you can get.

As a people, we tend to be a noisy, bustling bunch. We fill our lives with activity, people and background noise, a constant motion that borders on restlessness. When the pandemic first hit in 2020, you could almost feel the stress of a nation that suddenly had nothing to DO, with in-home hobbies becoming as valuable as toilet paper.

Pausing? Stopping? Stepping away? It’s not something that a lot of us do easily. And we don’t even need a pandemic to see it.

We rediscover it every Memorial Day.

Oh, we know what Memorial Day’s supposed to be. It’s when we remember to remember, a space to think about those who gave their lives in the service of this country. A simple thing, maybe even a little somber.

But we also know what Memorial Day *really* is. At least, by the way we treat it.

It’s the first day of summer. It’s the time to hit the barbecue, the pool and the backyard gathering.

And when the Indy 500 calls out “start your engines,” it couldn’t be more appropriate. After all, we know what it’s like to be constantly in motion, surrounded by other people doing the same, with none of us getting anywhere.

And it’s been that way for a long, long time.

A 1913 veteran griped that people were already beginning “to forget the purpose of Memorial Day and make it a day for games, races and revelry, instead of a day of memory and tears.” Not a lot has changed in 112 years.

Now granted, you’re always going to have more people lining up for fun than for painful memories. And I’m not saying the two can’t co-exist. (I’d better not, with as many barbecues as I’ve enjoyed with my in-laws.) But it’s always going to be a challenge.

Why? Because a lot of us don’t know how to handle silence.

Ages ago in some forgotten trivia book, I ran across a comment that the typical English speaker can’t let a silence go by for more than seven seconds before trying to fill it. (Yes, I can hear some of you counting right now.) It starts to feel awkward. We try to think of ways to claim the space: a joke, a comment, anything except doing nothing.

But here’s the secret. We’re never “doing nothing.”

Thought is something.

Memory is something.

Contemplation, consideration and learning are something.

And they’re “somethings” that can give a purpose and direction to all our more visible activities.

I’m not arguing for a life of monastic reflection. There is a lot that needs to be done in this world, much of it urgent. But if we don’t take at least a moment to remember, we can lose why we’re doing it and who we’re doing it for.

We lose our past. Our community. Our sense of something bigger than ourselves.

That’s a vulnerable place to be. One where it’s all too easy to take direction without thought, to do the next thing without considering whether it’s the right thing.

So this year, take a moment. Stop. Remember who came before. Remember what they stood for. And why. And what they were willing to give for it.

Have no fear. The activity will resume. But hopefully, the memories will remain.

And just maybe, we can use them to recharge a nation.