Nobody at an airport arrivals gate is doing anything. They stand, eyes on the sliding doors, coffee going cold in their hands. By every productivity metric it's wasted time. But no one there would call it empty. The waiting has a face on the other side of it.

That's the silence in Psalm 62. The writer isn't emptying his head or chasing calm. His silence points somewhere. It has an address. He goes quiet the way you go quiet at those doors — because talking would be beside the point, and because someone is coming.

Most of us treat silence as a gap in the signal: headphones on the walk, phone out in the queue, anything but the hum of our own heads. Maybe that's because our silence faces nothing, and silence that faces nothing feels like falling. So try one stretch of quiet today that faces somewhere. You don't have to be certain anyone will come through the doors. The people at arrivals aren't certain either — flights get delayed, plans change. They stay anyway. Waiting is just hope, standing still.