I've clocked it. As a high school English teacher, I speak with more than 130 people on an average day, most of them adolescent students, which, given their fibrillating hormonal/emotional state, should count extra. As soon as I walk into the building, I'm bombarded by the cacophony of hundreds of kids chatting and laughing loudly in the hallway, not to mention their constant knocking on my door with questions about why they didn't get an A on a paper and whether I can write their college recommendation. My raucous school day is capped off by the joyous pandemonium of horseback riding or rock climbing with Poppy, my 11-year-old daughter, and London, my 6-year-old son. After being accosted with so many acoustics all day, I barely have the energy to discuss redesigning the patio with my wife, Lala. I was starting to feel like a short-circuited Max Headroom, so I decided to take a break from all the hubbub with a vow of silence.

My forty-first birthday had just passed, and I told Lala that what I wanted more than anything was a few hours during which I didn't have to talk to anyone. An artist who works from home, she knows my life outside our four walls is considerably more hectic than hers, so she agreed, but advised that I better pull that kind of stunt outside of the house.

I rose the next Saturday morning eager to greet the day with closed lips—and to get out of the house before the kids woke up, since we thought they might not appreciate the plan. But as I tiptoed out of the bedroom, London stopped me and said, "Dad, I want breakfast." I went into the kitchen and slapped together a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. When I handed it to him, he leered at me. He could tell something was off. My mouth was not making up silly songs about bread or asking about the life cycle of the colorful paper animals he saw on TV.

"You okay?" London squinted like Clint Eastwood with an itchy trigger finger. I nodded, but I could feel him eyeballing me suspiciously as I darted for the door, and I knew full well that any more time spent at home would defeat the purpose of my vow.

As soon as I got into my car and shut the door, I felt a sense of immense calm. I wasn't answering questions about a homework assignment or explaining why you don't put ice cream in your nostrils. Instead of being surrounded by a din, I listened to the welcome sound of silence. I drove to my favorite Mexican restaurant and settled at a table. When the waitress came to take my order, I pointed to the items on the menu I wished to devour. She didn't seem bothered by my silence. Nearby, a family was celebrating a birthday and a couple was finishing up a late breakfast. The pair called the waitress over and asked her how to get to Whole Foods. Before I knew it, I had a pen in my hand, ready to draw them a map to scale. I knew this knee-jerk reaction came from my father, who loves to talk to anyone and acts as if offering directions is his life's calling. It was a battle to wrestle the pen from my grip and stop myself from informing them that they couldn't take a left on Cerrillos Road.

My steaming plate of huevos rancheros arrived just in time to save me from temptation, and I dove into both the eggs and the New Yorker. For about two hours, I was happily oblivious to everything going on around me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the father of the birthday girl placed a piece of cake before me. I had to make a choice. It was at that moment when I realized that I spend most of my days among people who demand time or something else from me, but here was someone who only wanted to give. For that I figured breaking my silence was worth it. "Thank you," I said, and it felt almost gratifying.

I took the long way home, and as I was curving around the backroads, I felt completely reenergized. It was a relief to have a few hours to unhook myself from all the roles I play and just be. How often do any of us get to do that? It's easy to forget that underneath all the hats we wear as spouses, parents, working professionals and friends, there is also the inner self that needs our attention. Getting a chance to reconnect with that self not only recharges us, but also makes us happier and less stressed out.

When you carve out personal time for yourself, you don't feel as though everyone is taking it from you. It's something everybody needs, and I definitely plan on taking more "vows" in the future. I pulled into the garage and stepped out of the car with a smile on my face, eager to jump back into the wonderful sounds of my life.

Santa Fe, NM