quieting the noise

"Winter drives a man back upon himself, and tests his powers of self-entertainment."
-John Burroughs

There are many ways in which a homo sapiens ape birthed into this modern world never has a prayer of living any kind of natural life. To be alive in this post-agricultural, post-industrial epoch is to live in discord with human nature. We exist in staggeringly saturated population densities, yet are deprived of the most basic levels of touch. The sexual repression we call "normal", would drive a sane human to suicide. We walk through our days in a haze of fear: of want, of death, of being unloved. Under circumstances such as these, you never have, nor never will, meet a genuinely healthy person.
A clever homo sapiens ape, realizing this, will spend the rest of her/his (ers?) days trying to reclaim their lost birthright.
Good luck with that.
The most crucial step in intellectual/emotional development (and the key to any return to sanity as individuals or a species) is self-awareness. The amount of self-awareness displayed by the average person these days is generally equal to how much spit they can land in a thimble at ten paces. With a favorable wind, one person out of a thousand gets a glimmer.
I can't walk you through the steps of your own self-awareness...though the paths are similar, no two journeys are alike. If you get there, you'll be one of the most likable, honest people on the planet...but be prepared for nobody to like you. I can't tell you that getting there won't involve reading a lot of books, because it probably will.
I can, however, give you the most essential element of the first step.
Quiet the noise.
You will never hear the naked voice of your own needs, desires, pains, or joys until you can drown out the million alien voices in your head. The voices that tell you who you are, what you should feel, when you should feel it...the voices you turn to for comfort or titillation, or to feel proud, enraged, or shamed...
Philosophers and poets have understood all this for a long, long time. Burroughs was among the first generation of humanity who lived after the Industrial Revolution. His long lifespan fell shy of the invention of television by seven years, so he perhaps never imagined a world of internet, smartphone, thirty magazines in the waiting room, reality shows, live streaming, or rotating-image billboards. Yet Burroughs knew that only in solace can one find oneself...and that long before the Information Age, it was all too easy for people to fill the space between their ears with never-ending clutter.
Burroughs' experience of winter was not so very different from most every human who came before him. Winter was a time of isolation. Leaving the warmth of one's home required more than just a whim. It was unpleasant, if not outright dangerous. You came to know your walls very well, for months on end. There was no access to new companions, new ideas...or new anything.
Compare such a world to the hibernation caves of modern humans. Instant video messaging. 537 channels. Inside the garage, a heated, inexhaustible mini-house on wheels that can outsprint a cheetah. For modern humans, winter has all the meaning of an abacus or chamber pot.
In Burroughs' world, you came to know yourself well. Being alone was a skill you developed, of necessity. How many people do you know who are horrible at being alone? Who become stir crazy after a matter of minutes, or less? The next time you meet one such, look deeper than mere quirkiness or a short attention span. In a significant way, this person does not like who they are.
But the noise in our brains can be stilled, if we but find the discipline and courage to do so.
And unlike most spirit quests, it can be achieved fairly easily. The path may feel drastic, but it's free and available to all.
Disconnect.
Spend one week of each year cut off from all modern media. The electronic media are easiest to sever - no phones, television, or computers (no quick checks - nothing). Say goodbye to the print media - no newspapers or magazines. Don't allow yourself to go where they have any of these things. Only books, the older the better. You'll be best served by taking away automobile access as well. If you want the hardcore route, you'll even take away the books and separate yourself from humanity, except when absolutely necessary.
Certain insights will come almost instantly. You'll stop taking real human companionship for granted - you'll appreciate it more, and loneliness will have an entirely new taste. Other insights will follow.
Perhaps you won't be able to last an entire week. A long weekend, then. Perhaps your first time, you won't last more than a day.
That day still might be one of the most rewarding you'll ever live.
If you get in the habit of doing this once a year, you'll live a life more connected to your nature. The wisdom you find will seep into all aspects of your existence. You'll be able to feel your own way into the next steps of your journey - excising all the voices that you usually can't even consciously hear. A parent, a sibling, a child...someone who once picked on you, or an unrequited love...the living, the dead, the imaginary...Abraham Lincoln, Karl Marx, Ronald McDonald...
One day, you'll start to find yourself.
And winter's gift will have returned to the world.