Mold, Memories & Sympathy Cards

How Do I Hear?

Hearing as a Highly Sensitive Individual

By Troy Alan Cox
06/07/2026

Photo credit: Troy Alan Cox

The First Five Notes

I have been binge-watching the Outlander series since my father’s funeral. I did not have television for 13 years when I lived in California. I felt there were better things to do with my time. I started reading the books in the Outlander series over a decade ago. My mother read the entire series, which is a lot of reading. I made it to the later books but eventually gave up. I love Diana’s characters and the time travel, but the wars, violence, and trauma, which she describes in cinematic detail, became too much for me over time. However, when they first began filming the series, I was hooked. I finally made it up to the latest and final season, season eight.

My father loved the show too and could whistle the whole theme song from start to finish. I loved listening to him whistle it as we started each new episode. I am so sad he did not get to see the final season, released in March of 2026, the very month he lost the ability to walk. It was just too much with all the Civil War battles. I finally made it to season eight last night. Each season has a different singer for the theme song. Within five words, I knew the voice. Within two lines, I was certain it was Annie Lennox, my favorite voice.

I have been touched by her voice and presence since 1982. Arriving in rural Kansas as a little junior high version of myself, coming from the magical, mythical world of Japan, or Nippon as we learned to call it by its original name, was a culture shock I will never fully process. Alone and frightened as I entered high school, relentlessly tormented by my peers and unable to find my own voice to stand up for myself, Annie Lennox was a revelation. As the Eurythmics burst out onto the burgeoning video and MTV landscape, I was in awe. Hearing her voice pierce through the noise, so strong and confident, showed me that I might one day be able to stand up for myself. To be vocal, outspoken, defending myself one day, to explore my confusing gender identity issues, and to be strong.

Hearing her voice on the soundtrack to the show that seems to mirror what I am currently experiencing in life, then Googling who the new singer was on season eight of Outlander to confirm what my ears heard, opened up a bigger reflection for me that I wanted to share today. As I listen to Mozart in my noise-canceling headphones, which I cannot travel without, the words flow through me this morning. What is it like to hear the world through highly sensitive ears?

The Schizophrenic Orchestra

Imagine, if you are able to, an orchestra playing. Picture in your mind all the instruments working together under the conductor’s guidance, creating a beautiful symphonic musical experience. Feel how the instruments blend, merge, float, and mix into one wonderful sound. What if the conductor began instructing each group of instruments to play a different song than the other sections? Let’s say the wind instruments played a piece by my favorite composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, but the strings were playing Bach. The percussion was playing a modern rock beat, and the brass began a John Philip Sousa piece. What would that sound like? A cacophony of noise, I imagine.

I do not have to imagine. I hear the world this way. On the airplane ride to and from my father’s funeral, the first time I had flown in three years, it was mandatory that I have my Bose QuietComfort headphones on, a backup pair of fully charged headphones in my carry-on at my feet, and two pairs of earplugs in case the headphones all failed. Why? Because I do not hear one sound, the closest sound to me or around me. I hear the entire plane playing at the same volume. The voices in the back are as loud as the roar of the jet engine. The overhead announcements are screaming at full volume. I can hear the passenger next to me breathing, each rise and fall of their diaphragm. A crying baby is a sonic assault to my ears. With the headphones on, I can hear my own pulse beating in my veins and the constant electric buzz that has always been there and rarely shuts off, since I was a child. With the headphones on and music playing, I still hear the ever-present electric buzz in my ears under the music, but I can no longer hear my heart beating and the swoosh of the blood in my veins. The music masks it.

The first time I remember noticing that my hearing was perhaps unusual was when someone was trying to talk to me in a crowded room. There they were, standing before me, speaking at a regular volume while all the sounds in the room filled my ears. I could see their mouth moving. I could see their expression. Usually, I can read someone’s face so well through their microexpressions that I can conclude what they are saying before they are done speaking, which I will expand on in tomorrow’s blog about how I see the world as an HSP. However, I could not read them this time because the art gallery we were standing in was so busy. Their mouth was moving, but I could not catch a single word. I assumed they were speaking English. I was receiving nothing. The orchestra sections were all playing different songs at the same volume. I had a slight panic attack. “Am I losing my hearing?” “What is wrong with me?” Everyone else seemed to be fine at the reception, chatting in little groups, laughing, socializing. I was frozen in panic, unable to navigate all the sounds, wondering if I had suddenly lost my mind.

Libraries, Museums and Bathrooms

Finding refuge from the constant assault of my senses has been the biggest challenge of being in this body. I cannot always wear my headphones. I cannot always hide. I can use tools, such as the ancient yogic practice of Pratyahara, which I will describe in full detail in part six of this blog series, The Senses of a Highly Sensitive Person. The first time I found relief was in elementary school. Somehow, children can tell right away if an individual is “different.” The teasing and torture of bullying had not begun yet for me. Just comments and looks made me feel like an odd man out. I remember the library was at the end of the multi-story building we called school in Japan, on the top floor, banked with windows, I believe. As I crossed the threshold, I felt as if I was entering a sanctuary. All the quiet books rested on the shelves in order, numbered and listed in the old Dewey Decimal System. The signage of “Be Quiet” stood out to me, but not as much as the other people. Silently moving through the space, whispering, eyes down on books. No one looked at me. I found a murder mystery play, my first play, which I would later act in as an adult, many decades removed from this little quiet boy that I was. He had found his first Safe Space. Somewhere that he could be left alone, sit in silence, and get lost in the world on the pages. It began my love of libraries, museums, and yes, bathrooms.

I often wonder if the people I am out socially with know that I do not really have to go to the bathroom for the obvious reasons, but need somewhere to rest for a moment. Somewhere there is no talking, at least not usually in the men’s room. Unless the smells are too strong, which is another blog entry for another day. I dream of going to Paris, not for the tourist sites, which I have already seen, but for the Louvre. One of the largest Safe Spaces I have found in all my travels. I wish to sit there for days. Slowly move from room to room surrounded by creativity, sanctuary, and mostly silence. I finished planning my trip to Ireland next month. I am going on a self-guided visit to only County Wicklow. To glacial lakes, wild gardens, and the rocky east coast, all of which are unusual and out-of-the-way spots. I will be seeking quiet, solitude, and experiencing nature’s Safe Spaces.

Thank you for sparing a few minutes to read my daily writings as the inner writer in me begins to reveal itself. Even if no one reads my musings, it is therapeutic to finally put some of this out of my head, so to speak.

“Whether animal or speech communication, environmental sounds, or music — all sounds carry some information.”

— Adam Weisser, Auditory Information Loss in Real-World Listening Environments

Troy Alan Cox