Saint Laura Lives in a Walled-Up Cupboard

My brother and I were recently debating the extent to which an introversion/extroversion dichotomy actually exists. According to some cursory Wikipedia-ing, there are some genuine biological differences betwixt us (dopamine reactions, brain activity). Yet! My brother and I continue to feel an uneasy skepticism toward introversion.

It’s not like we’re the extroversion poster kids. It’s more that both of us wonder if the promise of soothing, solitary self-care time has less to do with actual psychological well-being and more to do with sales of candles, plush robes, and Netflix subscriptions.

At the beginning of the pandemic, everyone was convinced they were going to better themselves in their solitude (workout regimen, reading routine, sourdough mastery, etc.), and then most everyone gave up and just tried to survive. Four years out, it’s easy to look back on that era and wonder why it was so hard—why we didn’t just become fluent in Italian when we had the time. In my case, it’s because too much time alone makes me feel like my brain is ricocheting, chinchilla-like, around the inside of my skull.

How much isolation, exactly, is required for a person to create art? Or to do any work, for that matter? If you’re constantly surrounded by people who need things from you, you will never create anything. But I’m not sure how much you’ll create if you’re alone all the time, either.

Which brings me to the medieval anchoress.

An anchoress was a woman who locked herself in a cell to pursue a life of religious contemplation. Like, forever. The anchorhold was the cell. An anchorite was the male equivalent, but mostly women signed up.

These anchorholds were tiny (think three feet long by four feet wide). A window called a “squint” looked onto the altar and allowed passersby to ask for advice (drive-thru revelations, cute).

In case you’re interested, here’s how to become an anchoress in three easy steps:

1. Apply with the church. You must have good character and the finances to support your life in isolation.

2. Participate in your own funeral. Climb into a grave in your cell. Get sprinkled with dirt. Watch the door get bolted shut behind you.

3. Stay there until you’re dead. Nice!

Just as an aside, because of the financial requirement of this process, most anchoresses came from wealthy families, which meant they were used to having servants. Which meant that some of them brought servants with them. Which is, you know, incredibly grim for the servant. (Surely they fell in love sometimes? Is this indelicate? If someone makes this movie, I will watch it.)

It’s hard for me to put myself in the shoes of someone who was so ecstatic about the church that they were willing to do this. But I find myself marginally more compelled when I think of the alternative of the day (keep having children until you die). Historically, women haven’t had a ton of recourse to pursue intellectual lives, hence Virginia Woolf’s sentiment: "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”

I am troubled by the myth of the brilliant loner, and I am troubled by the myth of the tortured artist. Personally, I find it much easier to write a book when I feel like my health insurance, housing, and friendships are secure. I don’t know that it does anyone much good to glamorize mental or physical suffering or to imply suffering produces better artists. Did committing oneself to an anchorhold result in better religious writings? I struggle to believe it did. It might just be that women had to take extremely severe steps if they wanted to write and if they wanted their writing to be taken seriously.

Anchoresses often reported having divine visions. When I read this, I wondered if someone prone to visions was more likely to become an anchoress or if the isolation itself induced visions. I came across this NPR article about the history of solitary confinement as legal recourse, which explained that in early Quaker experiments, “many inmates go insane, commit suicide, or are no longer able to function in society.” (I hail from New York Quakers and did not know this disquieting history.) Obviously, there’s a difference between elected confinement and confinement as punishment, and the latter would exact a more extreme psychic toll. But the former isn’t doing you any favors, either.

I don’t know if there’s a “right” ratio of alone time. Seemingly, 100% is very bad for a person’s well-being. But what’s the neurological, psychological happy place? 10% of waking hours? 70% of waking hours? Or maybe the appeal of aloneness has less to do with no one else being present and more to do with no one asking for your attention.

If what we truly need is a break from demands on our attention, though, being physically alone will no longer enable it. Our phones want our attention; our computers want our attention; everyone everywhere trying to sell things wants our attention. To me, sitting in a group of people, phones down, feels like more of a reprieve than sitting at home alone. To create art, we need space to think.

When I talk to my brother about introversion and isolation, I’m forced to acknowledge that my favorite part of our childhood was the blanket fort we made and re-made behind our couch. We would line the dark, coffin-like space with pillows and blankets, and then, safely ensconced, we would sit silently in the flashlight glow and finally read our books together in peace.

Sources:

The Gilded Page, Mary Wellesley

Femina, Janina Ramirez

Currently reading: Just finished Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K. Reilly. This has been out in New Zealand for a while, but it just came out in the US. The synopsis describes it as Schitt’s Creek meets Normal People, but IMO this is less cynical and more earnest than a Rooney novel.

Non-urgent thought of the week: Of the newer face emojis, 🫡 is versatile and excellent and I commend its usage. I am fond of the shaking face, 🫨, and I like to employ it at unexpected intervals to confuse my loved ones. 🤔 had enormous potential but was swiftly co-opted by the worst man you know, who uses it as a softening device while he plays devil’s advocate. 

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