cell

I used to tell people that I lived under a rock. I’m an HSP and one way I manage my various sensitivities is by withdrawing from the world; my home is my sanctuary and I try to keep it clutter-free by conducting regular purges so that I only keep the things I truly need and use. Last year I briefly considered downsizing and moving into a studio apartment. There’s something appealing about letting go of one’s possessions; as much as I love the antiques I inherited from my grandparents, holding onto them limits my ability to move. When I visited The Cloisters last weekend, I thought about the monastic life and how lovely it would be to live in silence in a small, bare cell. I took the garden tour but would have enjoyed it much more without the many tourists that fill The Cloisters on the weekend. On Saturday I took the train to Philly and made sure I got a seat in the quiet car. Right now my building is blissfully silent—no barking dogs in neighboring apartments, no hammering by construction workers up on the roof. I need to go for a run but I hate to lose this moment! I value solitude, silence, and simplicity but even I know that too much of those things can destroy a human being. In the 1800s, however, prison reformers thought criminals could be reformed if given time alone to reflect on their actions. Eastern Sate Penitentiary was designed—at great expense—to house prisoners in solitary confinement with walls so thick that communication was impossible. Guards wore socks over their shoes to muffle the sound of their footsteps, and prisoners were led to their cells wearing hoods so that they had no sense of the prison’s layout. They could go outside for one hour a day, but only by stepping into an adjacent cell that was exposed to the sky. No grass. No human contact. No sound. A tiny cell with a bed, and a toilet, and a table where prisoners practiced a trade. The writer in me finds this both appealing and appalling. I could probably live like that for 2 days but after that, I’d start to lose it. Solitude diminishes in value without the contrast of human interaction. To be endlessly alone is torture, which is why we need to end solitary confinement in prisons if our goal really is rehabilitation. How can anyone heal without community—beauty—nature—touch? Cherish your freedom because 2 million people in this country have none.

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