Capricorn Wisdom: Why Living in the Real World Makes Trappist Monks Look Like Hedonists

Ah, the real world. That prickly, anxiety-riddled, soul-sucking expanse we call life, where every corner turned presents a new existential dilemma, a fresh round of imposter syndrome, and a vague but persistent sense that we’re all just one bad tweet away from ruin. You know, the usual.

But let’s talk about monks for a moment. Trappist monks, to be precise — the ones who’ve taken vows of silence, chastity, and something equally horrifying called simplicity. To many, the monastic life seems like the pinnacle of ascetic suffering: an endless loop of prayer, contemplation, and what can only be described as the monkish equivalent of Netflix and chill — except without the Netflix, and definitely without the chill.

Yet Quentin Crisp, that grand old raconteur of queer wisdom, once opined that the life of a Trappist monk, compared to ours, is essentially an orgy. Yes, an orgy. Not of the Roman kind with grapes and goddesses, but an orgy of peace, predictability, and — most enviable of all — an utter lack of the need to create, defend, or otherwise perform an identity.

You see, most of us are not so lucky. No, we are here in the “real world,” a place where our identities are not so much given as they are demanded, expected, and even, as Crisp notes, bartered. Welcome to the Great Bazaar of the Self, where you’ve got to polish up that raw identity of yours until it’s smooth enough to pass as a lifestyle. Because just being…