Why I Want to Be a Hermit
Don’t get me wrong: I like people. But recently I’ve decided that I’d rather not live among them. I want to be a hermit.
I realize this seems strange — who wouldn’t want to have friends, hang out, and lose those friends? I didn’t always want to be a hermit. Growing up, I dreamed I’d live with other people in harmony, as their ruler. I’d only ever be alone when I commanded it, and even then there would be eunuchs nearby to make me feel virile.
Back then I thought I’d start a family, maybe even two. How else would I staff the sweatshop? I dreamed of being like King Solomon, marrying many wives, sleeping with many concubines, and slicing many babies in half. Secluding myself didn’t even cross my mind. Then slowly, over time, I realized I would rather not be around others. Then rapidly, over less time, they realized they would rather not be around me.
The lonely life of the hermit has advantages. For one, as a hermit I could wear whatever I want. Some days I’d wear a tuxedo, some days nothing, some days I’d even wear brown shoes with a black belt — in karate. I could wear clothes that were purely functional, like bibs, sweatpants, and ass-less chaps. Plus, when small children approached my hideaway I could dress like a wizard and demand that they “keep it secret, keep it safe.”
My personal hygiene would be completely under my control, detached from social conventions. I wouldn’t have to brush my teeth — I could do it just because I want to, because it feels good. Antiperspirant would be gone from my life, allowing me to use just deodorant. I could grow out a long beard, comb my eyebrows outward from my face, and try to spell in Braille with zits. I could wax my entire body.
A hermit can live how he wants. No one will barge into his room and demand he sleep, saying it’s been a week and how can he still be awake, is he on drugs or something? No one will tell the police where he is, or the hookers to go home, or the ambulance driver his real name. A hermit is free to do as he pleases.
Must a hermit exercise? No — no one cares how flabby and weak a hermit’s body is, or that he gets winded standing up after a nap. As a hermit, I’d be my own personal trainer, and that trainer would also become a hermit, thereby leaving me the hell alone. Swimsuit season does not exist for the hermit; he swims in the nude.
If I were a hermit I could eat what I saw fit. I’d eat tub upon tub of chunky peanut butter. I’d eat shaved ice made from frozen Worcestershire sauce. I’d eat Luna bars. No regrets, no rebuke — only that punishment I give myself. And the punishment is another Luna bar.
Never again would I have to ask what other people like on their pizza. No one could suggest, after I say I don’t care what’s on the pizza, that we get mushroom pizza. No vegetarians to consider, keeping me from ordering meat lover’s pizza. No vegans to consider, keeping me from ordering cheese pizza. No anti-anthopophagites, keeping me from ordering human flesh. I could finally order what I want on a pizza.
It’s not all fun and games, though. Hermits are lonely, lonely persons. A hermit must be his own best friend, and I am a pretty shitty friend. It’s hard to throw a good party. No one cleans up after you. Easter egg hunts end as quickly as they begin.
Despite these downsides, I still want to be a hermit. People and I just don’t get along. They’re always looking at me, pointing at me, or chasing after me to retrieve their belongings.
Alas, certain factors hold me back from reaching my hermetic potential. People are always trying to talk to me, from loan sharks to gang lords. Every now and then people send me mail — a postcard, a newsletter, a subpoena.
It’s also very difficult to find a good shack to live in. If it’s comfortable, someone’s already claimed it. If no one’s claimed it, it probably doesn’t have phone or Internet. I cannot live without my cell and my email. Most caves are occupied with bears or philosophers.
The main thing keeping me from enjoying the life I deserve (one in complete exile) is money. I can’t find a telecommute that will let me have complete rein over my hours, and I’m not qualified to work a job that has me appear anywhere in person.
People hold many misconceptions about hermits and their lifestyle. Not all hermits have beards. Many hermits choose not to mail anthrax to those promoting the use of technology, noble cause though it be. All hermits, though, can enjoy their solitude — and they don’t have to share it with anyone.
Originally published in October 2007 in the Declaration at UVA.
