All Or Nothing

ALL OR NOTHING

Written by Isabella Castelo

Art by Rebecca Calvar

I want to join a convent.

However, not for religious reasons. I’m an atheist, one who grew up in the Catholic church. Even as a child, I couldn’t make myself believe in something I couldn’t see. I thought faking it would work; I dutifully went to mass every Sunday, on mission trips, to church camps. I was desperate to find the connection all devout Catholics have, the one found in their fervent love for the Lord. 

I assume this connection is strongest in a convent. Just me and my sisters of God, doing work for the community, praying, studying the word. Everything we said, wrote, made, and did would be in the name of God, but at night, we’d tell each other tales of our lives left behind with so much drama we’d forget it wasn’t fiction.   

This is the life I imagined when I visited an old convent in Prague. It was converted into a Catholic museum, and despite my love for biblical history, all I could think about was the women who walked the halls before me. I felt their passion. I craved their commitment. I couldn’t fathom loving something so much that I would leave behind any possibility of living a life for myself—one with romance, some parties, sleeping in, and wearing pants. 

Although it fascinated me, I thought most of my peers would agree that level of dedication is unattainable and unnecessary. Recently, I learned I was wrong. My professor looked us in the eyes and asked if we would ever die for anything. His face was straight, and he held his gaze, inviting our answers. 

“No,” I said.

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t know I don’t care about anything as much as my own life; is that wrong?” 

“No.”

That was how the conversation between us went. What he was getting at, I don’t know; it’s a philosophy class, and a lot of it goes over my head, but he did get me thinking about those nuns. For the rest of the class, as my peers went around and shared the things they would die for, I racked my brain for something I was even remotely passionate about. Nothing came to mind. I listed all the things I’ve tried to devote myself to: politics, the environment, reading, photography, philosophy, the ocean, and language. I’ve spent years forcing myself to care about everything under the sun, and all I’ve learned is that I can’t. 

My professor said self-improvement or self-preservation were valid answers—but those aren’t my answers. I ended the conversation there, but I couldn’t even cop out and agree with him. A self-help TED Talk makes me fall asleep, and I wouldn’t describe my passion for “self-preservation” as zealous. 

Everything I know about passion was taught to me by people who would die for what they believed in. I look at my mom, who wakes up at five a.m. to study the bible, soldiers who are ready to drop everything to fight for our freedom and the nuns in Prague. I’m intimidated by these examples. They told me that if I’m not willing to make sacrifices, to give up everything, then there is no point in doing it at all. 

I admire their commitment, but simply liking something in the shadow of all that passion is impossible. I’m ashamed when I say I like to write, or that I like the ocean, or that I want to learn more about philosophy. Despite all these things being true, none are worth my life, and my non-binding “likes” don’t seem as valuable as an oath to serve and protect or a vow of chastity. 

For now, there’s nothing I would die for, and I’m fine with that. Maybe one day I’ll stumble upon something enticing enough to show me what being passionate feels like, but I’m done searching. I'm done going out of my way to force a feeling. 

Now I know if I were to join a convent, I’d have fun for two or three days, then cry to a bishop to set me free from the sweaty grip of God. And I’d do it all without seeking penance.