The female ascetics at Langhorne's Monastery of St. Clare, like other contemplatives in religious orders around the world, live in isolation from mainstream society and take solemn vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. For an outsider — a reporter, no less — to penetrate the enclosure and write about the experience firsthand was a coup of leviathan proportions. "City Beat" scribe Ronnie Polaneczky, now a beloved columnist at the Daily News, not only took City Paper readers a place they'd never been, she facilitated an understanding of a life otherwise unfathomable.

As I drove north on I-95 in the darkness, past the factories of Kensington and Port Richmond and into the cool greenery of Bucks County, my first thought was that this was an ungodly hour to start the day. My second thought was that "ungodly" was certainly an ironic choice of words.

I was on my way to morning prayer with the sisters of the Monastery of St. Clare, an order of 17 Catholic nuns who live in near-total seclusion on a rolling, 16-acre estate in Langhorne. Like the 67 women in the four other cloistered orders in the Philadelphia Archdiocese, the St. Clares have chosen a life of religious contemplation in physical isolation from their families, friends and, with the exception of the occasional visit to the doctor or dentist, anyone else outside their community. For better or worse, they have vowed before God that they will remain on these grounds, behind these 18-foot walls, until they die.

To say their lives fascinate me is an understatement; I cannot fathom them. Although I grappled with the issue of commitment for a good year before my husband and I married two months ago, my commitment, in the grand scheme of things, seems trivial compared to theirs.

For the women in the cloisters have eschewed choice at a time when more choices are available to women than ever before. And while societal wisdom favors personal empowerment and individuality, the cloisters focus on reduction of the self and conformity. And even as we see our society's increased mobility as a springboard for opportunity, the nuns see their walls as a symbol of freedom, enabling a solitude that allows those behind them to make a spiritual journey that transcends all physical barriers.

As I pulled into the parking lot at the Monastery, I wondered about the choices the cloistered sisters had made. Had they ever had careers? Did they miss their families? Were they running away? Did they ever long for the freedom to just get in a car and drive somewhere new, as I had this morning? I wondered what they had given up. And I wondered what they had found.

Polaneczky left City Paper two months after this story was published to take a job as editor-in-chief of Atlantic City Magazine. She has since worked at Philadelphia Magazine and freelanced for Good Housekeeping, Ladies Home Journal and Men's Health. With regard to St. Clare, she regrets only that "there wasn't room in the paper to tell the story at greater length," and says if she were to tackle the article today, 20 years the wiser, she would have a better appreciation for everything the nuns had given up to live their lives of prayerful devotion. "They were the loveliest of women," says Polaneczky. "They still remain in my heart."