I looked at myself carefully in the mirror, studying my face to remember who I was and what I looked like. Preparing for my transformation from Ole Martin to a rough sleeper, I was trying to keep hold of something familiar.

I reminded myself that I was a Franciscan monk, a member of the mendicant order founded by St. Francis of Assisi, and that I lived in St. Hallvard Monastery in Oslo. It was summer, and I had just completed my first year as a social work student. After careful reflection, I had decided to go ahead with a project I had been dreaming of for a long time. I was leaving the security of the walled cloister to go out on the streets.

My hands were shaking a little. Something had changed. My brown robes lay in a heap on the floor and I was standing stark naked in front of the mirror. I started dressing: torn jeans, a hoodie sweater, and old army jacket and dirty trainers. I fastened a blanket and a sleeping mat on top of my little bag and packed a toothbrush, toothpaste and a notebook. I looked across at my Visa card, money and mobile and left them lying on the shelf. I abandoned soap, shampoo, spare clothes, sleeping bag, food and drink. As I fastened the last strap on the bag, I was struck by an unexpected feeling of freedom. Was it a freedom from something or a freedom for something? For the next few weeks I would be living with uncertainty, trusting that there would be some kindness out there.

I took a last glance at the mirror, walked down the spiral cement staircase and closed the heavy door of the monastery behind me. The sky was clear, the sun was shining and I took a deep breath of the clean, cold morning air.