Take It Off, Take It All Off

Belly fat? What's that?

Here's something I haven't done in more than 40 years: stripped off my clothes and run through the sprinkler in my backyard.

And why not? When I was about 3, I loved to go out in my one-piece bathing suit, where I'd turn on a hose to fill a bucket, get a drop or two of water on my suit, and then strip it off like it was on fire. I can't remember much about my third year of life, but I do recall how great it felt to pull that swimsuit off and scamper freely, all alone.

The other day it was 90 degrees and as I rode my motorcycle home from work, I got stuck for an agonizing three minutes at a stoplight. (A couple of weeks ago, foregoing the leather, I  purchased a textile jacket I believed to be perfect for summer riding. It might be - for summer riding in northern Alaska.)

At home I ripped the jacket off in the driveway, removing my helmet as I stomped into the house, gasping. I let the dog out and hopped after him, one-legged, as I tugged off first one boot, then the other. Removing my socks only made the rest of me jealous of my feet. So blue jeans, t-shirt, even bra soaked from that stint at the stoplight all fell to the grass like leaves from a tree in the breeze.

Yet something was missing... Ah, yes. The water feature. So I stretched out the hose, attached the sprinkler, aimed it at the neediest of plants, and then pranced, nymphlike, through the spray.

Returning to my roots?

It occurred to me later that it takes a certain amount of comfort with one's body to be naked outside. Most of us lose that around age 3 or 4.  I've been to a couple of nude beaches and clothing optional hot springs where I marveled at the exceptions to this rule. The people with the least perfect bodies appeared to be the most comfortable. How did they gain this acceptance of themselves when the bulk of us feels awkward wrapped in a towel in the locker room at Gold's Gym?

Even living alone, I haven't spent much time unclothed. If I did, it was after a shower, standing in the mirror looking for flaws. But on this day in my backyard I felt extraordinary. Maybe it's because I've traded in the filthy obsession with the outer me to concentrate on healthy eating, cardiovascular health, and balance. Since I've quit worrying about how my body looks, it's like it has a mind of its own, and it doesn't need anyone else around to make it feel good about itself.

Robert Frost once wrote, "Good fences make good neighbors." Since the house next door has been vacant a year, and the only way to see into my backyard is through its second story window, I hereby paraphrase the poet laureate to claim: "No neighbors and a good fence make awesome nakedness."