First, a note on the title: artists practice Artistry; chemists, Chemistry; dentists, Dentistry; And that’s all I have to say about that.

I started out at the bottom and worked my way up into nudistry. It didn’t take long.

At the age of 49, in 1991, I was diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Subsequently, other doctors who examined me admitted that it probably wasn’t the fever, although medication for the fever did zap whatever it was. Lymph nodes in my groin had started swelling and turned white. A few years after that, my left hip began deteriorating.

I dragged that left leg around for a decade. I forced myself to begin going up stairs with my left foot, made sure that my left leg did its share of walking and standing, and I deliberately used it to help me get up out of a chair, things like that. I exercised and took medication to forestall whatever might happen. I was X-rayed, referred to one surgeon, prescribed some medication and therapy, and then urged to take care of myself and live with my condition.

When I turned 64, another surgeon showed me how the knob of the femur would need to be replaced, and the hip socket relined, which would help alleviate my leg pain. It hurt to watch him demonstrate it, even think about it. However, he wouldn’t tell me to have the surgery done -- he told me to come to him when I got ready.

Shortly after I turned 68, I was sitting on our front porch steps, crying. Linda sat down beside me and asked me what was wrong, and I told her that maybe I had just walked my last mile because my hip hurt so much that morning.

She scheduled the operation. We took a class explaining what the patient and caregiver could expect, and set the date. On Monday the 25th of March, 2010, I hobbled into the hospital and was given a sedative, placed on a gurney, and waited in line for my turn. Linda kissed me and wished me luck as I was wheeled away.

She told me later that it seemed like less than an hour when the surgeon came back to tell her, “We got him. You can go talk to him now.” Five days later I was released from the hospital for in-home therapy.

On a follow-up visit with my surgeon, we were discussing how to take care of an artificial hip. He checked if I had any questions, and I asked: ”What should I be looking for in shoes?”

“Well -- they gotta be comfortable, but you won’t need ‘em. Just go barefooted when you can. That’ll strengthen your ankles and benefit your hips and knees.” Then he further advised me: “Carry a cane. If you catch yourself limping -- use the cane!”

When I carry a cane, people respect me, and open doors for me, but if I am barefooted, they shun me. People don’t mind if I carry a cane, ride a wheelchair, or hobble along on crutches, but if I try to walk around without shoes, it’s a crime. They will insist that I need to wear shoes because of some health rule, maybe a safety rule, I might be an insurance risk, the place has a dress code, or perhaps, it’s store policy. (I checked: the Department of Health does not have a rule requiring shoes, but admitted that individual businesses can impose their own restrictions.)

If I’m barefooted that makes other people uncomfortable, and I need to wear shoes to humor them.

After I saw that wearing shoes was not healthy, I realized that going barefooted did strengthen my ankles and improved my hips and knees. Even further: my back was straighter, my shoulders were stronger, my neck was more flexible, and I no longer had headaches!

Was this from a new hip or because I quit wearing shoes? Hey! I was there. I could tell. It was from the barefooting. Going barefooted is beneficial. I was rejuvenated in my late sixties. I started getting around better than I had in my fifties.

I had been told to expect a 30 to 90 day normal recovery time, but 27 days after I went into the hospital, my physical therapist told me, “Nothing further we need to do. Go play!” so I skipped out of her office.

Later that spring, Saturday the 9th of July, 2010, at 8:00 that morning, I was standing barefooted in my watermelon patch lamenting a lost springtime of gardening because I was recovering from my hip surgery, and on a whim, I took a hike around the neighborhood: up one block, across a couple more, back to my street, and then home. I was hooked! I thought that a person was required to wear shoes, but that morning I realized otherwise.

I did not need shoes! On this hike I had a magnificent experience, I was immediately converted and realized suddenly that I did not need shoes.

This warrants repeating: I do not need shoes! I walk better without shoes.

With an artificial hip newly installed, I was careful -- well, my therapists had cautioned me against dislocating that joint by attempting to hold one of my favorite yoga poses: the firefly. I did not want to get hurt, so I exercised carefully and learned what my muscles could do!

Sometimes I wore a robe around the house, but no shoes. I made a set of straps attached to a toe ring. Each strap encircles my ankle and snugs up to let me hook the toe ring over my second toe.

Now whenever I go out in public, I don’t offend people if I have these on my feet. It looks like I’m wearing sandals. These straps let my feet flex with virtually no extra weight, and they stay on my feet better than slip-on sandals do.

While recuperating at home at the corner window that overlooked my watermelon patch, I spent time looking out and thinking: if shoes are not as necessary as I once thought, and if I could wear a robe (or not) around the house -- then wearing clothing is unnecessary, too.

I don’t know why this required the energy of thinking, but it did. You need to wear shoes and clothing to convince other people that you’re normal. At my age, I know that whenever a person is too abnormal, other people get upset -- the elderly are suspected of dementia mainly because they are not of average age.

In my late sixties I learned how to be a nudist, more intentionally than I had learned how to wear clothing when I was younger. Shoes are not necessary for walking, and clothing is not necessary for living.

I tell interested friends that I became a nudist from the ground up. Barefooting worked. Wearing clothing impedes my living. People could get upset if I am not wearing something, but sometimes I won’t want anything on.

I was now an “honest-to-God” nudist. I began introducing the subject whenever I could so I could see how other people regarded it. I was discussing my new preference for nudism with a church group one evening. There were about a dozen in the group. This evening I had a copy of the book, Dressed to Kill, by Sydney Ross Singer and Soma Grismaijer, a study linking tight clothing to some cancers.

The book cover prompted a controversy of what respectable clothing should be, and I ventured that it really depended on the circumstances, that there would be instances where it would be healthy to not wear clothing. We discussed how and where nudity might be acceptable, and the group decided that nobody could ever be nude with another person.

I suggested that people tolerant of nudity would not be offended, but the group disagreed. Their consensus was that being improperly dressed was wrong: a crime and a sin. I listened to some of them disapproving of other religions, other cultures, and then, when they felt like they had resolved everything, I asked if anyone could identify a nudist by what he wore. I wanted to illustrate that a person’s personality did not depend on how s/he was dressed. This seemed like a stupid subject, so the group dropped it.

(Anybody could undress and impersonate a nudist but not be one.)

In serious discussions, I tell my friends to ask backwards when considering the issue. Rather than wondering why anybody would even want to be naked, try to understand how nudity distresses people. Most of us agree that shucking off our clothing feels liberating, enjoyable, and even invigorating, and that encountering a naked person unexpectedly, even a stranger, should not need to cause panic or tension.

How people in most societies gravitated to wearing clothing is still a mystery. Some religions tried to explain how it happened, but religious explanations are hollow. Some social speculations assume that aprons or pouches were the first items worn, and coverings developed thence, primarily for protection, which developed into adorning the body.

Our global society allows for differences in religions, fashions, and even disabilities, although anything less than traditional apparel, is still regarded as barbaric and unacceptable. For some reason, some clothing is still required.

We think that more advanced people all wear enough clothing, and like to think that we moderns have progressed from the ancient practices of wearing only aprons -- or less. Today, to fit into society, we wear what are considered “decent” outfits. Decent outfits have changed, but the obscure idea of decency is still required.

Okay, now: I need to digress one more time. Hang on. Here I go.

I was burned in a factory explosion when I was 22 years old: bruised, with second and third degree burns on my upper body. I was hospitalized for 25 days. I had to be circumcised because, bruised skin, not backed by tissue, won’t heal. I know the difference between being circumcised or not, and I have not decided which is better. There are advantages both ways. It just happens that today, I’m circumcised. The observation that I want to make is this. Much like a decision to wear (or not wear) shoes (or clothing), being circumcised (or not) is not an individual decision -- it is a committee decision, and the person that this is happening to does not get to make the decision. If the person had an opportunity to look at the options, and then decide, that person could make a choice on their own, though that’s not how that works.

Let me run that by you again. Nobody decides whether to be born, what society to join, what kind of clothing to wear, what food to eat, what behaviors to learn, or what religion to believe. These decisions have all been handed to them, and if they want to change any of this, they have to make a conscious decision, and sometimes it’s contrary to public opinion, opposed to the culture that they grew up in.

When someone gets to the point of seriously wondering why to do anything, that person has a right to make the decision on their own. I decided to follow my doctor’s advice and “...go barefooted when I can.” and then, after practicing this at home, additionally, I decided to go without clothing when I could. No one was hurt and I enjoyed it.

Okay, I’m back. I want you to remember that in the spring of 2010, when I was 68, I decided to go barefooted on my doctor’s advice, and then from that I decided that I could dispense with clothing, too.

You have to understand that I didn’t really believe that I could just go outside naked. The really difficult part of this decision to try nudity was, first, convincing Linda that I was not losing my mind nor trying to upset anyone. There are places where I can go barefooted, although those places are more common than nudist resorts, and there are places where I’m not allowed to be barefooted.

The public was harder to convince because they do not know me well enough. I had to learn how to introduce my intentions without getting arrested. In some places, people are aghast and still think that I have no legal nor medical right to disobey a cultural standard, particularly if they personally disapprove. In my own home though, I maintain my right to be comfortable and healthy. How can I introduce my new lifestyle? I talk about it.

I suntan nude on my backyard patio even in winter -- if I can be in the sun and get out of the wind, I can maintain my tan, even in fifty degree winter weather. Neighbors know this. A couple of times, someone has encountered me, but as long as I don’t startle them or act embarrassed, both of us remain calm. That’s the trick to handle situations like this.

I talk to them! If I act like I am unaware of them, they may slink off so as not to disturb me, and they may go away thinking that they invaded my privacy, but if I acknowledge them and neither try to justify nor ridicule my own nakedness, then we both have the opportunity to understand an awkward situation. Neither of us was injured nor felt out of place -- it was tranquil and private. Nevertheless, no matter how I feel about being undressed in their presence, I cannot know how the person who chanced to see me nude feels unless we discuss it. If they ask, I can explain. If they’re upset, I can acknowledge their feelings and calm them down.

This brings me to today. It’s 2019. I am 77. I used to pride myself on somersaulting for my kids until I turned 50. I began yoga when I turned 60. When I was 72, my granddaughter challenged me to jump rope, so I learned to jump rope. This summer, I tried to do a somersault.

I somersaulted. I had to shuck my clothing, but I somersaulted! I probably could not have done that if I was wearing anything. You should’ve watched me. You would’ve cheered.

The END

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