In the midst of snowstorms, my interests took a curious turn: nudity.
Tuesdays are now for naked yoga classes and Saturdays are for drawing models – men and women who are every size and color under the rainbow.
The old dancer in me is intrigued with the lines of the human body. That same old dancer is nourished by seeing many types of people in various stages of life. At first, it’s shocking when a yogi or model removes clothing. People have such strikingly unique features. But after several minutes, nudes start to look the same, as if they’re wearing flesh uniforms.
“There’s actually more respect in a naked class than in a clothed one,” said a male yogi after a Tuesday class. “I have a harder time concentrating when a cute girl in front of me is wearing tight pants.”
But friends keep asking me about my naked kick. I don’t know how to answer. Maybe I’m tired of all the layers of winter. Maybe I’m confronting my personal hangups. More likely, I’m thrilled to try something without the fear of failure.
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