Nudity

OK, I'm not really going to talk about nudity. Just trying to get your attention.

But I am going to talk about feeling naked.

I convinced Jim to take a walk with me this morning. We did about three miles, then he turned toward home and I set out to hoof another two miles. As I was approaching the house, a neighbor cruised up beside me in his truck and slowed down to chat.

We exchanged pleasantries, I got the scoop on the blind date I set him up on a few weeks ago (he likes her!), and off he went.

I headed for home and all of a sudden, it dawned on me ...

"Hmmm. I just stood there and talked to my neighbor man in skin-tight workout clothes and didn't think twice about it."

You see, there was a time when I wouldn't have been caught dead in such a get-up in public. (And, I'm not talking about my bigger days ... I didn't own workout clothes then.) After I lost the weight, I was still self-conscious about anyone seeing me in my workout gear.

Since I was in the basement on the treadmill, no one really had the opportunity to see me. Once I moved outside, I was OK with cars driving past me on the road, but I never would have answered the door, for instance, in a high-tech, skin-tight, boob-flattening exer-outfit.

I even remember Jim needing me to see something outside one day, after a treadmill session, and I hopped on the four-wheeler without thinking to grab a Tshirt. A different neighbor was in his yard and I panicked. "What if he sees me?" I squealed, crossing my arms to hide myself. In typical Jim fashion, he replied, "So what if he does?"

This all brings me to yesterday. I weeded this stone path we have that leads to and surrounds a fire pit. It was nearly a 2-hour job in the sun. Bending over, ass in the air.

I wore a bandeau bikini top and a respectable (i.e. not string) bikini bottom.

In theory, the whole world could see me. They could also, in theory, see my top slide off at one point. (It was hot and I was sweaty.)

Luckily for me, I'm a quarter-mile from any actual eyeballs.

It's funny to me how not-a-big-deal being me in my own skin has become. It's not that I'm an exhibitionist or that I'm not a little insecure about the imperfections.

But they don't bother me like they used to. Hike the top back up and move on.

Maybe being naked is more about peeling off the layers of fear than the actual clothing.

And covering yourself in layers of confidence instead.