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<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\nMy photos are a record, a personal record that portrays my presence on the planet without camouflage. Through the process of taking these photos on a regular basis, I am confronted with the reality of my body. Over time, that reality becomes accepted. There is no way for me to be taller, younger, dark-haired, or more attractive \u2013 whatever that might mean. This is who I am and I better get used to it. There are things that I have learned in the process. Eating properly and getting some exercise are first on the list. This is the only body I have, so I may as well take care of it so that I can enjoy to best degree possible, the years that remain to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Naturally, there is a story behind my embracing of naturism, a story that goes back almost sixty years ago. My first conscious choice to go without clothing happened a few months after my maternal grandmother died. She had given me three books of poetry and a book by Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet. One spring late afternoon, I had felt overwhelmed with years of abuse and took Gibran’s book into a not-too-distant copse of trees near our acreage near Ottawa. I soon found my clothing on the ground beside me. If you read my autobiography, you’ll learn the whole story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since that time, the need to be out of my clothing whenever possible has been problematical. The world is not exactly nudity-friendly.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
If you have landed here, I assume it is by choice after having read one or more of my blog posts. I will assume that you are genuinely curious about an older man’s experience about aging and identity. Perhaps the … Continue reading