When she told me she was spending her 39th birthday at a place called “Holy Nature,” I expected a spa. Maybe some lavender-infused yoga. What I did not expect was the sign at the gate: “Leave your armor at the door. Skin is sacred.”
No one was seeing anything now.
There are two kinds of fortieth-birthday-eve crises. The first involves buying a red sports car you can’t afford. The second involves taking off everything you can afford—your clothes, your baggage, your ego—and standing barefoot in the moss. When she told me she was spending her
The founder, a woman named Sage with silver dreadlocks and the posture of a redwood tree, greeted her at the welcome yurt. “Ah,” Sage said, looking at Paula’s anxiety like it was a familiar houseplant. “Newborn.” Skin is sacred
Turning 39 at the Holy Nature Nudists: A Birthday Suit Birthday Story (Part 1) The second involves taking off everything you can