Ramblings from a near-nudist.

Ramblings from a Near-Nudist.

I'm sitting at the dinner table with my family enjoying some delicious number Allene whips up. My father looks at me and asks "Don't you think it's time you started wearing pants?" I'm 18 years old.

I had been in a t-shirt and underwear my whole life. I ran out to the driveway in my underwear. I blow dried my hair and danced in my room in my underwear. I watched tv in my underwear. I ate dinner in my underwear.

The thought had never crossed my mind that my outfit, or lack thereof, might have been inappropriate. I hated clothing. (WHAT?!?!) Yes it's true. I nearly despise clothing. I remove it at every opportunity. I limit layers if ever possible (although as of late multilayers is mandatory...)

Clothing is restrictive and heavy.
It itches.
It limits.
It is imprisonment.

My mother called it spirited. Uncle Vinny thinks it's gumption ... The only way I can think to describe it is nymphatic. (nymphic really, but i like the sound of nymphatic).

Brother likes to share the story of a feisty teenager who clothes-lined her mother and fought fearlessly against "the queen." And while that story illustrates the negativity of nymphatic Noelle - it demonstrates the energy and passion I harnessed. I've silenced that adolescent beast at the cost of that spirit and gumption, and now I try on occasion to revive the latter nymphatic Noelle without waking the former.

A formidable task indeed.

Passion Lives Here.

The theme of the 2006 winter games in Torino - one that didn't quite translate. And while I laughed at the awesome lameness of the slogan then - Tonight, I'm rediscovering that passion, does in fact, live here - currently at the corner of 119th and St. Nick.

The Nymph in Italy.

Tonight, this epiphany came through the exploration of our future (Mr. Lybbert's and mine).

Once upon a time, when passion lived in Torino - and coincidentally enough, so did I- I was accompanied by a worthy companion. Worthy and admirable is his ability to accept an alternate way - to take a chance on something out of the ordinary.

While the opportunity to leave school, travel to Europe, work at the Olympics and have an experience of a lifetime, may seem like a GREAT idea to some of you - I assure it was not for many.

The hardest part about getting to the Olympics was not sneaking in the back door of the IOC, end-running a BYU professor who told me no, finding housing in a city I'd never been to, or scraping together the funds to go (who am I kidding, my dad gladly paid, it was after all the mother country....)

The most difficult part of going to Torino was finding someone else adventuresome enough to join me. (Thank you Tom Swapp - if not for him I may not have been independent enough to go alone. We all love a partner in crime...)

Why did so many of my friends admire the idea of seeing the world, then refuse the chance to do it when it fell in their laps?

Nymphs in New York.

While New York is venerated as the inspiration and home of so many other nymphs - passionate individuals finding their way, I've found my inner nymph stifled, drowned out by the demands of "real life." And I yearn for Torino - not for the city, nor to return to that time in my life - but to break from the mold and do something I want to.

BUT... I'm held back.

X is putting a down payment on a house
Y is attending grad school in the fall
A, B & C are pregnant

And I put on the clothes of my peers: the itchy wool sweaters with tight necks, the multiple layers and ill-fitting pants - so that I don't come late to the party. So that I achieve success through the same avenue as so many before. So that I can "experience" life - without being original and risky enough to find my own way.

Nymph Renaissance (fitting really).

We admire those who do something different. We wistfully wish to be like those who break the mold -

too overdressed to realize that

WE CAN do it.
(I mean, why else was Eat Pray Love a best-seller? Certainly not because she's a good writer!)

Tonight Mr. Lybbert and I battled our rational selves. We questioned our future goals and desires. I have perhaps the worthiest companion of them all. And we decided...

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER WE'RE MOVING TO ROME.

(I know, no big deal, it's not like we're heading to the Karakoram K2 to build schools for village children (also a best-seller).

But let's be sensible here, we're taking our renaissance one step at a time. Starting with some restorative time in SLC.)