I have spent 38 years of my life trying to figure out why the good Lord decided to make pants a thing and I have come to the conclusion that pants are a conspiracy cooked up by people who hate happiness. I am not even talking about skinny jeans here, although those are obviously a tool of the devil. I am talking about all pants. All fabric that stands between you and a sweet summer breeze. I swear there is a better way to live and I am living it, one naked day at a time.I live in a cul de sac outside of Seattle where people care way too much about mulch and where to buy the right ornamental grasses. If you want to see a homeowner association lose its collective mind, try walking out to grab the mail without a bra on. The pearl clutching that happens out here is truly spectacular. But underneath these layers of fleece and Patagonia, I am a woman who has decided that nudity is not just for locker rooms or the occasional tipsy dare at a bachelorette party. Nudity, for me, is a lifestyle. A philosophy. A calling. Some people become vegans, some people do CrossFit. I just decided to get rid of my pants.The first time I got naked in public I was so nervous I almost threw up into my own flip flop. I had gone with Tanya, my best friend, to this so called clothing optional spa that sounded very zen in the brochure. There were rocks. There was incense. There was also a large elderly German man who just spread-eagled himself in the hot tub like it was the last judgment and he wanted to make sure Saint Peter saw everything. Tanya immediately ripped off her swimsuit like she was born to be a nudist and I sat there clinging to my tankini like it was a flotation device. And then she yelled, Kristin, your boobs aren't so special that they need their own private security detail. Take it off. So I did. I took it off and realized that the world did not end. Nobody screamed. A woman with three tattoos of koi fish gave me a nod of solidarity. And then a man sat next to me and started telling me about his gluten intolerance while his thing floated in the water like an untethered sea cucumber.From that moment on I learned that the naked world is weird and funny and very human. And that if you can get over the initial shock, it is freeing in a way that no overpriced spa facial can match. You learn things. For example, nudists are very into hygiene. Nobody tells you that part. You are basically a walking advertisement for antibacterial wipes. And you start to discover that the human body in all its shapes and sags and odd colors is way less scandalous than you have been led to believe.So here I am, writing this, to tell you how a suburban Pacific Northwest girl like me, who drinks way too much coffee and is still paying off a yoga teacher training course from 2012, found a way to live a little freer. You will find tips in here, because believe me, there are logistics to living a life without pants. There is sunscreen etiquette. There are chairs and hot car seats to consider. There is the question of neighbors with binoculars. And there is the problem of what to do when your dog decides to bring the UPS guy your bikini top as a trophy.What I am saying is this, if you are willing to laugh at yourself and stop worrying so much about the jiggle, you just might find that life is a whole lot better when there is less fabric between you and the world. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go figure out why Susan Hasseltree has decided to organize a nude chili cook off in my backyard without telling me. I am pretty sure my HOA newsletter next month is going to be a scorcher.