So, I went to Burning Man. It was amazing and awful, fantastic and terrifying, beautiful and scary. I wanted it to last forever and also could not wait to leave. I learned a lot about attending Burning Man, but I also learned a few things about myself. I had very low expectations going into it, which I think was wise. I "only" went for four days, from Wednesday to Sunday, which I think was wise for my first time. I definitely want to go back, although there are many things I would do differently.
Before I get into any of that, a big shout out to my two friends that helped me attend (they know who they are) and also to the team of guys that I ended up actually camping with.
So, without further ado, here are some things that I learned about Burning Man, and about myself. They're not in any particular order, though some of them are definitely more impactful than others.
I am, essentially, an extrovert. This was one of the biggest takeaways about myself that I learned at Burning Man. I have been living an introvert's life for the last 6-8 years. I kind of slipped into that for reasons that are likely too long to go into here, mostly trauma-related. But at Burning Man I had an epiphany: I am not drained by being around people, if those people are people that I trust. The problem, of course, is that I really don't trust most people and in fact they scare me a great deal. Because of this, I have been avoiding doing things that are "extrovert things". I have a job where I work from home. I'm single. I eat meals by myself at fast food restaurants. I live a life that would probably be perfect for someone who really is introverted. But I've felt very unfulfilled lately by many of these things, and now it makes sense. I can't avoid the pain of interacting with others and still be happy.
This one thing alone was worth the cost of going.
I'm not a Burning Man bus guy. My friend encouraged me to take the bus, and I totally get how it could be a great approach for certain folks, but there are some serious disadvantages, the biggest of which is that you can't bring very much stuff. I was tremendously unprepared logistically. I lacked shade. I lacked a good way to get my stuff around. I didn't have enough clothing, especially socks. Some of that is because I didn't know what I was doing, but some of it was because I didn't have the space. The second problem with the bus is that I really don't trust people, so having my travel arrangements be at the whim of others was really anxiety-producing. On the return trip especially, I had a hell of a time getting on the bus; I ended up doing this dance of me, my belongings and my bike which was really stressful. The Burning Man ethos of radical self-reliance makes situations like this, where you really could use a little bit of somebody's help, extra stressful. I think this ties in with the extrovert and not trusting people thing; a better fit for me would be a camp of people I like and trust that builds a community. That way I would have a support structure.
Climbing three flights of rickety stairs and then doing monkey bars up another 10 feet of scaffolding so you can get a view down on top of the Slut Olympics is pretty awesome and you can get some great footage of the, um, events that way. Thanks to Chloe for dragging me up there; it was awesome. And thanks for the things you said to me while we watched a guy named Minnesota and a woman named Ukraine air-fuck.
Speaking of Ukraine, I saw a *lot* of Ukrainian flags. I took pictures of a bunch of them, probably at least 7 or 8, and there were a number I missed. That's particularly interesting because I didn't see any Israel or Palestine flags, in fact very little political stuff at all. But lots of Ukrainian flags. Which is awesome. Slava Ukraini!
One night, I was out biking with Jorge and I was telling him about my idea for a camp called the Ankh Society (get it? the o and c are silent) which would be all about anxiety. I got the idea from having really bad anxiety myself and also seeing booths around about mental health related topics. He asked what I would do there and I told him I would have people there to talk to folks about their anxiety. He said "why don't you just have a booth where you give people anxiety?" and I said "why would I do that?" and he said "because Burning Man is mean" and then he laughed. And suddenly, it all clicked: *Burning Man is mean*. There’s a reason Burning Man is in the most inhospitable place you can find: Burning Man doesn't care if you're having a good time. Burning Man is not terribly interested in your problems. Burning Man does not want to listen to you talk about your anxiety. And in that moment, I felt a real release, a kind of freedom. My problems are not anybody else's responsibility but my own, and their problems are not mine! It's OK to just go out to the desert and enjoy yourself - or not, if that floats your boat - without necessarily caring about the intricacies of everybody around you. As somebody who is very empathic, and spent time with an overbearing mother, I learned as a trauma response to be hyper-sensitive to the moods of others around me. But Burning Man does not care about your mood.
I am more open to drugs than I thought I would be. I took at least two I've never taken before, and it was great, actually. But I have to remember to drink more water.
The dust really is everywhere, and yes it mixes with your sweat and makes a particularly noxious and weird-smelling thing that coats your socks and hair and is kind of gross but you know what? You get used to it pretty fast.
You can have a camp where you just hand out coffee, or have a kind of ersatz public library. It doesn't have to be about sex and it also doesn't have to be a big deal, and those were some of my favorite camps.
I really like hanging out with men. I camped with a bunch of guys that I barely knew, and hung out with a few other groups. I didn't chase women nor, to be fair, did they chase me, and that was totally fine with me. I don't hang out with enough men and enough guy groups; this is a thing I've known for a while, but it really clicked for me out on the desert.
The Man definitely Burns. It burns hard, and it burns fast. It's kind of impressive and tribal actually. I dig it. Spinning around and seeing the neon stretch around the edges of the city like the distant skyline of some futuristic dystopia while being lit by the glow of the fires of what looks like the gates of hell is just as rad as you might think it would be.
And now, in no particular order, a few other interesting thoughts and anecdotes:
At one point, I was trying to move ten gallons of water across the desert, and struggling, when a man sitting outside his RV said "Hey! You look like you could use an ice cream sandwich." It turns out I *could* use an ice cream sandwich. The man turned out to be Murray, a guy in maybe his early 60s, with a bit of a belly but not too far gone, and a wry twinkle in his eye, who was Canadian but of Ukrainian ancestry. We traded stories about traveling there. He told me about taking a train through Krakow only to wake up and realize that he was in the middle of a forest and he was on the only car left; all the others had been detached and were nowhere to be found. Would have made a great movie. Then he invited me back for pierogis on Saturday morning and of course, I went. He made the best damn pierogi outside of my grandmother for me and 5 other burners, complete with onions and bacon. We drank bottle after bottle of champagne. I told his girlfriend Trixie about my anxiety and she got very solemn and looked me dead in the eye and said "Well, you're a great conversationalist", and I probably would have married her if she asked. I don't know if I will ever see any of those people again, but I have Murray's number, and I hope I do.
The most famous musical act I saw there was probably my least favorite, which is some kind of lesson. I won't say who it was because I don't want to be negative. But I learned what a "DJ set" is. Anyway, Vintage Culture was really good, as were a bunch of other no-name DJs. But you don't go to Burning Man for the music.
Burning Man had a lot of challenges, but it also had a lot of validation. Some people were very nice to me when I least expected it, some were mean though they probably didn't mean to be. Sometimes I felt good, sometimes I felt overwhelmed. I learned that telling people up front about how anxious I was made things a lot better. I think sometimes I "look normal" or even look like I've got it under control, so I guess people are surprised find out that I am about 5 minutes away from a panic attack most of the time. Ironically, the more I leaned into the anxiety, the less I felt it. It was only when I denied it was happening that it got really bad.
I'm definitely going to go back. When I got back off the trip, I felt amazing. I felt a release and enthusiasm that I haven't felt for a while. That's particularly odd, because often the end of a big trip where I'm around people can be a very sad and depressing time for me. I think it's because my life is very much devoid of the people energy I need so much, and when I get that people energy for a while but then it gets removed, ,I get so sad. Maybe this time is different because I feel, instinctively, that I can bring the enthusiasm I feel for people back into my daily life. And for that alone, I dearly appreciate Burning Man for its influence on me, and I appreciate the people who made it happen, especially Jodi and Katie. I'm not going to claim that Burning Man changed my life or anything, but then, I also wouldn't not say that. If you know what I mean.
And with that, I look forward to next year.
