Burning Man, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy this Crazy Thing Called Life

I’m crying. It’s Thursday, 4 PM, and I’m at the gate of Black Rock City. This has been 9 years in the making for me. I learned about Burning Man when I was 20. The art, the desert, the love, the people…someone mentioned all of these things when I was trying to figure out where I fit in, and what I wanted to do with my life. You see, I was just a stranger in a strange land, living under my parents’ roof, in Los Angeles, not doing or wanting to do anything. Now, I’m a fully fledged ‘adult’, living in the Bay Area, working while plotting to leave this corporate life behind. I’m here because the philosophy of this event has pushed me to find my edge, to find my tribe, to find myself. In the last 9 years, I started attending numerous transformational festivals, meeting folks living on the fringes of the society, and pushing myself past my comfort zone, whatever that means. And now, finally, I’m here, breathing and living this event that’s shaped my adulthood. I’ve changed so much in 9 years, and this place has nurtured me through it all. So, I’m crying of joy. Joy of being home, finally.

It’s Sunday. The sun is setting in the west. We’ve finally put up our structure, The Chilopod. It’s a massive centipede that looks like an unfinished home. I’ve been here for a little over 72 hours now, manhandling this giant sculpture of an art piece. The dust, the wind, the hunger, the thirst, the arguments…I’ve felt it all. There were times when we didn’t know if this was going to be done. It’s been a particularly cloudy, windy, and horrible week, even for the desert. It’s all worth it though, because the city is starting to hum. People are arriving; children, women, and men are singing; the lights are getting brighter and brighter; and the drinks are officially starting to pour. Burning Man is officially starting at midnight.

It’s Tuesday. I have no idea or desire to know what time it is. It’s late. I’m exhausted. I’m lonely. I see everyone having fun, and feel like I don’t belong anywhere. I rode out of our camp with a few friends, and I lost them in the darkness. It’s so easy to lose people here. I’m fairly independent, but only on my own terms. I don’t want to be alone here, without any heads up. I feel like going back to my tent and just curling up. But, I push through. I’ve been advised by my friends back home that Black Rock City gives you what you need, now what you want. So, I must ride out and embrace the experience that I need, but necessarily am not ready to want. So, I ride out. I ride out as far away from the festival as possible, towards the trash fence. All I want is some solitude. I feel like going away from the noise, the crowd, the lights will help me center myself. Maybe I’ll meditate in the darkness. But wait, along the way, there’s a bonfire. Who would start a bonfire so far away from the city, but still inside the city of Black Rock? Is this even legal? My curiosity gets the best of me. I ride my dusty bicycle there. At the bonfire, I’m faced with two guys dressed like clowns singing in Finnish. One is all silver, the other one is all gold. What? Why? Interesting…They tell me that they’re here for the first time, and all they have with them are the outfits they’re wearing and the keyboard that’s right in front of them. How are they going to survive in this weather, I wonder. As we’re talking, couple more people join in. Suddenly, these guys are playing on their keyboard and we’re singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’, ‘Imagine’, ‘A Whole New World’…Now, the circle is huge. There has to be at least 65 people around the fire. Somehow, some way, something drew all of these people away from the big art cars, the loud music, the parties, to this group of vagabonds looking for human connections, some playa magic. Wow. This is what I needed, but I didn’t know that I wanted as well. I feel so connected.

It’s Wednesday. I want to capture the magic from last night. I’m ready again, with a few bottles of cognac in my pack, ready to gift to all the people I’ll be seeing again at the bonfire tonight. I time it just right. I get there exactly when I got there the night before. But, things are different now. There’s no bonfire. There are no Finnish guys decked out in all silver or all gold. There’s no crowd signing along. Like magic, it came, and like magic, it vanished. This place, teaching me again, what I didn’t know I needed. About not having any expectations and to just go with the flow. I find my breathe, and my bike, a little disappointed, but also having found myself, again. It’s a particularly dusty night, and it’s hard to see even right in front of me. I just ride, and ride. And then, I’m in front of the temple. This is a sacred space for people, where they’re able to purge, let go, and reminisce, of whatever (or whoever) it is that they need to reminisce. I enter, but I can’t stay too long. There’s very heavy energy here, some ethereal sadness and thickness that fills out the chamber with noise. I need to get out. I need to get on my bike, and get back to my tent. Black Rock City is showing me something I need, and asking me if I am ready for this experience. I don’t know if I quite am.

It’s Friday night. I just saw the Great Train Wreck, an art piece of two rail cars, bursting into flames. I want to stay until Sunday, when the temple burns, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. It’s going to be heavy, sad, and powerful, and I want to comprehend the lessons I have been provided with so far, without getting tangled in more. I’m feeling a little tired, a little fed up, and a little hungry. It’s time for civilization, I think.

I’m driving out of the city. I see people heading towards the Man, and the Temple. These are the last couple of nights, and everyone wants to get their last messages in, last partying done, and last chance interactions done, while I am going against the tide, away from it all. All of a sudden, the feeling hits me. I’m not going to be able to spend my time in this region, with these people, in all these lights, in all of these sounds, for at least one more year. I spent about two weeks here, but it feels like I was born and raised here. All of these connections…and they’re all about to be gone, out of life. I want to turn back. But, I can’t. Once you start, there’s no turning back. And that’s what I learned the last piece of advice from the city in the desert, to trust myself, to love myself, and to live in the moment. And that any of us can create Burning Man. It’s in the 10 principles, and it’s in us, always.