Burning Man: the decompression

Dear Avery,

I did it. I actually did it. I spent 9 days out in the middle of a dusty desert with 70k other people in 100 degree heat surrounded by blaring music, beautiful art installations, and more LED lights than I ever knew existed. And I survived. I’m officially a “Burner”.

Burning Man is the most magical experience that comes with an array of emotions. It’s challenging to be dirty 90% of the time, sweat 10 pounds off during the days, and to find that balance of good sleep and making sure you aren’t missing out on something awesome (like the best sunrise you’ll ever see — yeah, I tried to stay up past 3:30am for that, but my body shut that one down). Annoyances can creep up from being in close proximity to other people constantly, and your opportunity for a quiet space is few and far between. But all that said, everyone is battling similar challenges, so by day 3 — you just dig your heals in and accept it — dust and all.

My main emotion throughout the experience was : Euphoria. Being in awe of the hard work, creativity, and imagination of the artists and creators of art cars and camps. Being amazed at the sense of radical inclusion and true community. Every day, I was overcome with the fact that my mind could not comprehend the vastness of this place. How did they do that? How long did that take to build that? Who thought of that? Mostly my thoughts kept coming back to: I can’t believe I’m apart of this…

I went in with the intentions of “Letting it Be, and Letting it Go“. And throughout the week, I was reminded of them in various forms. From conversations to physical signs to random experiences. I accomplished what I set out to do.

Letting it be

This was the most present and in the moment I’ve ever been. I took in all the music, colors, people, situations, and feelings. My mind was fully awake. I wasn’t thinking about work or projects or old friendships or past relationships. I wasn’t dwelling on hard situations or everyday commentary in my head that I’m used to. I was just being and letting it be. And there was something incredibly freeing about that. Similar to skydiving, you have this major thing happening to you — you have no more head space to think about anything else. What a gift.

Letting it go

I have a lot of baggage I carry from my previous life. And sometimes it gets too heavy to process. So I wrote a note, took it to the Temple of Direction (a memorial temple where people come to leave items from loved ones or notes for themselves), and found a place to leave it. With this being my first time, I didn’t know what to expect. Where do I leave something? Anywhere? Will something speak to me? Together, Troy and I walked into an energy field of sorrow, pain, but also love and admiration. It was breathtaking.

As we walked in, we went our separate ways. We didn’t talk about it, we just did. And I think that was necessary. We both are on paths to acceptance while experiencing grief, so taking our separate walks was needed.

I walked around looking for a spot, but then began to read the notes and the memorials. Heartbreaking and beautiful. At one point, I looked up, and saw a note written higher up than the rest. And it was if I wrote it myself.

That was my sign. That was my spot. I left my note under this, shed a few tears, and let it go. Days later this whole structure along with the many stories inside of it were burned into dust.

This was just one piece of the physical letting go, but I also had some fantastic conversations with people I’ve just met who allowed me to share my story, and gave me permission to feel how I truly felt – with pure acceptance and no judgement. What a gift.

I’ve been home for a few days now, and the “decompression” is real. The sheer exhaustion – mental and physical – is no joke. The amount of laundry to get the playa dust off your clothes is unreal. The volume of stuff you have to sort through, clean, and get back to its original spot is just bonkers. And also, you have to adjust to real life again. No more “gifting” society. No more hugging strangers and introducing yourself as freely as you do there. No more staying up into the early hours of the morning while riding a camel art car across the desert. No more back-to-back themed parties. No more random costume changes. It’s an extreme shift that your mind does have to adjust to. Decompression is real, and it’s necessary. I have yet to have a full night sleep in two weeks. I keep waking up in the middle of the night not knowing where I am, or what the day will bring (oh yeah, I have to go back to work).

Oh, and these awesomely rad people I camped with. No more riding the streets at night finding the next fun bar to stop of at or hosting fun parties with. Thank you all — you helped make my first burn a once in a lifetime experience.

And thank you to the man that has stolen my heart. Troy — you told me I could do this before I ever realized I could. You were the best partner, helped calmed my anxieties, and opened my eyes to new worlds. And what a freaking blast we had in the process.

Avery, Burning Man may not be for everyone, but I hope that one day you experience this or something like it. And decide for yourself. I hope you find comfort in the present, and freedom of letting go of things that are no longer meant for you. I hope letting it be becomes a mantra for you as it is for me now.

With love,

Aunt Megs