Jeff and I were deep into a conversation about life and happiness and we were onto the idea of quantifying happiness on a scale of 1 - 10. A score of one means you are utterly depressed and 10 means you are on the top of the world.
I asked Jeff, "if you had to choose between a life that fluctuated between 4 - 6 and one that fluctuated between 1 - 10, what would you choose?"
"Dude, of course the second one." I agreed, and I think that most people would. Burning man is the epitome of the second option.
At times, burning man is awful. During the day the temperature is well over 100 degrees and the sun never stops, but luckily the accumulated layer of sweat and dust that coats your skin offers you pretty good UV protection. You haven't showered since San Francisco and you can taste the dust that coats your tongue, throat, and alveoli. Since you've been out until sunrise every day and the heat becomes unbearable by 10 am, you haven't gotten more than 3 hours of sleep since the festival began. Add to this the fact that you are living in a tiny two-person tent with only cold beans to eat and you can see how the low points factor into the BM experience (Speaking of BMs, the nearest toilet is half a mile away, which kinda sucks).
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| A dust storm. That guy was only like 20 feet away. |
But the high points make it worth it. And they come in two varieties. The first is the individual memories:
- Dancing as the sun comes up with hundreds of other burners beneath a geodesic sphere with flamethrowers at each vertex that created fire displays that synced with the very very loud music.
- Watching Mexican wrestling with a crowd of rowdy (and I mean free-tequila rowdy) onlookers.
- Delivering burning man newspapers to grateful recipients. Burning man doesn't function without contributors, and this small contribution helped me feel like I at least gave something.
- Watching the water trucks (trucks that would periodically spray down the desert's "streets" to reduce dust). Each water truck inevitably had a small crowd of naked people chasing and trying to snag a free shower.
These are four that came to mind, but there are plenty more. (OK, this is as far as I got in Hawaii)
(In Japan now, continuing post...) The second type of high point came from a growing familiarity with being at burning man. On day one, I was confused by the whole thing. Try as I might, I just did not feel comfortable talking to a 60 year old naked man.
As the week went on, I felt less like a spectator and more like a participant. By the end of the week I had completely converted. I was a burner. On the second-to-last night, me and 50,000 or so other burners gathered around the giant, illuminated, wooden man. His arms raised. Fireworks exploded around him. At this point he is looking pretty damn triumphant.
Then... a fireball engulfed the entire effigy and finally, after spending weeks as the focal point for tens of thousands of people, the man burned. I found myself thinking about all the thought and effort and money that went into designing and building that man. And also that crazy cubical art display over there. And that cool sphere that shot fire in patterns which synced with booming electronica music. All of these installations, events, and art pieces took a TON of effort, and they were all enjoyed for exactly one week. To me, the burning of the man (and I guess the whole festival) was a celebration of transience, the world's biggest party, and, really, the only appropriate way to end a festival named Burning Man.
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| Even Mother Nature is a burner. This is the double rainbow that kicked off the festival. Go here to learn all the awesome physics behind a double rainbow. |
