Some people enter our lives to inspire us
to be greater versions of ourselves.
Suzie has been pitching the idea of attending Burning Man since we first danced our way across the burlesque stage. 2016 was an especially grueling year for most of us, and during our trip to Washington to partake in the Women’s March, she mentioned her plans to return to the playa after a 2-year absence and suggested I consider joining.
Although the idea of Burning Man was tempting, the cost associated with it was not. I spent the past year in self-discovery travel, after which I decided to establish myself as a writing gun for hire. Working with a financial planner to be more mindful of expenses was top on the list. Attending Burning Man, under those circumstances, seemed impossible, but then Suzie suggested I apply to Burning Man’s Low Income Ticket program, where 4000 prospective attendees, .057% of total participants, are selected to attend the event at a reduced admission price.
When I first received my acceptance in April, I had a panic attack … fear is a tricky emotion. Once it subsided, I dove head first into planning. In the months leading up to Burning Man, my mind swirled with questions about how to prepare for a week of camping in the desert, what to wear, what non-perishable snacks to eat, how many LED lights I would need. (Note: I plan to publish my 10-page project plan as a practical guide for birgins, so stay tuned.)
And, then there was the nagging self-doubt that I may have lost my mind fueled by every article I read. Burners will concur that the mainstream media’s take on Burning Man is a coverage of extremes–the polyamorous sex domes, accessibility of drugs, and the decadence of a celebrity’s 3-day weekend–a slim slice of actual life on the playa. The Burning Man’s citizen reality isn’t about replicating experiences from the ‘default world’ but creating a hyperreality of our choosing.