After last year’s Burning Man festival there was a tiny thought bubble that maybe I’d just about had enough. I will always feel incredibly lucky that I managed to get there so often, and that it was so spectacular year after year. The feeling of being there is so rich with possibility. And who doesn’t love exploding propane, giant walking machines, and tiny universes packed into mailboxes that are viewed through peepholes? And, and, and, that’s where you run out words. But I’d had enough of porta-potties and breathing dust and the doofs who show up to watch the man burn and think that’s the whole show.
So I was feeling okay about not going this year. But then in spring and early summer a bout of nostalgia hit me. Despite all the hoopla about “Welcome home!” when you arrive, the fact is that it really does feel like home in some ways. Now that it’s actual festival time (in fact, I happen to be writing this just as the gates were scheduled to open this year) I’ve snaked my way back around to being completely at ease with taking the year off. At least that’s how I feel today. It’s pretty dusty and windy out in the desert today. I checked in with the live webcam a little earlier today and saw this:
To be fair, that was only for a while. Check in now and it’s probably just lovely. Somehow I’ll manage to tough it out here with my indoor plumbing.