A woman at Burning Man

Burning Man is known for curating outrageous art from around the globe and linking together the lives of inspired creatives. It’s also known to be a little... well, wild. As a counterculture festival packed with tens of thousands of people, who’s surprised? It’s been called a beacon of hope for humanity and a spiritual journey where every transaction of material goods and services is bartered — or “gifted”. It’s also been referred to as a weeklong orgy. But, those who attend have agreed to gather in the hot, dusty desert for 8 days in Nevada. They also promise to live by the Ten Principles and clean up after themselves fastidiously. 

So, when I heard Paula, a member of my chosen family, was going to go to the festival at the age of 68, I couldn’t wait to hear about her experience. I was eager to know more about her escape from reality into a community of radical self-reliance. 

But, what I realized during our conversation was that Burning Man is not at all an escape — instead, it’s a challenge to be excruciatingly present. It’s a call to being in moments as they come. It’s all fleeting, and it is all meant to be cherished. 

So, come along, Gentle Reader, as I tell the story of Burning Man through the eyes of one illuminating human.

Kyle: How did your day begin at Burning Man?

Paula: Just as we leave Reno to head to Black Rock City, we get a notice that there's been an accident right outside the gates of the playa — where you enter into Burning Man. And there are fatalities. Anticipation is high and the feeling is electric for all the things that can happen on the playa, but your first experience is this sadness. So, sitting there on the side of the road everybody is feeling good, but also feeling a deep sadness that whoever was in that accident is not going to be there this year. Immediately there's a certain poignancy to the whole event.

Kyle: So, how do you even prepare for something like this? 

Paula: First, you are fighting the elements, which break you down. It’s hot, It’s dusty. It ain't easy, right? But it's interesting. And it's not comfortable. And it's not always fun. But you're talking and holding space for each other.

And, everybody has to choose a job in the camp. It’s collective, and we take care of each other. For example, one of the 10 Principles is, “to leave no trace.” So, we all carry a MOOP bag to pick up anything that doesn’t belong to the playa (no matter how small), because we’re responsible for the community.

Kyle: You've lived a lot more life than some of the people who were there, and I’m wondering what ‘community of radical self-reliance’ means to you at this point in your life.

Paula: That's a great question because Josh (son) and Ariel (daughter) are always pushing me to work through the pain I've gone through. I have a lot of trouble with it because I feel, “that's the past, I'm letting that go.” You don't really let go of it. It's still there, and you have to let rise up in order to let it go. So, one morning Josh, Ariel, and I are sitting together at Center Camp and they start emotionally poking and pushing me. And finally, I break down.

It was a very powerful experience because there's still that little girl inside of me that thinks she’s not good enough. And she came out. 

They were so pleased that I was able to start letting go because they did not want me going into the night, carrying that burden. We sat there for about two and a half hours just holding each other, crying and talking about all the guilt I carry. I don't think it could have been done anywhere else. Surrounded by hundreds of people milling around — dancers, acrobats surrounding you — and nobody is looking at you, even though you are sharing the same physical space. 

Kyle: So this radical self-expression is something you all share? 

Paula: Yes, people come with things to unburden themselves and to celebrate. There’s a temple where you can leave behind your sorrows and say goodbye to that which holds you in its grip. By the end of that week, it’s filled to the hilt with mementos, things that people have built to bring there. I mean people are letting go of people who've died and painful memories. One woman brought her ripped wedding gown and nailed it to the wall, and she wrote on it, “too fat, ugly, not good enough” in red paint. You actually feel the powerful emotions when you walk in. 

On Saturday night they burn the “Man,” and it's an epic celebration. I shared that experience with my daughter, and it was so much fun. Then on Sunday night, they burn that temple. And I have to tell you 70,000 people can be quiet. There was not a sound. The art cars turn off all the music, and nobody is talking. And almost 70,000 people are sitting there crying. Holding each other. It was so beautiful. It's like burning the collective hurt.

There’s so much more to Paula’s story: majestic costumes, meaningful gifts of knowledge, silly moments in a soapsuds truck, and the uphill battle of random sandstorms. She also shared another special moment that she had with her children as they visited the remains of the temple after it was burned. Silently, they reflected on their transformation as the three of them stood together, among the embers. In Yiddish, we call this Bashert — fate of the moment or meant to be.

Cover photo by: Joshua Cogan