Burning Man 2009 Recap
Hi, world. The Burning Man mailing list sent out its weekly thing today. It contained a link to the website of a guy who took a lot of awesome pictures, which got me thinking.
Conclusion: it all went much, much better, this year.
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The last time I went, in 2007, a lot of things went wrong. We had some massive campmate issues, not enough shade, I was way too poor to really afford it, and was freaking out about all of the above in roughly increasing order. I didn't bring any booze, or any friends to go out with at night. I didn't have a bike, and I didn't know you could buy ice (for, say, a cooler). I was in charge of coordinating logistics for a bi-coastal camp of first-timers (myself among them), and... God, that really did not go well.
Oh, and I was panicking about my grad program, and about this guy I'd fallen for there on my second day in Black Rock City. And I was lonely as hell, and terrified of everything. My life, in general, seemed locked on some path that led only downward. It looked, at the time, like I'd never get back that sense of possibility and ambition and meaning that I'd had at the start of college: that feeling that maybe, just maybe, I'd make a difference in the world and make a meaningful scientific discovery and re-arrange peoples' understanding of how the Universe worked.
I felt like I'd never really connect with anybody in the way I had at MIT, where everyone was crazy and fractured and speedy and brilliant and creative and didn't waste time on fools.
It's not surprising that, given all of that, the 2007 burn sucked.
Even so, one important thing came through to me loud and clear out there, and it changed my life. Somehow, going out there forced me to see that I wouldn't be happy compromising with physics for the rest of my life. It forced me to see that I needed to get into a better program, and do astronomy.
---------------------------
This year brought its own share of revelations.
First: it's okay to just chill out. When you're there, in the midst of so much for-one-week-only, never-to-be-seen-again AWESOMENESS, it's hard not to feel you're perpetually missing out on everything. I ran around trying to see EVERYTHING all at once last time, while simultaneously suffering from a sense of terminal dorkitude. This time, I stayed in camp most afternoons with my friends, and read books. Or just stared at the sky and dozed intermittently. I wish I'd done just a little more, but mostly: it was really nice to chill the heck out and not feel guilty about taking it easy.
Second: it's okay just to have fun. (For some of us, this isn't actually obvious.) I don't have to do everything in the service of some Grand, Overriding Plan. I can just do stuff because it's fun, or because it feels good, or because it's standing right in front of me. I can just do it because my friends are doing it, and I want to hang out with them. I can just do it because I've accidentally stumbled across it. Not everything you do has to put you ahead at work and taxes and showing the world that you're cool.
Third: hormonal birth control makes me want to kill myself. Literally. In other news, I'm not taking it, anymore. (This is related to point three-and-a-half: my boyfriend is awesome. He kept me from jumping off of things just by sitting with me for several hours, being his usual kind self.) If I seemed overly angsty over the summer, you now know why.
Fourth: guys think i'm cute, and strangers think I'm cool. Out there, anyway-- and only, perhaps when I'm sporting pink hair. But I'll take what I can get. :-)
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Next year, I want to do a very small theme camp. J.'s already suggested a name for it: "I Was Groped by Dostoyevsky." It'll be a book-themed camp-- a small library containing a selection of the books I like most, sitting under a shade structure, with some seats. Possibly also with some book lights.
That's it. If you want to camp with me next year, that'd be awesome.
Note: I won't provide anything for you, other than advice and some space on the bookshelves for any books you feel like sharing. You're on your own with food, greywater, shade structures, etc.
I'd like to get more involved, acquaint more people with the books and ideas I find beautiful and important, hang out with more people, and be a little closer to the action.
Let me know if this interests you, too.
You'd be welcome to pitch your tent somewhere near mine.
Conclusion: it all went much, much better, this year.
---------------------------
The last time I went, in 2007, a lot of things went wrong. We had some massive campmate issues, not enough shade, I was way too poor to really afford it, and was freaking out about all of the above in roughly increasing order. I didn't bring any booze, or any friends to go out with at night. I didn't have a bike, and I didn't know you could buy ice (for, say, a cooler). I was in charge of coordinating logistics for a bi-coastal camp of first-timers (myself among them), and... God, that really did not go well.
Oh, and I was panicking about my grad program, and about this guy I'd fallen for there on my second day in Black Rock City. And I was lonely as hell, and terrified of everything. My life, in general, seemed locked on some path that led only downward. It looked, at the time, like I'd never get back that sense of possibility and ambition and meaning that I'd had at the start of college: that feeling that maybe, just maybe, I'd make a difference in the world and make a meaningful scientific discovery and re-arrange peoples' understanding of how the Universe worked.
I felt like I'd never really connect with anybody in the way I had at MIT, where everyone was crazy and fractured and speedy and brilliant and creative and didn't waste time on fools.
It's not surprising that, given all of that, the 2007 burn sucked.
Even so, one important thing came through to me loud and clear out there, and it changed my life. Somehow, going out there forced me to see that I wouldn't be happy compromising with physics for the rest of my life. It forced me to see that I needed to get into a better program, and do astronomy.
---------------------------
This year brought its own share of revelations.
First: it's okay to just chill out. When you're there, in the midst of so much for-one-week-only, never-to-be-seen-again AWESOMENESS, it's hard not to feel you're perpetually missing out on everything. I ran around trying to see EVERYTHING all at once last time, while simultaneously suffering from a sense of terminal dorkitude. This time, I stayed in camp most afternoons with my friends, and read books. Or just stared at the sky and dozed intermittently. I wish I'd done just a little more, but mostly: it was really nice to chill the heck out and not feel guilty about taking it easy.
Second: it's okay just to have fun. (For some of us, this isn't actually obvious.) I don't have to do everything in the service of some Grand, Overriding Plan. I can just do stuff because it's fun, or because it feels good, or because it's standing right in front of me. I can just do it because my friends are doing it, and I want to hang out with them. I can just do it because I've accidentally stumbled across it. Not everything you do has to put you ahead at work and taxes and showing the world that you're cool.
Third: hormonal birth control makes me want to kill myself. Literally. In other news, I'm not taking it, anymore. (This is related to point three-and-a-half: my boyfriend is awesome. He kept me from jumping off of things just by sitting with me for several hours, being his usual kind self.) If I seemed overly angsty over the summer, you now know why.
Fourth: guys think i'm cute, and strangers think I'm cool. Out there, anyway-- and only, perhaps when I'm sporting pink hair. But I'll take what I can get. :-)
---------------------------
Next year, I want to do a very small theme camp. J.'s already suggested a name for it: "I Was Groped by Dostoyevsky." It'll be a book-themed camp-- a small library containing a selection of the books I like most, sitting under a shade structure, with some seats. Possibly also with some book lights.
That's it. If you want to camp with me next year, that'd be awesome.
Note: I won't provide anything for you, other than advice and some space on the bookshelves for any books you feel like sharing. You're on your own with food, greywater, shade structures, etc.
I'd like to get more involved, acquaint more people with the books and ideas I find beautiful and important, hang out with more people, and be a little closer to the action.
Let me know if this interests you, too.
You'd be welcome to pitch your tent somewhere near mine.