Okay, yes, I know we’re a bit into 2019 to be recounting 2018, but just… I’m behind… roll with it… please? Oh, and like many before it, this post is best enjoyed with your favorite cocktail over a loungy afternoon.

2018 won, friends. It wrecked us. It started out hopeful, but then it rained a shitstorm of illness, death, and various destruction upon us that found us limping into 2019 unsure of where the next blow would come from. So far, most is calm on the Westlander front things are at least looking up a bit. But they started going south just after my 37th birthday last year, so I’m cautiously waiting out the next few months to 38 and hoping for a full upturn. That’s all to say, if you haven’t hit 37 yet, I’d suggest skipping it.

But even within that shitstorm of a year, there were bright spots, often related to travel. And so, instead of airing all our laundry from 2018, I’d rather remember and share a few better times… dare I say (and I do), some pretty amazing times.

Like, we went to Burning Man for the first time ever. And it was Uh-mazing. How uh-mazing? Let’s measure that in how willing we are to go back, and that is #everyyearifwecan. Yep. It got a hashtag. That uh-mazing. Strange. Beyond strange. But in a way that lights up your soul, intensifies every moment of your existence, and lets you feel more alive than you maybe ever have. Unless you’ve had a near-death experience. If you’ve had a near-death experience, it might not top that… just sayin’.

But, what was it like? Um, well… I’ve been struggling to find words to convey that for months. Random is the primary word that stands out to me, and perhaps a random stream of other words is the best descriptor: dusty, sleep deprived, climbing, swinging, dazzling, biking, lights, lights, lights!, nom noms, qualifying, dancing, gazing, meditating, struggling, artsy-fartsy-bigartsy-wartsy, popping, weeeee!, spritzing, crying, jaw-dropping, friends, friends, friends! boingy boingy, exploring, woah.

You get it, right? I thought so.

Okay, in all seriousness, the event is described on the Burning Man website as follows:

“Once a year, tens of thousands of people gather in Nevada’s Black Rock Desert to create Black Rock City, a temporary metropolis dedicated to community, art, self-expression, and self-reliance. In this crucible of creativity, all are welcome.”

I can’t really get more accurate than that. But that also does not encapsulate the utter aliveness and randomness of it all. So, read on for a bit more elaboration of some delightfully random experiences that emerged out of this glorious creation.

Fuzzy Bus

There was this fuzzy bus. Well, inside. There are many fuzzy covered items at Burning Man, but on the outside, this just looked like a bus. The inside, however, woooaaaaah. Every square inch except the floor was covered in colorful fur. The seats were rainbow fur. The walls were white fur, but behind the white fur were rainbow lights streaming through the bus. There were furry rainbow pillows and random stuffed animals.

It was 3:30am. I had just come from testing my social limits of being the 2nd to last person on the dance floor of “throwback to the 90’s” night at Planet Earth. The last person, bless his heart, was going to last until the music stopped. I couldn’t keep up. So, I wandered back toward camp, and it was on that path that I stumbled across this bus.

It was empty and clearly parked for the night at someone else’s camp. But the door was open, so, like your average intruder, I climbed inside. And that is where you can find me to this day, basking in utter fuzzmazingness upon this bus – transfixed by the colors, the lights, the inches deep furry texture. My inner My-Little-Pony found its home and has fully taken over all future decisions. Okay, kidding. I made it out eventually. But it did take some time, and convincing, and a few magical carrots to leave that brilliant furry haven. 

Dessert

There was this creme brulee. Yes, in the middle of the desert someone was serving creme brulee. And if you had been four months sans your favorite food groups as we had been, and if you had decided for this week of magic that you too were going to say, “screw it” to that diet and embrace the beauty of the moment, then you too, as we did, might find yourself willing to murder a kitten for an ounce of any dessert. Luckily, no one was requesting that heinous of a crime. Instead, the requirement for creme brulee was to twerk for the crowd. Pause for a moment, and consider the two of us twerking. It really is quite a picture. Clearly, as you may have seen in your mind, we can’t twerk. That’s not going to stop me from trying, especially for magical, burnt sugar coated custard. Brian, however, is only just beginning to uncover a delight in dancing-like-no-one-is-watching and is still quite self-conscious of how he shakes his money-maker in public. So, it was to my jaw dropping amusement, and a testament to our sugar addiction, that he threw down his backpack faster than you could say “dessert” and shook it like a polaroid [picture] for all the creme in that brulee. I’m proud of you sweetie. Proud of us.

Oh, and yes, it was everything we’d dreamt it would be.

Prayer for Peace

There was this man. He was perhaps seven feet tall or near to it. He was dressed in a long fur coat that he lent me for warmth, much to my delight. He carried half a bottle of Captain Morgan’s. Well, he carried the full bottle, but only half remained in the bottle. It was 4am, and he stood stoically watching the trashcan fire we were both huddled around until, at last, he spoke. He was having a bad week, and I offered to listen. Perhaps it was just what he needed, permission to let it all out, for he continued speaking over the second half of the bottle. And I’ll admit, the only experiences I’ve had with the horrors he described, are watching them in Hollywood movies. He has seen pain, chaos, violence, and death that would pale a ghost. His eyes and tone told me he was not the soldier to thank for his service. He said, “I joined before it all. I didn’t sign up for this.” He’d promised his mother that he was in an okay place – that he wouldn’t kill himself that week, out there on the playa. I hope he kept that promise. He has so much beauty and love to share with the world if he can keep himself in it.

Hammock

There was this hammock. It was… well… enormous. It fit at least five people sprawling across its main axis (and perhaps 15 along it), but you couldn’t lay in the middle, the lowest point, or you’d hit the ground. So you had to climb into it higher up toward an end and then maneuver to a position that balanced the net so that it didn’t tip precariously as it swung. And it was always swinging. So you had to climb in like you’d jump into the middle of a rotating jump rope. I have never, in my life, successfully jumped into the middle of a rotating jump rope. I get heart palpitations just thinking of the challenge. So naturally, I gave it a go. First heave up over the side was a failure that we’re not going to talk about. But on the second, I ever so gracefully tumbled, ass over teakettle, into the net and flopped like a fish toward my compassionately chuckling friends. And there I clung, happily swinging and giddy with the success of actually making it into the hammock. Yay! Perhaps there is jump rope success in my future too! Or maybe I won’t get too far ahead of myself.

We swung for just a few brief but delightful minutes before needing to exit the high, swinging hammock to head toward dinner. Jumping out of a rotating jump rope has also not been a consistent success of mine. But of course, I wasn’t thinking about that when I got into the hammock, foresight being 20/200. I get the mechanics of it: roll toward the edge on the downswings, then maneuver to a seated position and pop off the edge on the next downswing. I get it. Intellectually. But kinesthetically, it just didn’t happen that way. We don’t have to quibble over details of how it did happen. Let’s just be happy I am both off the hammock and have no lasting injuries.

Chrome Magic

There was this couple. They were at least 25 feet tall and fully chrome dipped so that every square inch of their loving bodies reflected the vast playa around them. Their postures held the most beautiful expression of human tenderness. We stood at their base, copying them. We couldn’t resist the statue mimicking photo op. And then, the magic of Burning Man rolled through that spot like a dust storm on a mission as we were approached by a burner dressed in the perkiest of My Little Pony ensembles. She enthusiastically shared her perfectly shot video of our own tender moment emerging from a pan out of the script at the base (the script we were totally unaware of until watching the video): “In every lifetime, I will find you.” We were speechlessly grateful, me in tears and Brian wide-eyed at the serendipity of the moment and the truth in the words. 

Okay, that’s the part of the story that sticks with me and still gives me chills. But if you ask Brian about the playa magic at the chrome people, you will get an emphasis on what happened after this touching moment – equally moving, totally different. You see, in our presence with said touching moment, we hadn’t noticed the gathering crowd around a group of magical beverage bearers. Magical, I tell you. This was not a wagon of Capri Suns. This was a group of Venetian angels bearing all the makings of Aperol Spritzes and accompanying prosciutto, salami, and Creme de Pirouline cookies. And if you followed us through Venice, you’ll know that a Venetian spritz holds wonderful memories for Brian. And if you didn’t follow us through Venice (perhaps, because we had yet to make your lovely acquaintance), check it out now! It was a delightful 2015 world travel detour. Back to the present where we are currently watching in amazement as our Aperol spritz gets happily created – pause for dramatic effect – over ice… this was in the middle of the playa, roughly 2 miles from the closest cooler – resume – from the contents of the little wagon behind our bartender. It hit my mouth like, like, well, like an oasis in the desert (ha!) and was immediately followed by the delicious salty meats and sweet cookies. Maybe the best meal of the week (if we don’t count creme brulee as a meal per se). Salute, amici!

Trampolining

There was this trampoline. It was a magical trampoline. It held eight of us in its magical embrace for… I have no idea how long, but it was long. The beautiful thing about a trampoline is that it is both springy and slippery. Thus, given enough time, you will inevitably end up intertwined in a gravity-well-snuggle-fest. This can occur in several ways, but perhaps the most fun way involves 1) letting go of trying to keep your personal space bubble around you, 2) sharing a monster stack of amazing cookies (Yes, the cookies are essential. Just try letting gravity do its work without cookies and see where you get. Trust me. I’m a physicist.), and 3) giggling… a lot (This is also essential as it creates the perfect frequency of human vibration to induce slippage and shift you gently toward the center of the gravity well.). If you find you are not slipping efficiently into your gravity-well-snuggle-fest, commence a game of Tiny Tanks* to finish the job with the utmost speed and hilarity. Once intertwined gravity-well-snuggle-fest is achieved, resist the urge to disentangle. Shift limbs over and under other limbs for greater comfort. Continue your magical human connection. And embrace the outer ring of available trampoline space for continuing hilarity, like circular games of Tiny Tanks. The trampoline magic will continue to flow through your party to one or both of the following points: either, all limbs fall sufficiently numb that disentangling becomes essential to limb preservation, or the part of you that has been stalwartly ignoring the pervasive dust storm finally decides your lungs (and perhaps eyeballs) are more important than your jolly good time and urges you toward the facial protection that you left in your backpack, on the ground, far out of reach. Disentangle carefully. You still have two legs and two arms despite not being able to feel them. And pass the magical trampoline on to the next group of lucky burners. Continue to have yourself a magical night.

*I thought Tiny Tanks was a thing. Apparently it is… but not how I know it… so, don’t worry if you didn’t get that one.

Alternate Dimensions

There was this box. Hollowed and lined with mirrors inside on all six sides, it was suspended by its top edge with a few ropes. Dear lord, it was a ride. I sat against the back edge, my legs out in front of me, holding a rainbow flashing light and donning the “magic” glasses. I closed my eyes and breathed through the threat of claustrophobia as the door closed, encapsulating and isolating me inside the magic mirror cube.
Inhale.
You
Exhale. Oh, hello, claustrophobia, my old friend.
Are STUCK
This is fuuun. Inhale.
in a FULLY ENCLOSED
Exhale. Remember, it’s fuuuun. Inhale.
BOX! WEAREGONNADIE!
SHUT. UP. We are not. Exhale.
Sufficiently calmed for the moment, I opened my eyes to find Me reflected to infinity and awash in rainbow auras. My fear forgot itself as I gazed at me and color flashing everywhere forever and ever. Claustrophobia, be damned. Rainbow Me, as far as I could see.

Then it all started to shake. Before I could get my bearings, my outside attendants began jostling the cube, sending me into an alternate dimension as my reflections bounced around and my eyes raced to catch up with them. Mes all around, rainbow lights bouncing everywhere. Fear had had enough:
Seriously?! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!
Breathing, even if I could among the shaking, was not going to satisfy it now as I rapidly spiraled into disorientation. I had to call up something stronger and louder than my fear. And I found it:
“Weeeee!
Woohoo!
Hahahahahahaha! Mwahahahhaha!
Weeeeeee!”
I threw all my hysterical wild laughter and excitement at it, not stopping for a moment. And it worked. Claustrophobia actually died down, replaced by genuine joy and excitement. Of course, just to be sure, I continued wildly cackling through the last few seconds of thrilling, crazy, alternate dimension rainbow madness.

The ride ended, and I emerged giggling and glowing. I wanted to go again. No, really. I did. And my fear?
It’s only slightly embarrassed: Yeah, that was pretty cool, I guess. I guess it wasn’t that dangerous… really… in the end. Maybe we weren’t actually gonna die. Good drill. Good drill.

The Temple

There was this temple. A magnificent wooden scaffold of a structure, spiraling out and up like a delicate matchstick tent. This temple was filled with memories of the dead – littered with notes, poems, posters, and tokens to loved ones lost.

“Emily, precious baby, you are never forgotten, so long as I am living.”

“Rage fills me every time I think of the gun you put to your head, father.”

“My one and only, you are the love of my life, in this world and the next.”

I wrote a note to Erin. I don’t remember what I wrote, but I wrote it on a little slip of paper decorated with a pinecone drawing. And we walked around the entire temple to find just the place that she would have liked. A cascade of colorful cranes, strung together and swaying from a beam in memoriam of someone else’s love and loss, caught our attention with its vibrancy. Here. This is the place. This is where I choose to let you be, to let my own grief come once again for losing you. Be at peace here, if nowhere else. Delight in the colors and the little things you always loved.

Pizza Delivery

There was this phone. Just sitting there, in the middle of a random block of Black Rock City, in the middle of another late, late night. Once in awhile it would ring for a passerby, and if the group of us hiding around the corner giggling with the other phone in hand were lucky, said passerby would pick up. Who doesn’t love the occasional middle school prank call but with far more creativity?

“Hello?”
“This is 1-800-make-a-friend! Will you be my new friend?!”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.”
“Yay!”

“Hello?”
“Hi! I’m really trying to figure out the name of this song that’s stuck in my head. If I sing it for you will you help me out?”
“Sure, if I can.”
“Thanks!
[belts out lyrics]

“Hello?”
“Black Rock House of Pizza. Can I take your order?”
“um… yeah…pepperoni and bacon”
“Thanks! Have a great night!”

And that’s where the magic takes off. Because unbeknownst to our passerby, who leaves with the impression of having an odd prank call experience, there is a team of people ensuring that a pepperoni and bacon pizza find her wherever she is in the next 10 min (or it’s free! haha). A pizza is back in the kitchen on a grill, pepperoni about to be sprinkled on, and someone is searching every cooler for bacon – found! The frontline team carries two walkie-talkies and follows the mark, radioing back to the kitchen crew where to bring the pizza. And 10 min later, a team of people (because no one is going to miss the big reveal) show up with a pizza.

“Black Rock House of Pizza. Did you order a pepperoni and bacon pizza?”
“Uh… Yeah… I did..! Holy s***! That’s my pizza! What the -?! You guys are amazing! I did NOT know that was for real!”
Hugs. Hugs. Hugs. Hugs. Hugs. Hoopla. Hoopla.

I still get goosebumps remembering the utter amaze on people’s faces. The puzzlement morphing into the kind of joy one reserves for winning the lottery is truly a work of art. Making magic happen, that is the ultimate in fuzzy feels.

Superheroes

There was this group of superheroes. Each had their own special superpower, and each was amazing. Together, they were awe-inspiring. They rode the playa as one, coats flowing behind them in the breeze. I watched them ride from moment to moment, following each other’s tell-tale lights, sharing joy, laughter, love, and the cool breeze of the pitch dark night. They wove in and out of obstacles, separating and merging in one graceful dance. I fixated on them and their magical presence. I wanted to be part of that group, to be a superhero in that band of superheroes. I longed for it earnestly as my tires bounced across the ground, racing to keep up. Just then, a couple of them glanced back and smiled at me, and one dropped back to share laughter with me. In that moment, the realization of belonging sunk deeply and permanently into my core. I do belong here, riding along with them, laughing, loving, my coat flowing in the breeze. I am one of them. I, too, am a superhero in this magical band of superheroes.

 

 Was one cocktail not enough? I know. I just can’t stop myself… and there’s so much more. Waaaay way more. Like, where we camped (more on that in another post… spoiler alert: best camp ever!) and late night shows, and delightful encounters with friends and strangers, and more trampolines and dancing and art and so much more.

Oh, right, and they burn a man. Have I not even mentioned that, yet? Not a real one, thought that was clear enough. But just in case you were starting to judge, they burn a very large, very tall, man art piece on a very large, highly flammable base. We were stationed amidst the crowds about a quarter mile from the man, and we were toasty warm and lit up like we were being interrogated. That, my friends, is a lot of fire. Pyrophiles, this goes on your bucket list. Non-pyrophiles, this also goes on your bucket list. It’s really that cool.