I am exactly where I am supposed to be. This is what I found myself remembering over and over again at Burning Man. After eight years in the dust, I felt more present, more confident, more at ease, more myself than ever before. That manifested as a great deal of time with the fam on our dusty living room furniture (as strangers meandered by and became dear friends, sharing gourds or snapping a polaroid like this, the only image I have in my possession from the entirety of the Burn), all night walking adventures to discover epic art and phenomenal sets on the crystal clear playa, a stunning wedding of dear friends and a poignant 50th birthday celebration at the Temple, and yes, once again speaking with over ten thousand burners in small groups at the entrance to our foam dome, happily losing my voice while fulfilling my calling and contributing to the magical gift of our Fomogenesis camp. It also meant hot matcha and frozen macaroons at my favorite Thursday morning sunrise festivities, 2am conversations with a man named Lizard Steve who walked with all his gear on his back from North Carolina and invited us in for ‘country living’ bourbon wayyyyyy out past L, dodgeball with 3-foot diameter white balloons in a dome open to the laser-criss-crossed night sky, official iceberg runs in the golf cart to reunite with Honeybadger, playing Mario Cart for the first time at the trash fence, vegan ice cream and Bocci Ball as per annual tradition, dancing on the wings of a 747 in a dust storm with robotic voices descending from above, sharing grapes and fermented grapes with the neighborhood, seeing real life bunnies in deep playa (I have multiple witnesses of my spirit animal encounter!), swinging cuddle puddles to the tune of Disco Nights, Shabbat dinner with a thousand plus close friends and countless familiar faces from the tribe, dawns and dusks on our unmistakable bass-thumping golden dragon, too many vegan quesadilla parties to recall at all hours of day and night, random pop-ins to the RV and serendipitous run-ins on street corners and profound free-flow conversations with deep resonance, Exodus with the natural combination of frozen chocolate and Neil Diamond and surfers, and finding love under the man himself. Black Rock City is home — and this year, I felt that our time cocreating in the desert flew by at record speed. I crave/want/long for more majestic moments, and thus take great comfort in knowing that all of our metamorphosized selves are back in the default world radiating light until we join together once again when the gates open in 360 days. In dust we trust. )'(
