October, 2006:

The day before we left for Myschievia I was talking to Jaclyn about her Burning Man experience. Paraphrasing and leaving out many important bits, Jaclyn said that overall, she left Burning Man understanding that she needed to put less concern toward pleasing others and more effort into making herself happy. While I never had any doubt that she could take away this new understanding, I found it strange.

Burning Man is an event at which one is supposedly surrounded by giving, caring, free, accepting people. It’s a temporary community centered around an overwhelming desire to share and give. It seemed so strange that the strongest lesson one might take from such an event was one centered around what could been seen as the exact opposite to that.

I pushed Jaclyn’s words to the back of my mind ready to have my own experiences and learn my own lessons. It wasn’t until the drive home that I remembered what she said and realized that I, too, had taken away that same lesson.

To say it was life changing would not do it justice. To say I made a few new friends would be belittling the situation. To suggest that I gave everything I had to give and still felt I hadn’t given enough would be an understatement.

The whos and whats of exactly what happened when are utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of everything. Yet somehow their details make the experiences more real and more relivable. So, I’ll tell some bits and pieces.

I took less than 50 photographs total over the entire weekend. More than likely waaaay less than 50 but I don’t know how many, don’t feel like checking, and don’t want to exaggerate, so we’ll just say less than 50 to be safe.

I saw a lot of naked bodies. Some of them were men. Some of them were women. Some of them I was very attracted to. Some of them I was not attracted to at all. My attraction, when mentioned, was always taken as a compliment regardless of the amount of lust behind that attraction.

Two people, at the time complete strangers, on two separate occasions gave me two of the most powerful hugs I have even been given in my entire life. I don’t know how else to explain these events.

While most people had a Burner Name that they went by, I simply called myself “Daniel”. That is, until I was dubbed with a new name: Tripod. I think I like it. First, there is the photographer connotation. Then, the notion of support and stability. And, finally, of course, that small ego boosting factor.

I ate the meat from the inside of some fruit that I plucked off a bush at the direction of another person. I ate it entirely based on his word that it would not hurt me. I did not know this man. I don’t trust people like that. It was tart, yet tasted quite good. I’ll have to find some more.

Most people often consider me to be very open with my thoughts and feelings. I often reject this notion and people do not understand why. This weekend, to any onlookers, it would have been obvious. I found myself walking along the edge of utter closeness and true freedom. Yet, as hard as I tried to over come it, I remained closed. It was the first time in a long time that anyone has ever shown me these walls that I have inside myself and helped me to raise my hand up to them them, and feel their texture. That makes me very happy.

I almost forgot to mention to you the highlight of last Thursday afternoon. It was, by far, the redneck in the pickup truck that decided that people shouldn’t be allowed to go places that he isn’t going.

I was driving in the right lane as I approached the driveway to an establishment I was travelling to. So, I slowed down and prepared to turn right from the right lane. Though I’m not 100% certain, I’ll admit that it’s possible that I didn’t use my blinker. But blinkers aren’t really for advertising what you’re doing to the people behind you unless you’re changing lanes. In this case, blinkers are for oncoming and crossing traffic. As far as the guy behind me is concerned, whether I’m turning, stopping, or dodging school children; I’m slowing down. Therefore, he either needs to go around me, or slow down too. Well, he didn’t like that idea.

As soon as I applied pressure to my brake pedal I could see his mouth form the words “come on asshole” as both hands let go of the steering wheel to display two vulgar digits. At this point I may have accidentally went a little slower when turning into the drive way than was really needed. But, hey, I’m a cautious guy.

So he followed me into the parking lot. He pulled up along the side of me rolled down his window and started cussing at me. When I paid no attention to him, he started weaving as though he was going to ram into the side of my car. When this didn’t phase me he got really pissed. I pulled into a space and he pulled around as if to block my travel. I got out of my car and never even glanced at him as he shouted, “Does that piece of shit have blinkers and brake lights you fuckin’ faggot? You hear me you little piece of shit?”. And then, as I got further and further from him, “Hey, cock sucker! I’m talking to you.”

Calling my perfectly functional, less than 5 years old, entirely intact vehicle a “piece of shit” was pretty funny. Or, assuming that his claims about my vehicle were founded in reality, the fact that anyone driving a piece of shit car without blinkers and brake lights must be both a “faggot” and a “cock suckers” was pretty amusing too. But the absolute best part was watching him squeal away in the parking lot all pissed off and looking like a bad ass only to slam on the breaks when he finally realized there was a huge unavoidable pot hole in his path.