One Man Who Changed the World

            by Anna Carpuso

 

     I took a deep breath.  Our drive had finally come to an end, but it was clear that our true adventure had just begun.
     “We’re here!!! We’re actually here!” I screamed, shaking my clenched fists in excitement. I had waited for this moment for months and had no idea that it would be even more thrilling than I anticipated. Next to me Traci sat on the worn, fake sheepskin seat of our 1968 Volkswagen bus.  She shared my enthusiasm.
        “Holy shit!” she murmured in a shocked, faint voice.  
        The night air was comfortably warm and dry; it had cooled off tremendously the last few hours in the car.  Thoughts raced through my mind. I replayed the recent journey to our newfound home – Black Rock City, Nevada: Burning Man.

 
        My summer nights often consisted of daydreaming with Traci.  We continuously made checklists as we tore apart our houses in search of anything and everything we could possibly find useful for Burning Man.  We repeated the list of essentials incessantly – drums, guitars, paints, glow-sticks, obscure tapes, goggles, and our playa attire.  Food wasn’t as important in my mind; who cares what we eat at Burning Man?  Whenever we saw each other or talked on the phone, we embellished our list further, adding more details.  The pile of clothes and musical instruments grew to a huge mound on my bedroom floor.  Burning Man had been in the back of my mind for months, but now it had consumed my life.  I often stopped in the middle of a conversation and blurted, “Oh my god, I can’t wait until Burning Man!” It was clear that my family and friends were getting tired of the constant interruptions, as my rants became more and more frequent.
      I’m not sure of the exact force that drove me to declare, “I’m going to Burning Man this year.  No matter what.” My parents clearly sensed my determination, and realized I was not about to back down. There was no question or doubt in my mind.  I had been curious about the event for years, and I had suspicions about the common explanation that “its just a bunch of old-naked-hippies-on-drugs in the desert.”  Whatever the result, I was completely willing to jump into the adventure whole-heartedly with no regrets.  But deep down, I really hoped Burning Man would a meaningful experience.  Given that I was settled on the plan, with no driver’s license, I had to find a partner in crime.  I thought over my short list of possibilities and settled on Traci.  

        We had only known each other casually, for about a year, but I was convinced that she would be a perfect companion for the adventure.  We often considered ourselves seven year-old twin brothers because we were both excessively energetic and spontaneous.  One night, I made the call and was prepared to make a big pitch to persuade her to come.   
        “Uh… hi Traci. I’m going to Burning Man I was wondering if you want to come.  Do you know what Burning Man -”
        Traci interrupted, “Wait… you’re going to Burning Man?” she said enthusiastically. “That’s so cool!  Hold on, let me ask,” I expected it to take her a while to convince her parents, but before the thoughts could circulate through my mind Traci picked up the phone and said casually, “Yeah, I can go.” Nothing had to be explained.  
        So it was set.  I couldn’t believe everything went so smoothly.  My dad was coming along on the adventure too, not as a chaperone, but a companion (who also happened to have a driver’s license).  He planned art projects and spent days repairing our vintage van that had been buried in our garage my whole life.  I read the Burning Man website devotedly and repeated my research to Traci, while she did the same for me.  Our studies were more thorough and thoughtful than any of our schoolwork had ever been.  
        “I read that you should go with someone you really like,” Traci warned, “because by the end, you’re either gonna hate the person, or have a special connection with them.  I hope we don’t end up hating each other.”

 
        Finally, the day arrived.  The ride over the Sierras felt like a new drive despite the fact that I had traveled those same roads dozens of times.  The journey, like all of Burning Man, was about the process and the experience.  Daily annoyances became pleasurable.  Our bus putted across the freeway at an ancient 25 miles per hour.  Some cars screeched past us in an angry rage, while others, clearly headed for Burning Man, stuck their hands out the window and formed a friendly peace symbol.  It was late into the night and the road was open.  School had started, but it felt like summer would never end.  I had absolutely no worries and felt invincible from the usual restrictions that seemed a lifetime away.  We were in no hurry; the drive was relaxed.  With no air conditioning in 105 degree weather, no automatic windows, or even enough seats for the three of us, our expedition was off to a great start. My butt felt numb, as I sat between my dad and Traci on a wooden box, which substituted a proper seat.  I shoved my head out the window to relieve myself from the heat.  This can’t be real, I thought to myself as I looked up at the sky.  It was darker than I had ever witnessed and millions of stars were visible.  The full, golden moon peeked above the horizon, straight ahead.  
        Before long Reno went by in a blur of flashing lights and cheap colors. We agreed as a group to listen exclusively to our favorite psychedelic music, to enhance our sense of freedom and rebellion.  We stuck to the agreement and sang for hours until our voices became horse and eventually faded away.  At last, somewhere in Nevada, we exited the freeway.  Hendrix drowned my apprehension as we drove through the mysterious, repetitive desert.  The clock read 1:30 AM, three hours later than our estimated arrival and we still had 75 long miles to go.  
        “It’s all part of the experience,” I repeated reassuringly every time anyone complained about the drive.   The barren miles passed slowly.  The only passing cars were decorated, or stuffed to the top with unusual gear, and equipped with bikes.
        After endless miles of desert darkness, I couldn’t determine if the bright lights ahead were a refinery, city, or my eyes playing tricks on me.  
“Whoa, did you see that? There’re giant fire explosions over there,” I said pointing to the right of the road, far off into the vast desert emptiness.
    “What the hell is that? It looks like a city or something,” my dad replied, squinting to make sense of the situation.  
The three of us pondered the mystical illumination and decided the sporadic flames and flashing lights were too magical to be a factory.  Yes, it could only be Burning Man.

 
        It had been twelve extensively long, yet pleasurable hours spent in our beloved van.  I always thought that the desert would be a frighteningly lonely place.  But to my delight, it seemed to be the exact opposite; I felt more welcome driving on the dirt road than anywhere I had ever been. “You’re Finally Home,” read a large sign to the side of the road.   The statement was true; we hadn’t even passed through the twelve-mile entrance yet, but I was absolutely convinced that I was home.  It was four thirty in the morning, but from the aura of light and occasional flames shot high into the sky, I could tell we were not about to go to sleep.
 
        At last the three of us hopped out of the car, grabbed our decorated bikes, a handful glow sticks, and headed out on the playa. Even the smallest, most ordinary occurrences seemed novel.  I was mesmerized by the desert floor.  It was a pale tan color, broken into jagged segments by endless cracks that resembled a maze. My bare feet glided smoothly across the cool surface, while dust assembled into a cloud and clung to my legs.  We were fanatically attracted to a flashing geodesic dome, which constantly altered color, occasionally interrupted by the flash of a blinding strobe light.  The dome looked small compared to the endless, perfectly flat desert floor. We began to pedal toward it like moths flocking to a light bulb.  Music filled my ears from every direction. People strolled along casually in their fluorescent furry outfits, despite the fact that it was five in the morning.  I was awed by this freedom and was immediately in love with it.
        Traci and I were overwhelmed as we attempted to assimilate the life that surrounded us.  We looked at one person wearing nothing but glow sticks, got distracted by a car shooting fire, and then interrupted as we nearly crashed into a random door standing alone in the middle of the desert.  The next thing I knew, we had reached the colored dome.  We rode only about a mile, but this first bike ride alone was worth the cost of the ticket. My eyes were in constant motion. There was too much to take in. Traci and I dropped our bikes and ran toward the dome while my dad followed quickly behind.  Our spastic leaps halted abruptly as we gazed inside.  
        “This is incredible,” Traci sputtered loudly over the pounding bass.
        “Whoa,” I mumbled, astonished.  We were still unable to converse fluently. Everyone pulsed naturally along with the electronic tones as the glittering lights changed.  The age of the crowd took me by surprise. They seemed like high school students at a rave, but their faces showed that they were past their youth. Regardless, they looked happy, and I did not feel uncomfortable or out of place.  The dancers were equipped with sequins, fur, feathers, and some wore nothing at all.  They packed the room, and hung off of platforms and poles.  Traci and I danced and then decided we should move on to see what else the amazing city had to offer.
 

        After a long night full of adventure, a deadly heat awoke us.  It was only eight AM, but it was obvious that sleeping more was not an option.  I was exhausted, and hoped that I would not feel irritable and withdrawn, as I always did from lack of sleep.  The sky was a perfect clear, pale blue, as only the desert can offer.  I felt claustrophobic in my sweaty sleeping bag.
        “I had a dream about Burning Man,” I told Traci.
        “You don’t need to dream anymore, we’re here,” she replied.  
        We got up slowly and headed out into the sun. My dad was already participating in his new favorite activity – “chilling”.  He lay in a reclining chair while playing guitar under a bright orange tarp.  He fit in perfectly, with his handmade tie-dye shirt, sequined vest and top hat. Our neighbors participated in morning activities of their own.  One heedlessly swept the entry area to her RV in a blue tutu and hiking boots. To the other side of our camp, a man with dreadlocks painted his bike in his tighty-whities due to the squelching heat.  On our morning bike ride to the port-a-potties, Traci and I didn’t think twice when we saw dozens of Barbie dolls poking out of the ground, two people perched on a flowered living room couch on wheels that drove past us, and three old men with identical gray, bushy beards drinking coffee waved at us nonchalantly.
        As we headed back to camp, I realized that this was the first time I had ever been free of all rules and restrictions. I became aware of how much my old life was shaped by other people.  Teachers, parents, friends, and society directed me toward a conventional lifestyle.  But now I was in control.  For once there were no deadlines to worry about.  There was no “right” way to live.  The traditions of time vanished.  It didn’t matter when we went to bed or woke up, ate meals, or walked around. Everyone did what he or she wanted to, all the time.  I found myself asking whether I felt like going to sleep at one in the afternoon, or eight in the morning, or if I even wanted to sleep at all.  

        The following days passed much too quickly. Each morning, Traci and I set out on a spontaneous expedition.  Our original destination was always deferred, as we were invited to dance, eat, drink, jam, and hang out with a multitude of fellow burners. Unlike many situations elsewhere, I never felt shy, intimidated, or fearful around the friendly strangers. We were undaunted.  One night we hopped on a fire truck. It was packed with younger burners who sat on every surface including the forty-foot extension ladder which rose high into the midnight sky. It was a functional fire truck adorned with rope lights and at least forty colorful burners.  It drove slowly across the desert.  After a few minutes of enjoying our ride, a man who seemed to be in charge approached us.
        “Are you guys in this camp?” the overbearing man in a floor length fur robe asked.
        “Uh… no.  But we just… is it ok… should we get off?” I asked, trying to think of an explanation for intruding on their vehicle.  
        “No way!” he said dismissively with the wave of a hand, “We just wanted to make sure you feel welcome.  Let us know if we can do anything… I’m Sun Wolf,” the man explained as he shook our hands.   By four-thirty, the strangers were our close friends and we were part of their camp.  Exhausted and content, it was time to go back to our van.  
        We jumped off the fire truck and began the trek back to our bikes. The astronaut style freeze-dried corn and fajitas we consumed hours ago had left my stomach rumbling and we decided to find food.  Our bikes were parked in front of Center Camp; a circular covered structure, almost half the size of a football field.  Afro-rhythms and bright sounding horns streamed out of the area and beckoned us to join in.
        “That sounds cool.  Let’s check it out,” Traci said, as I began to walk toward the music. This is how I imagined devoutly religious people must feel upon entering their sacred sanctuary.  I felt relaxed, at peace, and comfortable. In one area, a stage was surrounded by at least a hundred spectators.  The couches lined up like bleachers were packed, while overflow people danced in the isles.  In the middle of the building, people slept, played hackie sack, walked on a tightrope and juggled.  Just as Traci and I sat on the dusty carpet, a girl approached us.  
        “Do you want one?” she said, innocently offering a tin full of mints to us.  “They’re not drugs, I swear,” she cackled.  We gratefully took a mint and she continued around the circle, sharing with everyone else.  Soon she returned.
        “Hi!! I’m Sarah, what’s your name? You guys look so young!” she said, sitting cross-legged before us. She had two blonde braids tied on top of her head.  Her eyes glittered, and her enthusiasm instantly diminished our hunger and sleepiness.   As our conversation progressed I learned that she was a UC Davis student.  She introduced us to her boyfriend.
        “Aaron, these are my new friends, Anna and Traci.  They’re really cool, they go to Berkeley High.” Without giving him time to react, she continued, “Is this your first time?” we managed to fit in a nod between questions.  “It’s my first time too… It’s the most amazing place!”  We all agreed we hoped we’d meet up again soon. Sarah grabbed Aaron’s hand lovingly and walked back to the others.  
        Traci and I lay on the grimy carpet and looked around.  Sarah and Aaron played along with the others, fully enjoying hula-hoops, a tightrope, and dances choreographed on the spot with throw pillows.  I had never met any of these people, but they seemed like family.  It felt like I was out of my body, watching my life take place. If an outsider had observed us, they would be certain that we were on some serious psychedelic drugs. However, the truth was that the experience of Burning Man had the same effects as a drug.  We were completely sober and life seemed surreal.  It was perfect.  I was invincible.  After two and a half hours of simply sitting meditatively, Traci and I decided to go back to the car as the night air became too cold. We stood up reluctantly, remaining silent for a few seconds.  The sky had lightened as the sun glimpsed from behind the mountains.  I hadn’t slept more than eight hours in the past three days combined.  Usually I would be incoherent, grouchy, and unable to function from lack of sleep.  But I felt rejuvenated.  Never before had I felt more clear-headed.
        “I can’t believe what happened in there.  That was the most amazing experience in my life,” I told Traci, who nodded, mesmerized, in agreement.  “It was spiritual.”  From that moment on, everything changed.  I was no longer attracted to the flashy rave dome.  I had no tolerance for disguising myself to be accepted and understood.  My outlook on the world was transformed.  
        As we left the area, we shivered due to the chilly night air.  A shirtless man in his twenties walked to his bike and saw our quivers.  Without saying a word, he took off his arm warmers and handed them to Traci. He untied his boots to give me his wool socks.  I felt selfish wearing my furry vest, and refused his offer.   This was the kindest, most genuine gesture I ever witnessed.  
        “Are you sure you guys are gonna be ok?  You look freezing,” he said with complete sincerity.  
        “Yeah, its ok.  Thank you,” I replied, truly grateful and warmed by his generosity. A complete stranger was willing to give away his own clothing and take on the cold just because we were unprepared for the weather.  He didn’t expect or suggest anything in return.  I realized that I wanted to change.  I recalled Traci’s mom advising us to be careful and not take anything we cared about to Burning Man because we might end up giving it away.  At the time, we laughed off the seemingly absurd comment that we thought could never apply to us. Now I wanted to give everything away.  It was so much more satisfying to share life, experiences, and objects with fellow burners. People who appreciated and understood sharing as more than simple acts of kindness.  
        Traci and I rested on our sleeping bags in the back of the car.  Tomorrow was the long journey home.  Reentry was going to be difficult.  I had been transform at Burning Man.  I was happier that ever before, yet devastated at the thought of returning to the every day routines of my old life.
        “I’m never going to be able to talk to anyone outside of Burning Man,” I said to Traci, concerned.  
        “Don’t worry, we’re gonna have each other.”
        “School’s gonna be unbearable; you’re the only one who will understand.”

 
        All of my predictions of Burning Man were true. It wasn’t just a normal, camping trip or concert that was a worthwhile experience. It was spiritual, it opened minds, it changed perspectives, it was a community, it was epic.  I had never understood the power behind those words.  But I had been immersed and appreciated their true meaning. The changes I went through are now a permanent part of me and affect everything I do.  We all want to feel engaged, challenged, creative, and part of a group that suits our passions and abilities.  For the first time ever, I had felt that way and found such a place: Burning Man.