One of the hardest things about going to Burning Man is coming back. Decompression. How do you go from being in the most wonderful, accepting, free, creative, fun place in the world (Some might even call it their home...) to the default world of work and bills and taxes and tipping 20% and scooping the cat's litter box and changing the Brita filter and making small talk with the mail carrier and trying to do it all in the small amount of time you have?
It's hard. Decompression.
Last year was ridiculously difficult; my grandfather died when I was on the playa, and I came back to that sad news, and also missed the funeral. My sister flew up to comfort me, my friends rallied around me. I barely noticed the default world; I just went from the happiest to the saddest.
This year, I went from the playa to Reno to Santa Cruz (to clean stuff) to San Jose (to put stuff in storage) back to Santa Cruz then to San Francisco, where I worked and hung out with friends and chilled in one of my favourite cities, then onto Granite Bay for Rio del Lago 100 Miler (Don't do a 100 miler less than a week after Burning Man.) and then to Marin to see a friend and then fly home.
And now I'm home. It's so weird to be back. My kitty. My purple striped sheets. The blue walls. My mint plants. My wide variety of spices. All the lotions and soaps and eye makeup products.
And my pile of playa in the middle of my living room.
It's hard to not be confused.
And most of all, how do we keep all that we processed on the playa? I did a lot of work, a lot of thinking, a lot of re-evaluating. I don't want to give that all up. I need to live up to a few decisions I made out there - like I need to pursue my writing more. I need to figure out what's next (or just let it happen - but either way, I cannot avoid it). I need to relax more. Just let things be. Do less stressful things. Make sure that ultimately, what it comes down to, is I make a difference in this world.
Because if you don't make a difference, what's the point?