Glad I Went Last Weekend

Some things in life make you stop, shake your head, and whisper a thank-you under your breath. For me, it was reading about the man who died out at Burning Man this past Saturday.

Now, I’ve been to that dustbowl gathering a handful of times, mostly out of curiosity and partly because I enjoy volunteering. It’s a peculiar mix of Woodstock, Mad Max, and a county fair with fewer pies and more glitter. You’ve got fire-breathing dragons on wheels, art installations the size of barns, and people wearing nothing but body paint—sometimes the body paint’s optional.

This year, I went the weekend before to put in my volunteer hours. Handed out maps, pointed folks toward the porta-potties, and even helped a fellow who swore his tent got stolen.

Turned out he was standing right next to it. I figure the desert sun fries more brains than tequila ever could.

So when I read the news about someone being found dead—right there as the wooden effigy got set ablaze—I thought, “Well, Lord, I dodged that dust storm.”

Not that I’m scared of much, but a homicide scene ain’t the kind of festival attraction you circle on your program.

Burning Man, for all its slogans about radical inclusion and communal effort, still happens on Earth, where human beings are human beings. And human beings, bless us all, are capable of everything from painting the Mona Lisa to leaving a shopping cart right in the middle of a parking space. That’s why I’ve always kept one eye on the art and the other on my surroundings.

The sheriff’s office said the man’s identity ain’t known yet. That’s the saddest part of all.

Somewhere there might be a mother, a sister, or a friend still waiting on a text that’ll never come. Festivals can make us feel untethered from the world, like we’re in some temporary city floating above the rules of gravity and grief.

But news like this yanks us back down fast.

I’ll admit, I grinned a little when I read the official statement about resources available–WiFi, Rangers, Crisis Support. Imagine that—checking the WiFi at Burning Man.

Once upon a time, the only signal you could count on was a dusty hand wave from across the playa. Now, even in the middle of nowhere, we can still post a selfie before asking for a Band-Aid.

But I don’t make fun too hard. People need connection.

Whether it’s a ranger in a khaki shirt with a walkie-talkie or a stranger handing you an extra bottle of water, the desert runs on kindness. That’s what I keep from my volunteering days–the simple truth that most folks want to help, even if their costumes suggest otherwise.

I think back to the man whose tent “disappeared.” When we finally convinced him it was, in fact, his own tent, he hugged me like I’d returned a lost dog. No crime scene tape, no deputies with notepads—just a man relieved to have his little piece of shade back.

Maybe that’s the contrast life keeps showing us–one person laughs over a tent, another lies down and doesn’t get up again. And we, the rest of us, go on—trying to squeeze sense out of the madness.

So yes, I’m glad I went last weekend. I got to leave with dust in my boots, alkali on my shirt, and a head full of stories. And I didn’t have to see flashing red lights or yellow tape cut across the desert night.

Life’s short enough as it is. If you’re going to volunteer, dance, or wander out where the playa meets the stars, do it with your whole heart. And for heaven’s sake, keep an eye on each other.

That’s the real burn—sticking around long enough to keep the stories going.