One of the Burning Man stories I haven’t told you yet is the one about how alienated I was all week. I spent a lot of time on my own, and wasn’t nearly as social as I’ve been in past years. I didn’t connect a whole lot with my campmates, nor my Moontribe friends, nor my Seattle compatriots (Owen excepted), or even the hooping heroes (despite the hooper handfasting, which I’ll tell you about soon).

Naturally, this made me feel alienated and isolated, but I kept gravitating toward time alone, so I figured it was something that needed to happen. I’m weird that way sometimes…I think it’s part of being a writer: if you’re too in the thick of it, you can’t think objectively about anything. Not that I was somehow less in the thick of it or able to think objectively about much of anything. But the loaner/only child reflex was in full effect. My only explanation for anyone who asked was, “I’m a free agent.”

All that time alone amongst the masses gave me many moments reflect on this distinct feeling of heading into some sort of new era. There are shifts and changes a-brewing (as there always are), but these ones feel sort of monumental. Mammalian. Monogamous. Maternal. It’s weird and I can’t fully explain it yet, but I think this is what being a grown up feels like. Even in the midst of 30,000 revelers, even in what Mark Morford so aptly described as a “lawless inebriant-fueled glitter bomb,” I could still hear the sound of my own wheels and gears turning. Even amidst all the playa dust and windstorms, the sands of my own internal hourglass were tangible to the extreme. Not sure which direction they’re headed, but something tells me the next year could be an pivotal one.