When I told my band that I was taking my mom to Burning Man this year, eyes widened in disbelief, peals of maniacally chiding laughter rang out and bets were nearly placed.
My sweet but cynical musical compadres gave my mom a day before she high-tailed it to the creature comforts of a Reno hotel.
My mom and I have always been very close and she (and my dad) are astoundingly supportive of my artistic endeavors. They sent me off to major in theater at NYU with nary a passive-aggressive joke about minoring in business, law or premed.
The main lessons I took away from my studies in acting were the importance of taking risks, of being myself and of being present “in the moment.”
I’ve found that these principles have taken me beyond the sometimes too-predictable and circumscribed boundaries of conventional theater and into other non-financially viable realms: rock ‘n’ roll and the ephemeral, creative candy store of Burning Man.
As my parents have wholeheartedly endorsed my artistic undertakings with wallet and (albeit sometimes weary) smile, I have always attempted to involve them in what I’m doing. Taking my mom to Burning Man seemed the perfect way to provide a full-on immersion, and perhaps infect her with some of the mysterious, life-affirming playa magic.
There is something about being free to collectively and constructively let out your inner freak (i.e. to openly be your true and complete self, without fear of judgment or ridicule) that is not only fun (and funny,) it is genuinely moving and uniting.
It’s something that in the “real world” (or as Burners often say, the “default world”) we rarely are given, or give ourselves, permission to do. When you can do that with another person, it’s a blessing — a miraculous sort of gift.
So who better to do that with than my mom, who half-knowingly helped me find this strange and wonderful world in the first place, simply by always granting me permission to be myself?
