Attaining and maintaining maximum comfort has long been the ultimate goal of humankind. This goes back to the sparking of the first fire so people could sleep comfortably at night, warm and safe from predation by big hungry animals in the night and has continued - with numerous hiccups - to the ability to order our MacDonald’s on our phones and have someone from UberEATS deliver it to our door.
Granted, we do have to get up from the chair to accept delivery and then actually eat the food ourselves without assistance. Well, most of us anyway.
However, even the most comfort-addicted among us can do surprising things.
Every year since 1990, certain types of people put themselves through the ordeal of going to Burning Man. They may come back all starry-eyed and burbling about how their lives have been transformed, but here’s what they’re usually not talking about except amongst themselves. The dirty open secret about Burning Man is how incredibly uncomfortable the experience can be.
Here’s a partial list and feel free to add anything you think I missed.
Waiting in the car for three to five hours to get in to the event…even on the years when we had early entrance passes. And this was without air conditioning and with the windows closed because of the talcum powder-fine dust that gets in everywhere.
Disgusting porta-potties made even worse — if that’s possible — by the rampant drunken vandalism that means you may or may not have anything to sit on in there if you ever even dared actually sit.
Insanely high heat during the day that forces you to drink inordinate amounts of water and then have to face the aforementioned disgusting porta-potties an inordinate number of times.
Frigidly cold temperatures at night and when you’re sleeping in a tent — as we do— 55 degrees is frigidly cold. However, due to the elevation of the Black Rock desert, it often drops into the 40s and lower.
Needing to pee badly in the darkest, coldest part of the night and being forced to fumble over the pee jug and then usually managing to pee on the floor of the tent. And on your feet.
Missing the sweet spot for shower time and winding up showering after the sun drops behind the mountains and the temperature drops something like 20 degrees in 20 minutes.
Drunken jerks who do everything from tearing the doors off the porta-potties (spot the trend here?) to leaving their empty beer cans in random bike baskets to pissing on the sides of other people’s tents.
Leaving camp in what must be plenty of time to make it out to the Temple Burn and seeing it go up in flames with at least another half-mile to go.
Waiting in the car for six to nine hours to get out of the event…even the year we left early to try and beat the insanity of Exodus.
Sidebar: Most if not all these creature discomforts are not experienced by the 1% who arrive by private plane to be quickly driven to their massive RVs and offered catered food purchased and prepared by their staff. Yes, the rest of us loathe these goons.
Still, the question arises, why would any sane person put themselves through this kind of crap? Especially a person such as myself who never met a creature comfort she didn’t want to be best friends with.
My first time out to That Thing in The Desert was 2011 and I’ve been back eight times since. I have had my reasons for doing this even while pissing and moaning about all the frustrating, painful, and extremely uncomfortable things that are part of the experience.
Here’s just one stellar reason for going back: while sitting in a heat-induced stupor in Center Camp my first year out I was approached by a large, smiling man dressed like a Kewpie Doll. He was holding a block of ice which he handed to me. Then he placed his enormous, ice-cold hands on my cheeks. We grinned at each other like idiots and then he told me to take that block of ice to someone else. That moment right there was probably why I came back the next year. Well, ok, my partner was going. Two stellar reasons!
However, yet another reason occurred to me after two swings around the sun without Burning Man.
The reason is that list above. As noted, we humans have put considerable effort into ensuring we’re never uncomfortable. A fairly large portion of the human population on this planet seldom knows real hunger let alone debilitating heat and/or cold. We have air conditioning and central heating and plenty to eat that’s easy to obtain and cars to carry us to wherever we want to go and endless entertainment options at the press of a button. That’s a problem.
Wait. What? That’s a problem?
Until I had endured my first Burning Man and decided to do it again, I didn’t realize how my addiction to being comfortable was sucking the life out of me. Until I survived two weeks in Bellevue Hospital with a raging fever and an out-of-control autoimmune disorder, I had no idea how resilient I was.
The smooth easy ride never gets me to a worthwhile destination.
The easiest story to write never provides the thrill of discovery.
The most blissed-out afternoon must end or I’ll turn into a decaying vegetable.
When I put maximum effort into ensuring my comfort, I am missing out. If this sounds like a lame-ass bid for character-building through adversity, well, ok you got me there. Because I guess that’s exactly what it is (Ok, it’s not lame-ass). And even I have to admit that worn-out old tripe about how what-doesn’t-kill-you-makes-you-stronger has seen better days.
But - alas - it’s true.
After a week of privation, frustration, dehydration, and never feeling really clean or rested out there on the playa that first day back in Reno is akin to being in paradise. The first shower with gallons and gallons of hot water gushing all over my aching body feels better than getting high. Stretching out on clean, white sheets on a firm bed in the Sands Regency Hotel is the ultimate in luxury.
Then we all return to our regularly scheduled lives and fall right back into the comfort we feel entitled to.
What to do?
Well, even when the elevator is working (which is not a given in this building) I can consider taking the stairs. Ok, I won’t but due to said wonky elevator, I do walk up five flights of stairs at least six or seven times a week.
I could volunteer at a soup kitchen. Give up my seat on the bus to the lady with the squalling toddler. Get back to that meditation practice I keep giving up on. Cook a few more meals at home this week. Do the dishes without being asked….twice. Give “Infinite Jest” one more try (still working up my nerve on that one having made it through once). Call up my most annoying friend and ask how they’re doing. And then just listen.
Additionally, I could consider a ninth trip out to That Thing in The Desert (aka Burning Man), but I probably won’t.
If this sounds like something you might be interested in, however, I have good news for you. In Sacramento, there’s a used-once Colman tent, some camp chairs, and three Rubbermaid bins containing most of what you need to spend a week out there being exquisitely uncomfortable while building character.
You’re welcome.
© Remington Write 2023. All Rights Reserved.
I own four copies -- count 'em, four -- of Infinite Jest, and still haven't read it. And realized today that I won't even sell the paperback on Amazon because it's too heavy to ship. omfg.
Comfort is yet another form of addiction. That's exactly why I got into hot yoga. I had never been so uncomfortable, but the shower and chill afterwards was so blissful! Alas, that ended with the pandemic, but I have found other ways to leave my comfort zone.