Burningman 2011 Or, Why I Shaved My Head

So, I buzzed it GI-Jane style before Burningman last year after an "oops" by a friend who was helping me buzz it short-but-not-that-short... Anyway, it was awesome. I loved the super easy hairdo (yeah, no hairdo at all) last year, it kept me cool on hot days and I did fine with sunscreen and hankies. As expected, it also presented me with a wonderful challenge (and we all know how much I love those) to my vanity, and my sense of self-worth. I'm used to being relatively pretty, attractive, whatever. So, minus the hair, how pretty am I? Am I still attractive? Does it matter? I really loved the chance to kinda deconstruct my own vanity and re-examine my self-worth, and found that a lot of people gave me compliments on my eyes or my smile.
Enter this year's Burningman theme: "Rites of Passage."
Hella.
After a car accident and a divorce, I fell apart a bit this year. I have been looking forward to Burningman as a turning point, a ritual experience that would help me shed my skin a little and integrate the things I have learned over this rough year.
So, in my ridiculously dramatic, occasionally hippy-dippy style, I brought clippers with me to the playa and upon arriving, drove promptly to the trash fence at the point where it is furthest from Black Rock City, and buzzed my hair off. It was sunrise. It was perfect. (Yes, burners, I sat on a sheet and rolled it carefully so as to avoid making MOOP out of my hair.) I drove slowly back to camp, where the first friend I saw- Mister Jellyfish- greeted me with a whole-hearted playa hug, and told me I was beautiful.
A wild week ensued of traipsing about alone and with friends, watching many a sunrise, nursing many a hangover.
I lived almost total spontaniety, following my personal theme: "Yes". To all my friends that I didn't find, and made plans that I didn't follow through with - I'm sorry. I will make plans with you again soon. I really needed to go live in the moment there, and am really glad I did. The playa worked its magic, giving me incredible opportunities at every turn and I was able to take them again and again because I wasn't riding around looking for "Camp Green Pony."
I made mistakes.
I learned from them.
I danced the story of my life in front of a whale-shaped art car. I fell down. I got back up again.
I taught several hundred people the "Official Black Rock City 2011 Battle Cry" inspired by my roomie. Dad, you would have been so proud watching me jump up on the crowded bar at Jub Jub and Ashram Galactica to command the entire crowd with my silliness.
I giggled until my cheeks hurt.
I leaned hard on my wonderful friends. Some of them leaned back. We all held eachother up.
I cried hard, too.
I cried for my marriage. I wore my wedding gown on what would have been my 7th wedding anniversary and walked a pilgrimage to the Temple of Transition. There I hung a smiling photo from my wedding day. I cried for all the things we said to eachother, for all the things we didn't, for all the things I did wrong, and all the ways it could have been, but wasn't. I cried for the love I still have, and always will. I laid there in the dust in a pouf of purple, until I realized that I have had enough "poor me" and left that with the photo behind in the Temple, too.
I cried for the fear, the pain and uncertainty after wandering blind in the snow. I am no longer afraid, and no longer hurt. I have only the blessing of a renewed appreciation for life.
I cried for the people I have let down, lately. This includes myself. For the family I want to know better. For the person I was once, and will be again, but am not now...
I cried because my shower bag didn't work, too.
And then, on Sunday, just before the Temple burned, Mister Jellyfish saw me again and said "Hey Chels! Wanna shave our heads?"
What else could I say, but "Yes!"
I'm sorry we didn't get time to shave your head, Jelly. I needed to get to the Temple.
6 or 8 razors and an entire can of shaving cream later, my head smooth as a baby's butt in places, and sandpapery in others (he did a darn fine job with the tools at hand!) I went off into the playa twilight, and watched as beautiful cleansing flames lifted my grief, my joy, my prayers, and my commitment to myself into the sky; completing the ritual that was my Rite of Passage.
To all of you who love me, who bear witness to my transition, who have given me strength and wisdom and caring when I needed it, and a smack upside my bald little head when I needed it:
Thank you.
In my father's words, at my last rite of passage, that now inspire me in a new light:
I love you.
I have always loved you.
I will always love you.