I went to Burning Man this year (yeah, I know, I’m pretty cool).
This year, we experienced unprecedented rainfall that turned the playa from a dustbowl into a lake of mud.
When I managed to get service after we left the desert, I had 30 text messages from friends and a few missed calls from family.
“Are you alright?!” “You still alive, bro?” “Aaron! I heard the news! Call me as soon as you get this! I’m so worried!”
I dutifully responded to each message and reassured them all, telling them that the news on CNN was completely wrong and that the media were just having a field day by turning the rains into biblical flood that must have been sent to wash away all the sinners. It wasn’t that bad at all - we just got a little wet - if anything, it was super fun!
When I was writing these reassuring messages, though, I noticed a feeling of resistance in my body as I typed them out. Why, after all, were these worrywarts feeling so anxious about my safety? Why were people on Facebook (many of whom were acquaintances who I rarely talk to) messaging me and checking in?
I understand that the news online was bad. I think that if CNN displays the headline “at least one confirmed dead at Burning Man,” then naturally every mother is going to wonder if it’s their child who was the one, and they may start freaking out. I think that news organizations write these incendiary titles to shock people and drive up engagement, and I abhor the perverse incentives media companies have that lead them to create content that stokes fear instead of reporting more faithfully. Yes, it’s true that one person died in a city of 80,000 people, but the headline could have also been “despite historic rains, Burning Man participants help each other stay afloat and continue to thrive in a true show of community resilience.”
As a side note, our friends at Future Crunch recently gave a TED talk about this, and I don’t keep up with the news anymore except for their fortnightly newsletter of good things that have happened over the last two weeks. Check out both of them!
Given the upsetting CNN headlines, it’s no wonder that friends and family members came out of the woodwork to check in. And yet, the resistance I felt was palpable. I was a mixture of frustrated and annoyed and exasperated, and in trying to scan my body for the signs of why I may have felt that way, I’ve landed on two key insights that I didn’t have before.
First, I was upset because I felt as if the folks who messaged me didn’t trust me to take care of myself. As I was writing the responses to their messages of concern, I thought to myself, “don’t you know that I’m a fully capable grown ass adult who can handle a little rain?” It felt infantilizing to be treated as if I were someone who wouldn’t have been able to look after himself and manage his own safety. If there had been a massive hurricane or earthquake or (god forbid) a bomb that dropped nearby, then it’s reasonable to worry about the people who may have had no means of assisting themselves. This ties into the frustration with the media again, since many people watching the news were duped into thinking that the rainfall was a big deal when in fact it wasn’t. This has the doubly troubling effect of desensitizing us to the real problems that are genuinely newsworthy when they occur and leading people to neglect persistent problems that don’t make headlines (for instance, someone dies of malaria every minute, but I don’t get texts from my friends and family every 60 seconds asking if I was one of the people who died of malaria). In essence, I was frustrated by the people reaching out because I felt as if their checking in was a sign of their lack of faith in me. Perhaps this triggered an insecurity in me that feels threatened when it feels untrusted, or perhaps I felt annoyed that they reached out to me when they were worried about me but not when I announced that I released an album or that I got promoted. In either case, I wasn’t able to appreciate their concern because that feeling was eclipsed by my own exasperation.
Second, for some people, there was a subtle implication that I should feel guilty for having caused them to worry. I have a Jewish grandmother, and the trope of the neurotic overly worried bubbe is real. I could hear the phrase “you scared us half to death” in her voice, and its tone is not without condemnation. The messages imply that we have an onus of assuring others (especially family) of our safety, and that any failure to do so is a shirking of filial piety or something. For me, I just received a few messages of concern, but my housemate who came with me to Burning Man got bombarded by tons of messages and voicemails from her family back home in Latin America. They nearly had her in tears. She felt so guilty for causing them heartache. As we were driving home, she was despondent for hours thinking about how she had made them so upset. I tried to reassure her and tell her that if her family wanted to worry about her, they could worry all they wanted but that they couldn’t stop her from living the life she wants to lead.
From this, I learned that quelling an anxious mother is a Sisyphean task. By picking up the phone and reassuring them, we permission their worry. By satiating their inner worrywart, we feed the beast. Perhaps a better approach is to say “Mom, I understand your concern, but I can’t be responsible for your fears. Please trust me to take care of myself, and know that I will get in contact with you if something is genuinely wrong.”
We are not bad people for being the source of worry in others. I wish there were a word in English that meant “I understand that I am the causative source of your pain, and you have my condolences, but I do not apologize for anything I’ve done.” There is nothing wrong with going to Burning Man, or skydiving, or moving across the country to a new home, or doing psychedelic drugs, or getting a divorce, or any number of other things that might cause friends and family to worry about us. We can’t let their worry dictate the direction of our lives, and if they want to worry about us, then that’s their prerogative, but not our responsibility.
After returning safely to our warm beds after a long overdue shower, I got to call my brother and tell him about my experience. When I spoke to him about the 30 messages I got from concerned friends and family, he said something very wise. “Remember, they’re just doing this because they care about you.” He said that rather than thinking about these messages as admissions of worry and faithlessness in my ability to be safe, I should think about these messages as 30 expressions of love and care. In reality, the majority of people reaching out were doing so because they want me to be okay, and that’s very sweet of them. Their intentions are certainly noble, and my brother helped me see that I was being a little too resistant to their outpouring of affection. I believe he’s right, and that’s the way I choose to see those 30 messages now. I believe it’s the healthier way, and I’m glad to have been reminded that I have so many people who care about me.
Still, I think that perhaps the ultimate show of care for someone is fully trusting them to be able to take care of themselves.