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Limerence - Burning Man Retrospective Part 4

It’s human nature, I think, to want to find the beauty in things. To seek out what resonates, stirs something deep within us. And while it’s one thing to find that in art or nature, it’s another thing entirely to find it in a moment shared with another thinking, feeling human being.

When we feel we’ve had a meaningful interaction with someone, we sincerely hope they’ve felt it too, don’t we? The stakes are greater, the swing is bigger, but so is the reward. So when we find that the feelings were mutual and the connection was real, it’s rapture.

But what if they don’t?

I had hoped with a desperation bordering on madness that he, on some level, felt what I felt, saw what I saw. While at no point did I sincerely believe he’d ever leave his husband and start a new life with me, I did believe that this time, maybe, I wasn’t entirely crazy!

But, I know now that while he did undoubtedly have love for me, he never, at any point, felt or saw things the way I did. Which would mean, yes, I was, in fact, entirely crazy 🙃

Coming to terms with the fact that so much of the beauty I saw in us was something I saw alone has been, honestly, pretty fucking devastating. Devastating for a few reasons: Firstly, I’m not sure if I can ever fully trust myself - or the happiness - again. Secondly, because, y’now, at the end of the day, all we really have is our memories. And we measure the richness of our lives by the moments that have meant the most to us.

But how rich are our lives really if our perception of these events were all wrong? Are they still valuable if they were founded on fiction? If the significance projected onto them has entirely overwritten its actual meaning?

I have this cache of memories - moments with him that have meant so much to me. And like a hoarder clinging to a broken heirloom, I’ve been struggling, really struggling, to let them go. Because even if these moments weren’t real, or not as real as I believed them to be, they were, in my eyes, priceless, and my life has been all the richer because of them. And I’m so deathly afraid that if I dare let them go, then what will my life then amount to?

But… if limerence is like a drug addiction, then recovery requires severing the neural pathways that light up your reward circuitry. No negotiations. No compromises.

I’ve already implemented no contact, and as tough as that’s been, that feels infinitely easier than the last and final step: stopping myself from replaying all the memories and moments I’ve cherished like treasure. Because, essentially, it’s microdosing. It’s keeping the limerence alive

This upcoming week is BM… and in the spirit of The Temple, we ritually burn the things we’ve lost, the things we mourn, for closure and letting go.

Well, although I’m not going to BM this year, I can still have my own little ritual burn.

I mourn a deeply cherished friendship. Even before BM, before coming off the rails, this felt like a once-in-a-lifetime connection. And it breaks my heart to admit that I don’t think I can ever go back to that. Not out of a lack of desire but a lack of faith in myself. Even with all the facts laid bare, even with everything that I know now, I can’t say with certainty that, if put in a similar situation, I wouldn’t fall into the same patterns again.

I mourn the pain I had caused him. At no fault of his own, I misread and distorted his kindness and warmth. By building this elaborate fantasy on foundations that were never there, I placed this unfair burden on him. It still hurts knowing I hurt someone I claimed to have so deeply cared about for things he never did.

I mourn the the life I had with my core friend group. They were casualties of the collateral damage caused by my limerence, by my inability to regulate my emotions. Now that I’m on my own, it’s been painfully clear to see how nice I had it. I didn’t fully grasp how rare it is to find a group as fun yet dependable as they are - and to be loved by them. Embraced and invested in. I’ve been attempting to recreate something similar, but it’s not quite the same. And, maybe, it never will be.

I mourn the part of me that was so spineless and delusional - the same part of me that was so deeply romantic, so in love with love, with dreaming. As much trouble as she caused, she breathed color and wonder into my world. I know that without her, I’ll never again reach such dizzying heights - to feel such all-consuming, destructive yet beautiful, stupefying love.

Until the end of this upcoming week, until the burn is over, I’ll mourn. And then, I promise, I’ll mourn no more.

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Limerence - Burning Man Retrospective Part 3

There was more than playa dust in the air that week. I was high - wildly, undeniably high - off the fumes of converging fantasies. The decades of mythologizing Burning Man itself - as this larger-than-life, transformative experience - colliding with the presence of someone I deeply loved and admired - someone who, without even realizing it, seamlessly walked that delicate line between friendly and unavailable.

It was a perfect storm. A confluence of conditions that made fertile grounds for limerence to take root and grow unchecked. In that space, my eyes were no longer capable of processing reality, just dreamscapes.

And it was, unfortunately, one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

I remember the exact moment it happened, when the levee broke. And in retrospect, it seems so silly, so insignificant. He was just helping me do my nails. I said something stupid. We bursted into laughter. And then, in the middle of that laughter, I remember thinking: this feeling that I’m feeling... it's a feeling I’ve been searching all of my life for! A feeling you could live in. A feeling like home.

From that moment on, I knew something deep within me had changed, quietly but undoubtedly. I could no longer see him the same way. Sure, I’d always had a crush on him, but it was manageable - something light and fun, y’know? But now? It was heavy. Unmoveable. And the worst part was... I didn't want to. I wanted to keep it, hold it close, celebrate it.

There were a couple of other moments at BM that I've held onto, cherished like treasure.

I remember scaling this giant towering art structure with him and our friends. When we reached the top, we were met with this breathtaking view of all of BM, and below us, as far as the eyes could see, was this swirling sea of brightly lit bicycles weaving through the dust like fireflies. It was beautiful. I then asked to take his photo, and as I looked at him through the lens, I remember thinking... How is it possible for me to be this attracted to someone? For someone to be this attractive? I couldn't understand what was happening, but I didn't fight it. I didn’t want to.

I remember dancing with him at Gorgon City, and as our hips swayed in unison, I tried my DAMNDEST to suppress any rush of excitement from rising in me. I was terrified of him finding out about this newfound change in me. Terrified of losing my connection with him - both the friendship we’ve spent years cultivating and this burgeoning burning attraction that was setting my reward circuitry ablaze. Despite the pressures to conceal it all, I was happy. Wildly, violently happy. Especially as Gorgon City played Voodoo, which felt so cosmically fitting for everything that was unfolding in me.

I remember standing there in front of Mariposa - this massive, luminescent interactive butterfly sculpture - with our friends beside us, shoulder to shoulder. Max Richter's Spring 1 started to play around us, and in that moment, with tears welling in my eyes, I remember thinking: if there's a heaven, I sure hope to God it feels like this. And if I never make it there - if this is as close as I get - then let me savor this. It was all those years of expectation, of romanticizing BM, coming to a head. It was the release of knowing I had made it, and done so with the people I so deeply loved.

I remember walking with him, arms locked, after having explored The Temple. I was a complete mess. We all know life is finite. That's the entire point of BM - it's a celebration of impermanence. That life and death are two sides of the same coin, and that to celebrate one means celebrating the other. That there's beauty in finality. That finality is an inherent quality of beauty. But The Temple... THAT is when I actually felt it. Viscerally. We then joked about how he did NOT cry. And I remember thinking, maybe that's for the best, because right now, I am feeling EVERYTHING, and certainly MORE than enough for the both of us. Despite the rain. Despite the mud. Despite the clouds... In that moment, I couldn't stop seeing the beauty in everything.

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All I want to do

Is make it out alive

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Limerence - Burning Man Retrospective Part 2

I think the idea of counterculture has always appealed to me, especially when I was kid - when my feelings of not fitting in were most pronounced. I thought there was something so poetic and beautiful about having a place to belong for those who never quite felt like they did.

So when my cousin would tell me stories of her raving, I was spellbound. The jinco jeans, the Kandi, the PLUR. She’d burn me disks of trance and happy hardcore, and, similar to my experience with Bjork, I’ll never forget how Gigi D’Agostino, Tiesto, Olive, and, of course, Alice Deejay made me feel. There was something so dreamy about that music, so idyllic, like everything was in its right place as long as I lived in between my headphones.

Then, in 2006, as I began to truly form my own music identity, my dad took me to Coachella. I’ll never forget stepping onto Polo Field and feeling the bass reverberate down my spine. The living pulse of the festival, I thought. Exhilaration coursed through me in ways I never knew possible. Until then, I didn’t know a single person who liked the same music I did, and now, suddenly, they were all around me as far as the eye can see. Who were these freaks that came to see Massive Attack, and how do I join them? I then wandered into the Do Lab and stumbled into the Lucent Dossier Experience - this avant garde immersive circus troupe. It was as bizarre as it was beautiful, and as I watched in quiet astonishment, I had this realization: this place, this festival, is hallowed ground. This is a place for the rebels and freaks, the misfits and the dreamers. A sanctuary where we are allowed to gather and simply be.

Since then, I’ve been to countless festivals and raves, each one leaving its own unique mark on me. And sure, maybe they aren’t as countercultural as they once were, but my love for them never wavered, even as they exploded into the mainstream.

Still, I had never made it to Burning Man.

Over the decades, I’d heard so many stories of BM that the event itself began to take on this mythical status in my mind. BM felt like the final boss of countercultural experiences, and all my years of raving and festival-going had been preparing me for this. BM wasn’t just a party in the desert but a pilgrimage, a rite of passage. One I knew I had to experience if I ever hoped to die happy.

I knew I couldn’t just go with any group, it had to be with the RIGHT people. People I loved deeply, trusted completely. After decades of hearing BM tales, of building that expectation, the perfect opportunity finally arrived in 2023.

And… man… for better or for worse, it more than exceeded my expectations.

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Limerence - you are (not) a victim

I wanted so badly to believe I’d just been unlucky with love - that the stars have just been so cruel! But this framing conveniently absolves me of blame. Because if I’m unlucky, then I’m a victim. And if I’m a victim, I’m allowed to wallow in self-pity. And wallowing in self-pity - whether we admit it or not - feels good. Because when we’re victims, we get to blame the universe. The stars. Anyone but ourselves for how things turned out.

But, as my favorite scene of 2024 reminds me, you are NOT a victim. Not at all. My choices and my behavior and my responses all led me to this point. And I have to take ownership of that.

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Limerence - Burning Man Retrospective Part 1

I think spells are broken, stripped of its wonder, when you pull back the curtain and see the machinery hiding behind, right?

What other patterns were there?

Well, with each of the four boys I became limerent for, there was always a moment, some highly anticipated, highly idealized party, that dialed my feelings up to an eleven. A single event that flipped the switch and broke the knob. After that, there was no dialing back. No unseeing, no undoing. My feelings were now this runaway freight train with no driver in sight… well, at least not one who knew the definition of reason.

With Bing there was high school prom.

Nolan, EDC.

Steven, ABGT at The Gorge.

And now him… with Burning Man.

I’m nearing my 2-year anniversary of BM2023… of completely flying off the rails, so, I think it’s fair to ask one more time: what the fuck happened that week?

It's a question I've asked myself more times than I can remember. Spent too many nights lying awake, wrestling with it, hoping to pin it down and force the answer into submission. And, despite all that time ruminating, I still don’t know… at least, not in a way that feels adequate for real, honest closure.

What is it about these events that fuel my limerence?

The pattern is clear: for each of those events, I had spent so many waking hours leading up to it romanticizing the experience, fed my ideas of what these events were and could be and mean with this relentless stream of emotional significance. By the time the actual event arrived, it had now mutated into something monstrous, something uncontainable and larger than life. These events, whether I was aware of it or not, had now become the grandest of stages, built to host the grandest of fantasies.

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There’s still something there. It’s not hot enough to scald. But it could be, if I wanted it to, and I am surprised that I have to wonder.

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But I guess that’s the thing: we take our memories wherever we go, and what’s left are the ones that stick around, and that’s how we make a life.

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Listen to me, she said. You stay with him. You don’t need to call anyone else. Call someone if you need help, but I’ll take care of the rest. The important thing is to stay with him, while you can. You won’t get this moment again, she said. Do you hear me? This is the last time you’ll get to do this, and you’ll wonder why you were thinking about so many other things. I’m telling you this because I know. Do you understand?

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I’m well. My mother’s well. For me, home is wherever she is.

You shouldn’t make a home out of other people.

Is that right?

I think so.

You speaking from experience?

You could say that, I said.

Maybe you’ve met the wrong people, said Tan. Or you’ve met the wrong people for you.

Maybe, I said. But people change. And then you’re stuck in whatever your idea of home was.

There’s nothing wrong with that though, said Tan. We all change. We’ll all have plenty of homes in this life. It’s when you don’t that there’s an issue.

—

I’ve been thinking about what you asked, said Tan, about home.

Really, I said.

Really, said Tan.

And what have you decided?

That loving a person means letting them change when they need to. And letting them go when they need to. And that doesn’t make them any less of a home. Just maybe not one for you. Or only for a season or two. But that doesn’t diminish the love. It just changes forms.

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Here was a new situation. A new body in my bed. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I wanted him to pack his shit and leave. I wanted him to dissolve. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.

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Not a boyfriend, I said. Just a boy.

Well, said this lady. If it helps, she said, that’s how they all start out.

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Eiju asked why he had our apartment number, why my mother was fucking around. And Ma said that if only he could see himself, then he wouldn’t have to ask.

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That night I drove home with another guy. I don’t remember much about him, but he was definitely white. He told me I was his first, and I said, First what, and he said, You know, except I genuinely did not. Sometimes, you forget how people are. And then he reminded me.

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Ben made a face, one I would learn the mechanics of in the future. I’d recognize what brought it on and how long it lasted. I’d figure out how to defuse it. Each of its nooks and crannies.