I’ve been in a whirlwind of travel lately. And while I’ve journaled extensively on planes, in airports, in hotels, and at my mom’s house, I’m only now sitting down to write my letter to you.
It’s always easier to write for ourselves, although I hear from some of our journaling workshop attendees that even that can be hard. Sometimes you sit down with a blank page and simply don’t know where to begin. We’re meeting in person again next Wednesday for our monthly journaling workshop. If you’re curious about what might come out of an afternoon with a notebook, a pen, and a group of thoughtful people, come join us!

I promised in my last letter that I’d share something about my journey to my very first Burning Man at the end of August.
Burning Man was unlike anything I had ever experienced. We drove into the desert and entered a man-made city of color, shiny lights, dust, art, loud music, and thousands of people. None of these things, on its own, would be particularly extraordinary. But combined with a spirit of generosity, openness, inclusion, and free expression, the whole place felt like another planet.
Unlike a one-day event, spending several days there gave me time to settle into this strange world. What felt unfamiliar at first gradually became part of my everyday experience, and by the end, I didn’t want to leave it behind.

My favorite part of Burning Man was waking up every morning and deciding who I wanted to be that day. I’d dig through my box of desert-appropriate outfits and wear whatever felt right. Most days, I had no agenda. I’d get on my bike and wander, following whatever caught my attention. I might spend time with a piece of art, get drawn into a conversation with a stranger, stop to listen to music, find an intriguing spot to sit and watch people, or dancing until sunrise.

The days were filled with wandering, wondering, being in awe, and being surprised. Small acts of kindness warmed my heart deeply every time: a handmade pin someone gave me when I sat in the temple, or a cup of tea offered when we were hunkering down beneath The Man during a sandstorm. It was beautiful and touching to see the human spirit shine in so many different colors—in the love and care people put into their camps, the free meals prepared for hundreds of people, the creativity of the art, the messages people shared, and the generosity that seemed to find its way into even the smallest interactions.

I returned from Burning Man a bit kinder, a bit more generous, and a bit less judgmental. Perhaps the biggest insight for me was realizing that I can re-decide my life every day. I was very touched by the burning of The Man at the end of the week. You can read about what it symbolizes in the Burning Man philosophy, but for me it sparked a personal realization: I, too, can burn down my life any day, start over, or take a left turn. Our lives are not fixed tracks we need to follow. There is no single right or wrong choice; there is the choice we make, and the life we create from there.

I think we often follow a path as if there’s some scripted life we’re supposed to be living, and that our choices are either right or wrong. And we also judge the people around us by that script we carry. But our life is our choice. And if we decide to regret a choice we made, that doesn’t mean it was the wrong choice. It means that we decided to regret the choice.

So the next time you are in decision limbo, consider this:

• The world out there does not decide whether your decision was the right one. You decide that internally.
• Once you make a choice, you can decide to live with love and peace around it and not allow your brain to tell you something different.
• This applies to all decisions – big, life-changing decisions, and small ones, like deciding not to get upset anymore over the same old thing but to decide to think about it a different way.

I saw at Burning Man that it’s entirely possible to live with joy, positivity, and love, despite the negativity that surrounds us. It’s simply a decision to live that way. I know I will make this decision more frequently going forward.

Warmly,
Janine