Not unlike most of my travels, I arrived to Burning Man without a good grasp of knowledge about the Man or exactly what the Temple meant. I had plenty of supplies thanks to my gracious hosts and a supply of boy short underwear from Victoria’s Secret. However, when I visited the Temple my first night there and saw someone had written “Dear Dad, Go fuck yourself!!” on the wall, I knew my experience would be emotional.

Two nights later, the Man burned. I knew this was meant to be a night of celebration. In fact, I met a handsome Australian that night and we spent the celebration together. As we walked from our camps together, we held hands and started trading stories. I told him about my bad decision. I told him about my father. I told him everything.

When the Man burned that night, I wasn’t celebrating. I was letting go of a lot of pain. The Aussie held me as the tears rolled down my face.

I turned to him and said I wanted to go to the Temple. I had something to write. If he didn’t want to go, I’d go without him. One hot dog from the Barbie Death Camp, countless lifting our joined hands over shorter people than ourselves, and we arrived to the place that reminded me of cathedrals I’d wandered in Europe.

I found a pen and a clear spot on one of the temple’s towers. I wrote my father’s name, followed by “I forgive you. Now please go away.”

It’s not that I’ve been in contact with him in the past 20+ years. It’s just that I’m tired of being affected by his absence and being afraid to tell my story about my life without him. It was time to let go. I don’t need that pain anymore.

That night, I let go of past loves. Deceased loved ones who I miss terribly. People who carelessly hurt me. I let it all go.

The Aussie and I are on drastically different paths away from the playa. We share a Facebook friendship but it will probably never go beyond that. However, I will never forget his strength, insights, warmth and kindness that night.

Thank you, Shane.