As I am sure you have learned, dear readers, I have something of an inferiority complex. Sometimes, this motivates me. Other times, not so much.

Over the last couple years, I have discovered the rapture of (mostly outdoor) electronic music festivals. Like most supremely beautiful things, they have some flaws. But it is those flaws that make them perfect. They awoke in me a lust for life that I have rarely experienced since my early childhood.

It’s difficult for me, this summer, to be anything but gutted by the reality that I’ll miss most of them. I am almost paralyzed by disconnection and isolation from a community where I don’t constantly feel the need to present myself as anything other than just that.

I am alone in the midst of entrenched policies, maintaining carefully defined relationships that only enable and empower a festering sense of normalcy for all those who depend on them. And, as near as I can figure, not for any sensible reason beyond the fact that I’m trying to prove my worth in our established social enterprise.

The truth that I am working up the courage to face is that it doesn’t give a shit about me.

While I very desperately want it to care about me, I am faced with the reality that I have absolutely zero control over how outside entities feel about me. I do, however, hold influence over how I feel about them. If you’re cool with me dropping some casual Buddhism on you, the most I can do is engender kindness, love and acceptance in all aspects of my life. Ultimately, that’s all that makes this universe a liveable environment, regardless of how liveable our own environments may feel.

The single most critical thing we can learn from the festival experience is to live it wherever we find ourselves.