Snapshot – Big Truck

In August, we had a 5-week holiday, and we started with Burning Man. It was an amazing experience, and I’m so glad we did it first, because it shook me out of everyday-life faster than anything else could, and made me feel free / creative / wildly alive / in tune with myself / reset / back to basics / separated from things that were bringing me down / and many other positive things.

We started in Portland, with about 15 of our fellow camp members, and set about preparing for the 8-day festival that has no shops, no stalls, no commerce, no power, no water, no internet, and no phone coverage. We were split up into smaller teams, and everyone was given several duties.

My mini-team had to buy water. 1.5 gallons of water, per day, per person = 240 gallons total for 8 days for our camp of 20 people. That’s a lot of water!

We cleaned out one Walmart. We cleaned out a second Walmart. We had a massive rental truck for this, and for other hauling duties. When the truck tray was packed full of water bottles, people would walk past and comment: “You’re thirsty!”

I thought it was odd that they didn’t remark upon an impending apocalypse (which I would assume, if I saw people in Australia filling a big truck with bottled water), until I noticed many Americans also had numerous large water bottles in their shopping carts, and I remembered that it’s a cultural difference – most Australians don’t buy water, we just drink it from the tap.

That all describes the photo, really, but the part that I found interesting about this truck was my assumption that I would stuff up if I drove it. Because it was so huge. And I have this self-belief that I am OK with small cars, but I am bad with anything larger, because I don’t have the feel for them. Guys do, sure; guys are fine with big cars, trucks, and 4-wheel drives. They just have a knack for it. But not me.

So I went to the car rental place with some male friends, and we hired the truck, and then one of the guys drove us out of the car park. And I thought, Why the heck do I think I can’t do this? If my friend can do it, so can I. A while later, we had an opportunity to change drivers, and I had a go. It was easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

I’ve been trying to remember that, whenever I think I can’t do something (start a business, start an organisation, start a series of events, build a thing, give a talk, write a novel): <This person> can do it, so I can too. It’s obvious, but I think I can’t do certain things all the time.

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