BUT YET there I was.
There I was, with no practice, no acclimation, no training at all, about to embark on a journey that was the veritable masters degree in living beyond your comfort zone, and which, at the very least, at the very low-end of self-sufficiency and resourcefulness, might involve opening tinned fruit at some stage for sustenance.
Before I set out I'd only been to festivals in New Zealand, the largest The Gathering with its fourteen thousand people over three days. But now, looming on the horizon, was one that promised a hundred thousand, another forty, a third twenty.
Two of them lasted seven days, one of them involved 'survival camping', and all of them were strung back to back across different countries - most where I didn't speak the language - sometimes different continents, and in wildly varying terrain of deserts, lakes and wilderness rivers, not to mention a fortress and an abandoned russian airfield.
This was so far beyond my comfort zone, it skipped the uncomfortable zone and landed squarely in what-fucking-idiot-left-you-in-charge zone.
Which brought me to my second point. I was not a very social person. That may surprise given the smolderingly-handsome, wind-flick-through-my-(metaphorical)-hair, devil-may-care, light-up-a-room-but-keep-a-sensitive-journal picture my exploits conjure.
But in truth I was an ordinary, introverted, somewhat anxious, kind of aspergery, and horribly self-conscious guy the dance scene just happened to bring the best out of. The type of guy who groaned out loud at the memory of something embarrassing that had happened years before and whose cheeks did this weird twitchy thing whenever he tried to hold a smile for a photo.
Left to my own devices I tended far more towards being a recluse - happy to read, meditate, ruminate, dream - than an extrovert, out in the world making things happen and meeting people.
Frankly, people annoy me.
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