Arantza Pena Popo/Insider
Around three o'clock in the morning on Sunday, as I sipped golden milk and watched a chess game besides a geodesic dome where revelers danced shoulder-to-shoulder beneath a propane jet shooting constant waves of flame, not long after an intimidatingly high-energy stranger had power-washed my friends and I's buttocks to the rhythm of thumping techno, I came to a conclusion: Burning Man wasn't completely ruined.