It feels satisfying to change someone’s mind. I’m not talking about winning an argument. I’m talking about the “Whoa, I totally had you nailed, but that tidbit just shattered the neat little box I had you in” moment. We all do it. We evaluate the kind of person we are interacting with based on cues and unspoken data gathered from their appearance, the way they carry themselves, knowing what they do for a living, or what neighborhood they live in. So when I am dancing in a desert, with plant medicine in my pupils and feathers flying, the last thing anyone expects to hear is that I was raised Mormon.

Three reactions pop up when folks hear about my background. First is the surprise, then something akin to pity, and finally curiosity. Questions always follow. “Wow! Are you still Mormon?? Does your family still speak to you? Was that intense?” (The answer to all of these is yes, by the way.) Now before you go thinking that I had 3 mothers or 12 siblings, let me share a little about what life was really like, and  how times have changed.

Growing up, I attended three hours of church, every Sunday. My family prayed before every meal and always before road trips. I wore a one-piece bathing suit through adolescence and went to a college with a strict dress code of nothing above the knee, because I was taught that my body was sacred. Anything sexual was reserved for the bonds of marriage. (Yep. Anything.) I wouldn’t listen to music with curse words in it and I never even considered having a drink in high school – which made me very popular with my fellow cheerleaders. Designated driver for the win! My friends and I did service projects on weekends and I went to girls' church camp every summer. I had Bible study every morning before school. I read my scriptures every night and prayed every morning.

The gospel helped define each decision I made, every moment of every day, on an intrinsic level. I had a crystal clear idea of was “right” and what was “wrong.” Even if I stumbled along the way, I knew that Christ atoned for my shortcomings and would forgive me.

But practicing Mormonism was more than just a list of do’s and don’ts. It provided the fundamental structure around how I viewed myself, as a woman and a child of God. I knew where I came from before this life, why I was here on Earth, and what happens after death. I had a broad and strong community that was tightly knit behind belief. But it never quite felt right. I always felt like a square peg in a round hole. The theory was to use repentance and spiritual growth to chip off my sharp edges to fit. It took me a long time to realize that maybe that wasn’t the way to do, well, life.

I am extremely grateful for the morals and ethics that my parents and Mormonism taught me. In the end, I have held onto a lot of what I truly believe is truth. But I no longer practice my religion. I gotta to tell you, my dear new friends, I simply gave up practicing for a race that I realized I didn't need to win. I went from honoring the safe and delicate blossom I was taught to be, to embracing the uncertainty and stunning tumultuous bonfire of my soul. And now...I burn as often as I can. Burn. Burner. Yep, you guessed it. I’m a festival kid now.

Photo by: Courtesy of Jenna Sessions

The instant my feet hit the dust at my first festival, I felt the magic. A moment came while dancing when the bass dropped. Hard. And it just kept hitting. I felt my innermost soul being shaken, pushed to the energetic edge. I peered up into the clear blue sky with a wildly open heart. Mother Earth infused her furious femininity directly into my being. She empowered me, filling me with pure consciousness. She was steadily supporting all of her raucous children. For the first time in my life I felt at home with those around me. I barely knew my camp mates’ names, but it didn’t matter; we immediately recognized each other's souls.

I had found my new community, and it is strengthened every time we embark together on a festival journey. We seek joy, bear each other’s burdens, and touch the universal energy that is ever present all around us. Festival life celebrates struggle and ascent. We unite under the blazing sun. We seek knowledge from lectures and meditation. We howl at the moon and test long forgotten survival instincts. We work and sweat and cry and live.

This isn’t necessarily a new idea. From the days of Woodstock, the notion that we can truly connect with the universe through creating community, unleashing music that moves us, and yes, sometimes expanding with mind-altering Earth medicines, is extraordinarily powerful. And I think my generation is starving to feel something real. I know I am.

But the things that keep me coming back to festival season instead of the church pew is the responsibility and freedom within the work. No one is telling me what intention to set for my yoga practice. I get to chance to tune into the world around and inside of me and decide how to utilize that energy. Savasana is my prayer now. And when I feel the Makers close by, it often brings me to tears in the same way that formal prayer used to. I respect and honor my body as the precious gift that it is, and I am grateful that it holds the tattoos that carry my stories.

“Right” and “wrong” may sometimes have new meaning for me. Most times I have to figure it out on the fly, because I had to rebuild the way I thought about everything. It takes real effort to constantly evaluate how you make your decisions. I tossed out the roadmap. And let me tell you, life without an instruction manual is exponentially more difficult. But nothing compares to living an authentic life.

Photo by: Art Gimbel

Changing your life is hard. There are layers of safety that must be shoved away, and blossoming from that is the toughest part – but that process is always rewarding. Like growing pains – or what I like to call the "price of entry" – these periods of self-discovery are essential to those of us who value progress. It took me five years and all of my guts to face leaving what had always defined my identity and my future. It scared the living hell out of me and broke my heart a hundred times. But I did what had to be done to stay true to myself and what I believe are eternal truths. And to me, doing the work was not the hard part. Knowing what being true to yourself actually means – that’s the real work. Placing yourself on the altar of your potential and sacrificing your old self is the precious effort. I lost my identity and myself so many times before I was able to rebuild. It was achingly lonely and frustratingly hard...and then came the sun.

Yeah, I gave up my religion, my heritage, my future and my community. I had to go out and rebuild my whole identity from the ground up. But now, I sleep at night. I am so happy that it literally hurts sometimes. And you know what? I’m not that special. What’s your Mormonism? We all have parts of our lives that deserve our attention and intention. Figure out what you need to address. Ask yourself the tough questions. Love yourself, and do the best you can.