Communal joy

Collective effervescence.

In 1912 the French sociologist Emile Durkheim coined this term to describe the shared euphoria of individuals who move together—in ritual, in prayer, in work. His insight was that communal gatherings that bring people together in close physical proximity for a shared purpose intensify, electrify and amplify that experience. People feel more connected to each other and more deeply in service to something greater than themselves.

Of all the ways 2020 has been grim, grueling and more than occasionally soul-crushing, number one for me has been this lack of shared euphoria. I long for the rush of communal joy I have felt every Wednesday for the past eight years when I arrived at Food for Lane County’s Dining Room, checked the menu board, aproned-up, stuffed my pockets with silverware rolled in napkins and, in the company of an extraordinary group of women and men, served hot meals to those for whom a hot meal was more than nourishment. The Dining Room was for them, as it was for us servers, about connection and community, a shared space and a shared moment that transcended our many differences. It made the world right for that instant. And it filled the room with collective effervescence.

In March the Dining Room was forced to close for the protection and safety of all (and to comply with the Governor’s orders). Since that time the hungry in our community continue to be fed—with both food and kindness—by a small FFLC staff taking every precaution but still risking their health. We volunteers are precluded from being a part of that effort. The absence of this experience has created in me a crater.

I miss also the shared joy of synchronized movement, the hour I spent many mornings each week in the Barre3 studio with women I had come to know, with instructors who cued mind, body and soul, with a community of the like-minded who searched for the ease within the effort, the calm within the chaos. The virtual community is strong, the livestreaming works. But the collective effervescence is absent.

I miss the group energy and creative spirit that filled the small conference room on the second floor at the Forum for Journalism and Media in Vienna where I led writing workshops for the past five springs. But not this spring. We met remotely. Good work was done. Conversations were lively. But that communal lift was missing.

I am not sure I realized the power of collectiveness effervescence before the experience of the last nine months. I love (and often crave) solitude. I am at home (literally and psychologically) with technology. I am comfortable with online life. But euphoria, where art thou?