Earlier this week, I had a stirring conversation with a writerly friend of mine. Truly, a loved one. One of the all-time homies. We met in Philly seven years ago, but she has since moved to London—not long before Covid. She’s coming back to Philly for an extended time later this spring, but it’s bittersweet. It’s a trip to return to family, to loved ones, to home, and sometimes, that sort of trip isn’t a vacation. For her, it’s a chance to find some much-needed grounding. It’s been a challenging time in her years across the pond. One of the biggest hurdles has been loneliness, the creative kind.
I see many organizations touting community. But I’m not so sure the term works in many of these environments. Community has become sort of a buzz word. I’m not sure how many of us are contemplating what community means to us, via our own experiences and perspectives. What does community look like in a pandemic world that had already been taken over by the parasocial relationship? A world that had already grown distant in the decade before it? And what does community look like outside of the event spaces in which we ultimately converge?
My friend spoke of a spontaneous collaborative creative experience with some of her London friends that sparked her own freeing, independent creative experience to follow. It was the kind of experience that you don’t see coming. The one you can’t plan. The one you have to be in community (which can be just you and your two friends on the days you ritually hang out) in order for the magic to happen. The spontaneity that can’t happen virtually. The spontaneity that can’t happen as an audience member with a $25 ticket stuffed in your pocket. The spontaneity that can’t happen when we aren’t together in community. (Not to say community can’t happen that way, but it’s often driven by a narrative that isn’t initially yours. Does that make sense?)
This conversation had me meditating throughout the week—how can I stir up my own communities? What community do I need? What’s missing that I can’t get from just being a fan in the stands or another Zoom participant? And if I’m asking these sorts of questions, does that imply my own creative loneliness?
Ehh, probably. I’ll report back when I know more! Until then, enjoy this week’s offerings: Classical music happening the first half of April, a Superstar tradition continues, orchestrating community with Philadelphia Orchestra, and the roundup features highlights for Philly Theatre Week.
What does community look like to you?
Kyle V. Hiller
BSR associate editor
