But back in September, we had never even heard of the coronavirus, so it didn’t matter when someone touched their hands to your shoulders, shoved their chest into your back, exhaled hot breathy screams in your face. We were all just present, fully and completely in our bodies, and out of our minds.

I understand that for many people, even some extroverts, this kind of hot wild mass of bodies so close together is their version of hell. But to me, it is sacred. To be surrounded completely by other humans, to not want to be anywhere else but where you are — that is holy.

It is nearly spring — my favorite season — and the world is supposed to be coming alive. Right now, I wish I were in a packed stadium waiting for a live performance to start. Standing in a long queue for a roller coaster. Moshing in the front row of a concert. Jostling against other bodies for a prime piece of sidewalk at a parade. Or even squished too tightly on an airplane, a subway, a train. Anywhere but where I am, which is alone in my house canceling plans.

It’s OK to grieve these losses and feel these desires, but social distancing is what we must do now so that we can gather again later. Until then, let us continue to find ways to join one another, like the groups in Italy and in Spain and in New York who open their windows or stand on their balconies and fill the street — if not with touch then with song and applause. We can close the space between us by being too loud. Let us keep our distance but make some noise together. It is not the same, but it is still holy.

Here is a sad, heartbreaking fact: Everything ends. The music stops, the lights come on, the confetti falls. People leave sweaty and shaky, strangers again. After my last concert, I couldn’t stop shivering. It was warm, even in late September, but without the calm, comfortable press of a dozen humans against me I felt cold. Everything ends, even the nights in a crowd that feel like they will last forever.

But this fact also gives me hope. Because yes, everything ends — even pandemics.

So chin up, my beloved extroverts! We will crowd again.

I’ll see you there.

Samantha Edmonds (@sam_edmonds122) is a writer and Ph.D. student in comparative literature and creative writing at the University of Missouri.

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