This post is part of our quarterly essay series, “Alone in Our Corners,” exploring loneliness, polarization, and the need to belong. In case you want to go back to the beginning, you can find both an introductory post and part one in the archives.
It was not a typical concert. Last week, my friend Megan and I (and our husbands, respectively) met up in Indianapolis to see Jon Batiste. The moment we got in the general admission line, the people standing in front and behind us surprised me.
“This is not who I thought would be here…” I whispered to Megan.
The more people streamed in, the more diverse the crowd became. Every ethnicity, age, fashion, and flavor were represented. From my seat, I could see silver-haired ladies in sequins, a man in a chicken suit (not kidding), and crop-top-wearing twenty-somethings. But from the moment the curtain went up and the music began, a one-ness lingered in the air. I looked around the theater, my eyes blurry with the good kind of tears as we all held up our phone lights while singing in unison “you can only be who you are” as we swayed from side to side.1
Yes, the music was incredible. I gush about Jon Batiste on the regular and am unlikely to stop soon. But it was more than that. I walked away wondering: When was the last time I was with such an eclectic array of people and experienced such kinship?
I’ve had a week or so to marinate on the experience and have realized that one of the reasons it was so special is how rare it has become to find commonality and come together amidst our differences. These days, difference (of opinion, appearance, personality, theology, you name it) is more often a reason for division. Common ground is becoming much less common. And I wonder how this polarization has contributed to the rise of loneliness.
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