A month ago (which feels like six) I jotted down the following thoughts, “I’ve been really drawn to the notion of alchemy lately—the way ingredients mix and intertwine together into something new, the way that books and objects entangle themselves together on a shelf to tell a story (or a part of a story), and the way that finding a new perch with a different view can be exactly the space needed to return to writing.” I wasn’t sure where or why alchemy had become such a present word in my mind until last week when I realized that the word has had a pervasive, tangible presence in my life the past few months as part of the name of the coffeeshop across the street from me.
Prior to that acknowledgement of its ubiquitous weight and texture in my daily life, I attributed my interest in the word and idea to my recent encounter with Adrienne Rich’s quote which speaks to alchemy and community, or the alchemy of community, “The possibilities that exist between two people, or among a group of people are a kind of alchemy. They are the most interesting thing in life.” Putting the two together—this coffeeshop and quote—I can’t think of a better name for a community space than one that explicitly acknowledges the place of alchemy in its marrow or grounds.
The alchemy of community looks different today than it did a month ago, and yet it is still beautiful to see how the possibilities that exist among a group of people continue to unfold. Over the weekend I watched from my window as a bar across the street transformed into a wine shop, and passersby walked up to the window to purchase a bottle of wine and sometimes share a shot with the person manning the till. I imagined them cheers-ing to alchemy as their plastic cups met only with the air—the alchemy of that moment, the alchemy of shared spontaneity, and their attempts to preserve the alchemy of community in times of isolation and the unknown. I’m seeing alchemy too in the ways that meals or recipes are being shared over Zoom just as frequently as work meetings are held. I see it in the way smiles are exchanged from six feet away, and the way that elbows are bumped in lieu of shaking hands. And I see it too in the way we are all pausing to reach out—to check in through phone calls, texts and video calls—or the new weight behind the tried salutation in a work email “I hope this email finds you well.”
For us in the US we are only beginning to see the alchemy of community change—we’re seven to fourteen days in what will be a complete and continual alteration of community and interaction as we know it. It’s hard in a way that words can’t seem to fully chip away at or encompass. By day two I already found myself missing the closeness of human connection that comes from something as simple as rolling your eyes from across the printer in solidarity over some work email, giving and receiving a hug, or sitting together with a friend on the worn stools of a neighborhood dive bar. I’m on day ten now of social distancing and the weight of absence is heavy and if I’m being very honest I’ve found myself crying more days than not out of fear anxiety, and just simply sadness. But I’m trying my best to trust in alchemy during this time and its ability to change, even when we are not conscious of those changes. And in the meantime, I’m enjoying the evolving alchemy of the communities around me, and the new and emerging possibilities that we are continually creating for moments of connection.