Somebody asked me why it feels good to be slammed around by strangers, and the honest answer is that a mosh pit is one of the finest demonstrations of granular fluid dynamics you will ever pay a cover charge to enter. Researchers actually studied this. They filmed crowds at metal shows and found that the collective motion obeys the same equations that describe a two-dimensional gas: hundreds of bodies bouncing off each other in flat, disordered chaos, and out of that chaos, statistically, a temperature.
A real one. You could assign a number to how agitated the crowd is and it would behave exactly like the mean kinetic energy of molecules in a warm room.
And then, without anyone deciding, the gas condenses into something structured. A circle pit forms, dozens of people orbiting a common center, all rotating the same direction, and here is the part that stops me cold: whether it spins clockwise or counterclockwise is spontaneous symmetry breaking. Nothing chose. A tiny random imbalance got amplified by everyone copying their neighbors until the whole system locked into one handedness, the same way a magnet's atoms suddenly agree to point north.
Every one of those flailing bodies is running on chemical energy unpacked from sugar, whose carbon was forged in a dying star, converted through a chain of reactions into the mechanical work of an elbow finding a rib.
So you are not really being shoved by strangers. You are a self-heating vortex of stellar carbon spontaneously choosing a direction to spin, and the fact that it also feels like joy is, frankly, the least surprising thing about it.