Pandemic journal - Tuesday, March 31-Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Reading a pretty amazing column from the New York Times columnist David Brooks this morning gave me some food for thought.  Entitled "The Moral Meaning of the Plague," it's well worth reading.  He quotes Viktor Frankl: "[Meaning in a crisis] comes from three things: the work we offer in times of crisis, the love we give and our ability to display courage in the face of suffering."

I keep reminding myself of how lucky we are: we have enough. As I work with colleagues to provide support for families whose loved ones live with mental illness, I do feel as though someone, somewhere, will benefit. As I worry about our children and their children, I remember to tell them often how much we love them and how much we admire their courage and commitment to their young families. I think that is at least a start on the first two things.

I'm not sure what qualifies as courage for this old lady who is in excellent health, blessed with strength and intellect and enough money to survive. I can't really think what I must do that might require courage. Actually, I (selfishly) hope to never find out.

Another point Brooks makes in his column as he talks about a new introspection coming into the world is that people are asking some fundamental questions:  "Are you ready to die? If your lungs filled with fluid a week from Tuesday would you be content with the life you've lived? What would you do if a loved one died? Do you know where your most trusted spiritual and relational resources lie? What role do you play in this crisis? What is the specific way you are situated to serve?"

I believe that I will spend a few hours thinking about this.  Time to quit pouting and make a plan.

Pandemic journal - Friday, March 27-Monday, March 30, 2020

No posts for the past several days - my heart just hasn't been in it.  Given that I have almost nothing to complain about, since we have plenty to eat, a functioning air conditioning system, beautiful weather, almost unlimited TV, a very sweet fur baby, and each other - life still seems so disorienting that I function in kind of a perpetual semi-exhausted state.

And no, it's not the virus. I'm thinking I may understand just a little bit of what folks go through who live with depression. It wears you out.

SO - today, I have some calls and video meetings, and a little sliver of time to write a bit, so here I am.

It's finally sinking in that even when we pass our "surge" point (that is, when our hospitals begin to look like MASH units and are doing wartime triage to decide who lives and who dies), this virus is probably with us for the long haul.  If heat kills it, that's okay for Florida in the summertime - but will it come roaring back in the winter? And more important, at least to me, is how long will it take for our distrust of each other's physical presence to wear off? I am getting accustomed to avoiding people. And, horror of horrors, video meetings and social events and family gatherings are sweeping the nation.  It's the ultimate nightmare:  a life lived entirely on screens.

I hate this.  As a lifelong optimist, I'm having my nose rubbed in it. It's hard to see any light at the end of this tunnel, and I've always been able to see the light.