Making sense of challenging times

Borrowed from Instagram

Every afternoon, an alarm on my phone reminds me that 'everything is impermanent.' I set this alarm as a strategy to get through my workday at a job I haven't loved before we were asked by our governor to "stay home, stay safe". Now it seems almost prescient. 

Where we are at this moment in time is hard. And, as I heard my mom say more times than I wanted to, "this too shall pass." 

We cannot have pleasure without pain, nor joy without sadness. We can't know comfort without experiencing discomfort.  

And sometimes, we require a strong jolt to move out of complacency or apathy to embrace real, lasting, necessary change.

Transformation, ready or not

Over the last month, I have witnessed real transformation every day at work. I work for a very traditional, allopathic medical group—"western" medicine that isn't my go-to but I'm glad it's there when I need it.  

The change is nothing short of remarkable. In the two-plus years I've worked there, the organization has made numerous changes, but it needed to move faster to keep up with a rapidly evolving market. At the end of 2019, they set up an "acceleration office" to ideally usher in change more quickly. That work was just getting underway... 

And... virus. 

Practically overnight, my organization transitioned to nearly all virtual care, adopted new practices and systems, and relaxed outdated policies and adopted new ones. I, and all my coworkers, are busier than we've ever been—with most of us working remotely. And this isn't true just in my organization, but throughout the healthcare industry overall. 

Opportunity and silver linings

In any way imaginable, everything just got very real. Personally and professionally, no matter where you are in life, what's most important is up for redefining, and our priorities are shifting in countless ways, collectively and individually. 

This might just be a transcendent wake-up call, a reset, a recalibration. At least, that's one way to look at it, and how I prefer to look at it. Not one to waste a crisis, I know from experience there is always something to be learned and gained and that transformation is afoot when things fall apart. This is how we grow, deeply, personally, culturally. 

Yes, I am profoundly troubled by the strife in the world—the fear, the loss of life and livelihoods—and I'm keenly aware of the very real trauma created by this disease and the impact of the stringent measures required to quell it. 

Sadly, there will be casualties, much like war, and the most vulnerable among us will be most affected. This is heartbreaking on so many levels, because no one deserves to lose their life, or that of a loved one, when every waking moment may feel hard and life as we know it can't continue.  

But I have a deep sense that we need this. 

Our systems don't work

So much about our way of life has been unsustainable. Every one of our systems requires an overhaul to work better for people and the planet; right now, this is more evident than ever in our food, healthcare, and economic systems, as well as our environmental policies.

We now have an opportunity to do things differently and to notice how we rely on each other. We're a global economy, dependent on trade, shared knowledge, and combined resources. Darwin's reinterpreted survival theory requires that we adapt, cooperate, and collaborate, not compete. (Watch infectious disease expert Alanna Shaikh talk about global health here and what we must do now to avoid another major pandemic.)  

We are collectively learning we must also play the long game rather than opting for the short-term profits and wins we've become accustomed to. So much of our financial and political focus is based on short-term thinking, and only those who know the game and how to play it come out ahead, leaving so many behind. Here in the US, it's time to reinstate our social contract and leave the 'rugged individual' mythology behind. None of us can do it all alone.  

Resourcefulness = resilience

All that said, however... we must also plan to care for ourselves when disaster strikes, to ensure those who most need help are able to get it. 

Since the hoarding and stockpiling at the beginning of this pandemic indicate otherwise, we must individually prepare for disasters before they hit. Those of us who live in earthquake zones should have at minimum two-weeks of food, water, and god-forbid, toilet paper, among other necessities. And ideally, governments are learning that we must not rely on a just-in-time supply chain and instead keep back-up emergency supplies. Note to self for Clorox Wipes... 

If you haven't yet read The Unthinkable and The Gift of Fear, please make time for them. Both of these books give examples of why we must think about the impossible, while learning to trust our instincts. My partner, who works on container ships, watches disasters-at-sea videos; when I asked why, since I have no stomach for these, he said to imagine the impossible, because the impossible happens. 

Necessity = ingenuity and creativity 

Some of the bright spots—because there are always bright spots if we're paying attention—are the extraordinary creativity, innovation, and ingenuity, along with visible compassion, gratitude, and a real sense of connection, despite physical distance. 

People are helping others in ways we haven't seen in decades. A few examples: 

• We're making masks and donating supplies, creating affinity groups online, finding new ways to fundraise, and re-imagining helpful services. 
• Our front-line healthcare workers are heroes and she-roes, celebrated by balcony and front porch serenades. 
• Musicians are performing live online, and local yoga studios and trainers are offering online classes almost any time of day. 
• Restaurants and bars started new lines of business with take-out and delivery (and I don't mean to diminish how badly these and other services have been hit by this). 
• Church services are broadcasting via Facebook Live, AA meetings and weddings are taking place on Zoom (along with plenty of virtual happy hours), and 
• Businesses previously hesitant to offer their staff remote work made it possible overnight. 
• One of my favorite things so far is a Facebook group, View from my Window, where people from across the world post one (only one per person allowed) image from their window, as the (nearly) whole world shelters in place.  
• The memes are some of the best ever, and all the late-night shows are broadcasting from home. I highly recommend finding and following people and things you love on Instagram, like The Daily "Social Distancing" Show, Trevor Noah's re-imagined home-based show.   

And finally, great resources are springing up all over for those who are struggling. One of my favorites so far is a support guide, chock full of awesome resources, compiled by author and web TV host Marie Forleo. You can find it here. And if you just want to hear a comforting voice, author Glennon Doyle is broadcasting "family meetings" on Instagram, sharing the challenges of being home with a spouse and bored kids. 

For us, not to us

So, let's ask: Is this happening for me, or to me? When we ask ourselves this question (about this or any other thing), it shifts our experience. We get more control over our circumstances, with space to receive insights to weather our storms and see opportunity, even as we grieve our losses.   

This pandemic, and the subsequent stay home measures, is challenging us like nothing else has, and we will all be changed in ways big and small. I hope we all take time to assess what's worth keeping and what's better left behind. Right now is a great time to visualize the world you want to live in, to spend time in quiet reflection, and hold space for a better future. 

As Leonard Cohen sang, "there's a crack in everything; cracks are how the light gets in." Our cracks are showing us the changes we need to collectively thrive. 

I leave you with this quote from author and extraordinary human, Arundahti Roy: 

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it. 

That I write all this from relative comfort and privilege is not lost on me. And yet I also state it with conviction. Because I have learned we can do hard things. 

While most of us may not be high-risk, we're all, perhaps unwittingly, part of a new, developing social contract, staying in and doing the right things for those we love. At the very least, I hope we hold onto this, and that on the other side, we're all a little kinder, more generous, more compassionate, and more mindful. We are all in this together.  



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