Instead of trying to surpass others . . . (Click image for video)

Sooner or later, we will receive word, perhaps via a phone call, maybe a text or email, that someone we know—a relative, a friend, a co-worker—has developed the symptoms of Covid-19.  

We may hear from the person how he's been told to self-isolate at home. We may receive a text to call her as soon as possible. Calling, we learn that her husband is in the hospital. And while she was allowed to visit him yesterday, she was forbidden to see him today. She is now sitting in the parking lot at the hospital. Alone.  

The state of being alone is extraordinarily difficult for social beings like us to handle. We know from experience how when words fail us, physical connections—a hand on a shoulder, a hug—can show the person how we understand and care deeply. Today, all too easily, we can find ourselves in conditions that forbid that comforting physical connection.  

We can rail against this reality. We can become despondent. But, hopefully, we will acknowledge it and get creative. We can see heart-warming examples of this all around us. Individuals out on their balconies in cities around the world cheering health-care workers as dusk settles. Neighbors practicing physical distancing as they celebrate a little boy's birthday. An elderly grandmother standing next to her daughter's car with its rolled-up window. Inside the car, the daughter holds up her newborn baby.  

Yes, many of us are physically alone. But, spiritually, we are together. The physical separation will, at some point, thankfully end. The spiritual togetherness will remain. 

And what of that "hypothetical" woman in the hospital parking lot? Her brother drove to it and parked next to her. If nothing else, they could be alone together. 

Graciousness: a timeless virtue . . . (Click image for video)

Several years ago, I was having severe vocal problems. Having been in both the US and Australia, I had seen doctors in both countries in an effort to resolve my issue. One day, another nun told me how she and some others were going to see a Chinese doctor. She asked if I would like to go with them. Perhaps he could give me something to help me recover my voice. I answered (hoarsely!) that maybe it was just my karma to lose my voice. Without missing a beat, she retorted perhaps it was my karma for the doctor to help me recover it. Wow! Who could reject such logic? And so I went to the doctor.  

Regrettably, he wasn't able to help me. But at least I had made an effort to solve the problem. At the time, it was all I could do—face the situation and try to handle it. What would happen was up to my karma. As things turned out, it was my karma to have ongoing vocal problems for several years. But at least, I knew I had tried to handle the situation as best I could. 

And that's all we can do in a pandemic that is sweeping around the world: we try to handle the situation as best we can. Washing hands now feels like a national pastime. We do our best to stay six feet away from those we encounter—no hugs or handshakes. And we stay home as much as possible, only venturing out when absolutely necessary—essential work for some, groceries for everyone.  

All this can feel like a sacrifice. It certainly inspires varying degrees of anxiety, of fear. 

It can feel lonely for some, in pressing need of personal space for others.  

How we feel all depends on what we tell ourselves, especially during a pandemic in which a month ago feels like a different lifetime.  

But one thing that remains the same is our viewing everything from our long-standing perspective of "me." Focusing on "me," yes, what we are asked to do feels very much like a sacrifice because I have to give up what I want to do. Focusing on others, it can feel more like giving. By staying home when we'd rather be out with friends, we're improving our odds of not getting sick. Of not contributing to the worldwide shortage of ventilators and PPE's. Of not creating the conditions that play a part in others becoming ill. Of others dying.  

From this perspective, we're not alone. Taking a step back, we'll see that by staying apart, we're actually together.