I don’t know where we’re heading in this crisis, but one thing I do know, mainly because of my great love for history, is that this too shall pass. The stories that are happening will be revealed later. The heroism of those working in places around the world that are already mired in war, famine, and suffering will come to light long after this is over, in novels, art, song, and biographies. When we eventually lift our heads from our opaque bubbles and look around, we’ll have a clearer sense of what happened.
But right now it’s as though we’re crouched in our cellars because of a tornado warning. We can’t see out-—we don’t have windows. That means we can only do what we can do within the confines of our small space. We simply don’t know when or where or how we’ll eventually emerge, or what we’ll find there.
So, practice not knowing. We don’t have to make sense of it all yet. We don’t have to know where we’ll be next week or next month. But we can take small steps around our area and cheer up a friend. We can share with someone who’s hungry some of our food. We can help alleviate suffering in whatever ways we can, no matter how small. We can practice doing one thing at a time.
There can be enormous peacefulness in the not-knowing. In every task or thought, practice feeling steady, calm, eyes clear, footstep firm. Try being where you are rather than imagining where you could be. Behind you, leave footprints of kindness and courage.