An optimist confronts the pandemic
“A lover is he who is chill in hell fire; A knower is he who is dry in the sea.” - Persian mystic poem, as quoted by Bahá’u’lláh (Image by Noel Bauza)
The weather forecast for my zip code looks bleak.
Or it could. But I — either instinctively or as part of a long habit, or both — spin it as something to look forward to. “It’s going to be above freezing all next week!” I’ve adjusted my expectations, down and down, as the fall has deepened into winter.
This is how it has always been for me. I’ve always tended to orient myself to anticipate the future and toward better times, using the lens and the lamp that shows that future in the best light.
I’m pleased to say that, with the advent of the vaccine, there is actually something to look forward to. But for many months, there really wasn’t. The news was bleaker every day, for me personally and for the world.
Experiencing heavy grief and anxiety, I refused to prop myself up with fibs about things not being as bad as they seem. They were, indeed, just as bad as they seemed, and getting worse. That’s not to say that I had no hope, but I had no false hope. I wasn’t manufacturing things to believe in or depending on forces beyond my control.
If my natural instinct is optimism, I have at least learned to keep it in check. To get through the pandemic, I’ve been relying not on instinct, but on a learned skill: deliberately directing my thoughts.
When I direct my thoughts, I find things to appreciate. A warm sip of tea, the color of the morning sky, an inspiring conversation, a moment of stillness in a forest. Gas in the tank, good work to do.
I pull myself back to my own choices and actions. Neither an epidemiologist nor a nurse nor a politician, there is so much I can’t fix. I place my focus on what I can do, including responsibilities that I might like to be distracted from. I pull myself back, over and over, to my small sphere of influence.
And when, despite my consistent efforts to redirect or replace my thoughts, I find myself consumed by worry and anxiety, I repeat one phrase that I learned as a teenager that has helped me through every struggle since then: “Alláh-u-Abhá.” God is the most glorious. I’ve said it so many times that when I’m under stress or overwhelmed that it arises on its own. It never fails to clear my mental slate and calm me.
Bolstered by a sense of intention and perspective, I’m able to deal with the challenges of the day without taking on more than is mine to handle. When I think about the aspects of getting older that I am most grateful for, this ability to influence my own mind is at the top of my list.
As a natural optimist, I’ve never had such a severe test of the limits of my worldview. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so dire. But I’m much happier now, in 2020, in the midst of the pandemic, than I was ten or twenty years ago. I’ve gotten better at managing my mind from within instead of allowing my circumstances to dictate how I feel and what I think about. I can take the necessary action instead of being overwhelmed by conflicting impulses.
Though I still carry an orientation toward the future, I have learned to be less attached to it. I’m less attached to how I think things should be and the hopes that I have for myself and others. After a couple of decades of spiritual practice, it has gotten easier to accept reality instead of railing against it or trying to fix it or change it.
It’s going to be a lonely Christmas without a single one of my nieces and nephews to snuggle. And it will all get worse before it gets better. But since I can’t do a thing about that, I won’t dwell on it. I’ll light a pretty candle and finish up these semester progress reports for my students. And it’s going all the way up to 19 degrees Fahrenheit today with winds of only twenty miles per hour! And snow. I can’t wait.
Alláh-u-Abhá!
