Each day is a new day in COVID 19 time. What we heard yesterday shifts and changes. Projections of illness and death increase. The changes escalate as new data is evaluated. Some talk of the coming of a new normal. Right now, “normal” does’t last long enough to qualify for that moniker. These are indeed liquid times.
And we don’t know how long this liquid time will last. Dreams of Easter are smashed on the rocks of reality. Schools stop and will begin . . . no one knows. Jobs have screeched to a halt and no one knows what work will be coming and when. Fear of the unknown runs like an undercurrent as we try to get our balance.
As we deal with the loss of the world that we once knew, we want to some information that will help us make plans. As humans who must figure out how to live and thrive, we need to have some information that will help us give shape to future possibilities. When the information is constantly changing we feel adrift and anxious because we can’t figure out what to do next.
So, I am finding that my patience is being stretched. I wouldn’t call myself a patient man anyway, but this is a real strain. The word patience comes from Latin patientia "the quality of suffering or enduring; submission," also "indulgence, leniency; humility; submissiveness (Online Etymology Dictionary). Enduring suffering can be really difficult. My suffering is minimal. I have lost much physical contact with friends and family whom I love. Planed travel has been scrapped. Getting groceries and supplies is more of a challenge.
But, the suffering of the world weighs heavily on my soul. My losses pale in comparison to the losses of hundreds of thousands. . . millions. The spiritual, psychological, emotional and economic losses cascade like a raging water fall. Where do we get patience? How do we endure?
I am not sure you can manufacture it. For me there are couple of things that help. One is perspective. I can find patience if I moderate my expectations. If I think this will be over and “life will go back to normal” in a couple of weeks, I will be impatient when it takes several months and normal is something else from what I expected. If I expect it to take longer I can endure and suffer with less urgency.
And it helps me to know that loss is the soil for new life rather than a return to old life. Normal will be something different. Some of the old ways of relating are not possible now. And I am frustrated and sometimes sad. And I am also discovering ways of relating with the same people that are fun. So, what I am learning now might help me discover the good in the new life that will emerge after.
“Patience is a virtue,” my mother used to say. Her voice sings its song of encouragement in my mind these days. Now if I could only be virtuous in that way.