“Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune, but do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.”

~The Desiderata

By now we’ve probably experienced every negative emotion under the sun related to COVID-19. We’ve gone from having mild interest about a strange virus in far off China, to feeling saddened about the first U.S. cases in Washington state, to experiencing growing concern as it started to spread to the bigger cities. We’ve felt anxiety, panic, sadness, frustration, exhaustion, depression, guilt, and numbness.

I’m noticing an interesting paradox, though.

Usually we’re uncomfortable sharing our negative emotions with others, preferring instead to “put on a happy face.”

But increasingly I’m seeing that people are uncomfortable expressing positive emotions right now, even if they’re feeling them.  

With so many people suffering across the world, and in every way imaginable, who are we to be…happy?

Elizabeth Gilbert offered some answers in her TED talk I mentioned last week. She explained the difference between empathy and compassion:

Empathy can be expressed as "You're suffering, and now I'm suffering because you're suffering."

Compassion means "I'm actually not suffering right now. You are. I see your suffering, and I want to help you."

She suggests that we need to have “the courage to be able to sit with and witness somebody else's pain without inhabiting it” ourselves so much that we become just another person who is suffering and needs assistance.

So while we’re greatly concerned about the health and safety of so many people, and are praying so fervently that this crisis will end, we do not have to take on the suffering that we see on the news every day as our own.

Life is full of sorrows, and we need to increase our resilience if we’re to handle whatever it throws at us. But much as we must brace ourselves for the tough times, we must also allow ourselves to embrace our full range of emotions as they come to us.

It’s still okay to laugh.

It’s still okay to be joyful.

It’s still okay to celebrate.

I grew up with a limited understanding of emotions, so I didn’t grasp the concept of being able to feel more than one feeling at the same time—especially not sadness and happiness at the same time.

The elders in my mother’s side of the family did though. As part of my grandmother’s funeral celebration, our huge family (with 60 cousins in my generation) gathered at my aunt and uncle’s house to honor her life. After the dinner feast came the drinking, and then the stories, and—to my horror—the jokes, followed by riotous laughter. I was only 16, and I thought the adults had all gone a little crazy. What had happened to their sadness?

Irish wakes, it turns out, are anything but somber affairs. I didn’t understand then the function merrymaking can have in the grieving process, especially in the culture that is my heritage. It may look incongruous, but laughter amidst our tears bonds us in a special way and reminds us that life goes on.

My dear friend, author Earl Hamner, used to say that “death is a part of life.” We see it in the natural cycles of the earth, and accept it in that realm, but it’s so much harder to accept when it comes to human beings.

A friend’s dad is fond of saying that all suffering is a part of “Life’s Rich Pageant.” She said the phrase always made her cringe, so often when she’s particularly frustrated at something that’s happened, I use that line to make her laugh. But in fact, I think the concept of accepting every aspect of life has merit. What other choice do we have?

It makes sense to honor the collective sadness related to this virus. But then we need to carry on, even joyfully, as those who have passed on would likely want us to.

This week, the news about the virus is mixed, but in general the progression does seem to be slowing. That little bit of encouraging news makes celebrating Easter and rebirth all the more relevant.

I’m feeling particularly happy this week after witnessing what I’m calling our Easter miracle: our little pink dogwood tree has finally bloomed!

This is our second attempt after the first tree we planted died. Even though my gardener and I have been babying this replacement tree for nearly three years, it had not bloomed. I’d nearly given up hope of seeing those pink flowers I love so much, and which grow so abundantly in other people’s yards. (It’s our state flower, for heaven’s sake!)

But on Easter Monday when my hubby and I were surveying the property after a violent Southern storm the night before, I noticed something pink in one of the tree branches. Then I saw the telltale cross-shaped flower that some associate with Easter.

What a metaphor for the emergence of new life after a dark, scary time!

Those lovely pink blooms give me hope, and remind me that the “storm” of this virus will pass, too. I take comfort in the Desiderata, which advises that, whether or not it is clear to us, “no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

Be well.

Affectionately,

Elaine