In early 2009, I wrote a short book titled Surviving Uncertainty: Taking a Hero’s Journey). It was part manual, part manifesto, based on all the lessons I’d learned from a lifetime of uncertain adventures. My goal, in writing it, was to help friends and readers cope with the scary uncertainty of a financial crisis that, at the time, seemed like the mother of all unpredictable threats. Ah, the good old days!
And yet, despite the fact that the uncertainty we’re facing now feels very different from that of either a financial crisis or a physical adventure, many of the lessons in that book still apply.
First, to acknowledge what’s different now: One of the biggest differences that makes the pandemic so scary and challenging is that we have no idea how long the uncertainty is going to last. I’ve found myself in any number of dicey physical situations in all my years of adventuring, but I never had to endure any of them for months or years on end. My life might have been at risk, but I was going to sort it out—or not—in a matter of minutes, hours or, at worst, days. That’s the great appeal of a physical adventure. It gives you a sense of accomplishment and completion, because it ends at some visible and clearly defined point. One of the hardest emergencies I ever had to cope with was a flight in my airplane where I had to navigate blind, despite not having an instrument rating, for more than 45 minutes. I handled it pretty well, at first. But as the minutes ticked by and the situation got no better, I felt an insidious kind of panic rising inside of me as I began to wonder, “How long am I going to have to DO this? How long CAN I keep doing this?”
If we all knew that there was an endpoint to this; that come January 1st, it would all be behind us, we could buckle down and come up with a manageable plan for the duration. But we don’t know whether we have to keep this up for 6 months, 12 months, or two years. And not having any idea of when an endpoint might appear makes coping with the uncertainty of the pandemic far more challenging and exhausting.
The second aspect of the pandemic’s uncertainty that feels different is the sheer scope of its reach. The pandemic has turned every single aspect of our lives upside down simultaneously. Not only are our lives at risk, but so are our jobs, our families, and our bank accounts. Our personal and professional lives have come to a screeching, abrupt shift in direction, if not complete halt. Nothing is untouched; not our grocery shopping, not our social lives, not our kids’ schools, not our businesses, not our workout routines or health. A little uncertainty makes life interesting. But to have everything so uncertain, all at once, feels almost too much to bear.
The third challenge of the pandemic’s uncertainty is the feeling of helplessness it engenders. In the uncertainty that comes with a physical adventure, or even an entrepreneurial endeavor, it’s easier to feel as if you still have some control; some actions you can take to reduce your risks to a level you can manage. You can decide not to continue up the mountain or land at the nearest airport. You can change your business strategy, make more cold calls, or even give up your business and go work for someone else. But there is no comparable way of opting out of the virus’s risks, or even taking action against them, head-on. The virus is invisible. It lurks in the air, and spreads from people who don’t even appear ill. And we can’t just stay home completely. We have to get food. We have to earn a living, if we can. And what actions we can take feel like inadequate defensive moves. Wear a mask. Try to stay 6 feet apart, which isn’t always possible. And there isn’t anything we can do that feels adequate to protect our elderly relatives, or even reduce our risk to something manageable.
That’s one of the hardest aspects of this particular challenge, in fact. Taking action—any action—is one of the best ways to stave off the sense of helplessness we feel when disruptive events happen to us. But given the scope of the pandemic’s uncertainty, that’s difficult. Develop a plan for … what, exactly? What jobs or parts of the economy will even be there, six months from now? We don’t know what schools or work will look like, for the foreseeable future. And the options for networking or doing many work options are severely limited. Developing or executing a clear and comforting plan for the future is tough when you’re suspended in limbo. As a friend of mine said the other day, “For the first time in my life, I can’t see the future. I can’t even imagine it. I have no idea what it holds, so I can’t figure out what direction in which to head.”
There are little things we can do, but what we really need to do is to find a way to endure. To find a way to exist in this uncertainty and limbo for as long as it takes; to make our peace with this place we’re in and still find ways to live and love and be okay. Then, when the storm finally passes, we can look around, assess the reformed landscape, and start developing plans for how we move forward from there.
And yet, even having said all that, much of the advice I had for people in 2009 still applies. There isn’t space here to list all that I put in the book, but a few starting basics are worth repeating (you still can obtain a copy of Surviving Uncertainty, if you want to read more).
- Don’t Panic. It sounds basic, but even now, I often have to stop, when I feel the anxiety rising, and remind myself of this simple but essential act. Panic is debilitating and serves no useful purpose. Ah, but how do you manage to avoid it? First, remember to breathe. Just breathe. Don’t let the anxiety spiral. But you can also work to …
- Keep Perspective. Whether the opponent is fear or panic (close cousins, really), one of the enduring pieces of control we have is where we choose to focus. When the big picture is too overwhelming or scary to contemplate, bring your focus in closer. When I asked a friend of mine how he manages to run 100-mile races, he answered, “Because I don’t run 100 miles. I run one mile, 100 times.” One mile at a time. In the pandemic, that means stop thinking about “How long is this going to last???” Look at today. This week. There will be an end to this, at some point. So focus on getting through one day and week at a time.
Keep perspective also means avoiding binge-watching or reading scary stuff about how bad things are. Keep informed of what’s useful (new guidelines, new information about ways to avoid getting sick), but then focus on other things. Things you can control, and things that are still worthy of laughter or love. Let go of the social media echo chambers. Let other people thrive on worry. Plant a garden. Read a book. - Take Notes and Reflect. With so many normally distracting options of travel and entertainment (and even commuting) closed to us, those of us not home-schooling children do have more time to think, if we choose to. And self-knowledge is one of the most powerful rewards that comes out of making our way through uncertain times and landscapes. We all may be learning different things in this unusual time, but if we look closely, we’ll find that we are learning. So try to capture and benefit from that learning. What has this experience showed us? What matters most to us now? What do we miss most, and why? With all this time with family, what do we value and what would we like to change? What is this experience in extended risk and uncertainty teaching us—about ourselves, or about our lives? Time spent on inner work can give us invaluable clarity and strength once we have the opportunity to engage more fully in the world again.
- Enjoy the View. One of the most valuable lessons I learned in all my uncertain adventures—which also helped me get through them—was to make sure I didn’t overlook whatever beauty or unexpected gifts every experience had to offer, even if it came with a whole lot of stress. For example, at the moment my husband isn’t commuting 2 ½ hours a day now, so we have more time to spend together. We go for walks. Have earlier dinners and sit with our feet in the pool. And by being in the pool together (because we’re both working from home), we were able to rescue a baby woodpecker who fell in it, the other day. These moments will go away, once the pandemic is over. So I remind myself to at least cherish the good parts of this time, even as I hope we get through it as quickly as possible.
- Seek and Nurture Friends and Kindred Spirits. Back in the pioneer days, when threats were less manageable, people understood the value of community and friendship. Barn raisings, fire brigades, and community food donations kept everyone going in hard times. And the same is true for enduring or surviving any uncertain time. Yes, there’s zoom and skype; everyday phone calls and emails. But there’s also just talking to an understanding friend from 6 feet back on the street. A laugh. A smile. A ray of hope. Nurture those moments and connections!
At the beginning of April, my husband and I brought our collection of “backyard” chairs out to the flat area by our front driveway and lawn and set them up, spaced well apart, around a makeshift fire pit. A couple of neighbors dropped by and sat across the fire. After a couple of weeks of that, with a couple of other neighbors joining in, and others waving and talking to us from the street as they passed, we realized we were all holding on for that once-a-week firepit gathering where we could share birthdays, news, worries and laughter in a way that felt almost “normal” and nourished the soul. That alone is important. But we also do group texts to each other saying, “I’m going to the grocery store, anyone need anything?” It reduces our individual exposure, and lets us feel connected and useful, all at the same time. We’ve opened our pool to one of the neighbors’ kids to use. We’re borrowing tarps and lawnmowers and sugar and hard-to-find baking supplies. We’re sharing resources and drawing strength from each other. We’re getting through this together. And that makes all the difference.
As I wrote in 2009, “Keep the faith, be a good friend, learn to ask for help when you need it, and build a network of kindred spirits … and somehow you’ll make it through.”
One day, and one mile, at a time.
