With social distancing now an eerie and necessary norm, I imagine many of you like me are working from home and haven’t been out of the house much for weeks. Or, if you have, your outings have been brief – standing in well-spaced, six-feet apart lines at the grocery store or to walk the dog. Maybe you’re still out and about working on all of our behalves. If that’s the case: Thank you. Here, in Los Angeles, there’s a collective hibernation going on that has now rippled out to the rest of the country. Throughout, the country and all over the world the coronavirus has changed our social contract with each other. It’s no longer kind to shake each other’s hand. It’s kinder to avoid each other. Empty parking lots are a sign of communal caring. The other day I thought about all the generations before us, who faced difficulties, battling known enemies during war or invisible foes such as COVID-19. I thought about how they responded and how they sacrificed. My mother often spoke about how her parents planted a victory garden during World War II, doing their part to heed the government’s call so food could be more available to others. It occurred to me that our part during this pandemic is to be exceedingly kind and compassionate toward each other. Richard Davidson, mindfulness researcher and the founder of the Center for Healthy Minds, recently wrote in a newsletter that social distancing is an act of generosity. “When we train our lens of awareness on these acts of kindness, we can’t help but be moved by the basic goodness that lies at the core of our actions,” he writes. Holding an intention to lead with kindness first and fear second – or even last – can take many forms. My sister-in-law, for example, has been the source of numerous mood-enhancing memes chronicling our comedic reactions to coronavirus and social distancing. Maybe it’s inappropriate to laugh during a time of suffering. But sharing a bit of humor to lift someone’s spirits is a kind thing to do. And small acts of kindness matter. What’s more, difficult times present endless opportunities to be decent. When you’re at the grocery store, you can put one loaf of bread in your shopping cart instead of two so there’s more for others. When you pass someone – within a safe distance – on the street smile and nod in a “We’re in this together” sort of way. Cook nutritious meals or your family so their immune systems are strong. Get down on the floor and play Legos with your kids for the third time in a day, even though doing so bores you senseless. Many of us are already rising above our anxieties to be kind. It’s good to focus on stories of how people are expressing compassion – whether its New Yorkers putting their children’s drawings of rainbows in their windows as signs of solidarity and hope or churches keeping daycares open for children of physicians and nurses in their communities. Stories like these are evidence of our better natures. The other day a friend of mine shared on Facebook that her 90-year-old father was in lockdown at a nursing home and increasingly isolated. In response, another friend offered that students at her daughter’s school had begun writing letters to nursing home residents so they’d be less lonely. “Would her father like a letter?” she asked. That story is a keeper. In the days, weeks and months ahead as we continue to face the coronavirus, maybe you’ll be creating stories of kindness, too. And, hopefully, years later when you look back on all of this you’ll know you did your part.

On My Mind

For me, few things soothe the spirit like a good poem. Reading poetry in times of distress can transport us out of our work-a-day minds, filled with their worries and ruminations. As you read the poem below, linger over the words and allow the poem’s wisdom to sink into your bones. Do you feel better?
 

Blessing in the Chaos ~ by Jan L. Richardson

To all that is chaotic
in you,
let there come silence.

Let there be
a calming
of the clamoring,
a stilling
of the voices that
have laid their claim
on you,
that have made their
home in you,

that go with you
even to the
holy places
but will not
let you rest,
will not let you
hear your life
with wholeness
or feel the grace
that fashioned you.

Let what distracts you
cease.
Let what divides you
cease.
Let there come an end
to what diminishes
and demeans,
and let depart
all that keeps you
in its cage.

Let there be
an opening
into the quiet
that lies beneath
the chaos,
where you find
the peace
you did not think
possible
and see what shimmers
within the storm.