What's Certain in Uncertain Times

“In these uncertain times,” begins a public servant’s speech, a company’s official statement, a small business’s plea.

Uncertain, unexpected, unprecedented, unsettling, unwelcome. A pandemic the likes of which we’ve never experienced is all of the above, but mostly it is uncertain.

Uncertainty is disconcerting. Even people who worship at the altar of last-minute plans want something they can rely on.

What can you be sure of you if you can’t be sure that Starbucks will open, that Wal-Mart will have toilet paper, that you can visit your parents, that the hospital will have a bed for you?

First: You can be certain there will be loss.

Loss of human life is the most certain and the most painful. It will take the form of grandparents and elderly neighbors, of those already living with a disease or illness, for certain, but it will also include the young, healthy and fit, the people who would have never imagined they were at risk.

And there will certainly be loss that doesn’t fill up graves, but still depletes the spirit. Many of these losses will take the form of cancellations. Casualties include:

  • The musical you had tickets to. Dear Evan Hansen, now we’re all waving through the window.

  • The race you’ve been training for (since December).

  • Your family vacation to the mountains—canceled nearly two months ahead of time.

  • Your best friend’s wedding reception (a party for 600, postponed to four months later).

Graduations, concerts, sports, funerals, parties—these are also victims of uncertainty.

You grieve the losses, then you accept them. After so many—and after so many that make yours pale in comparison—you can handle small losses to avoid larger ones.

Fear is harder to handle.

Pregnant women fear they’ll deliver their babies alone, without the support of their family or partner. Teachers fear for their students, that the ones who rely on school meals will go to bed hungry. Small business owners—restaurants and coffee shops, bars and venues, salons and gyms—fear their business will not withstand another business-less week.

You fear, too. You fear you will be sheltering at home for months. You fear the economy will completely collapse and you will lose your job. You fear what could be happening under the public’s nose, what politicians are sneaking into law or which regulations they’re rolling back while you look the other way.

You fear someone you know will get sick. You fear you will get sick. You fear you or someone you know will be hospitalized. You fear fear they’ll need a ventilator. You fear there won’t be a ventilator.

You fear life will never go back to normal. You fear the weight of your fear will crush you.

So, take note: You can be certain you will be afraid.

You will have to distract yourself from the fear.

First, you’ll try to throw yourself into work. When that fails, you’ll seek out news articles, rational explanations from people smarter than you. When that intensifies your anxiety, you’ll turn to entertainment, everything from books and TV to games and movies. When those bore you, you’ll look for ways to add novelty to sheltering at home with new hobbies—baking, gardening, crafting. When you need to talk to another human, you can text and video conference and Netflix party, a privilege unavailable to those who lived through pandemics past.

But when nothing completely eradicates the nagging anxieties that keep you up late and give you a fitful night’s sleep, you will have only one thing left to do. From the Black Death to the AIDS epidemic, it’s all we’ve ever been able to do.

You imagine life going back to normal—or maybe a better version of normal, a world where jobs are secure, healthcare is not scarce, earth is finally protected as its due, and face-to-face interaction is valued more than screen time.

Certainly, you will hope.