These are strange times.

No, seriously, in case you hadn’t noticed it, I’ll repeat: these are really, REALLY strange times.

A virus cell that many of us barely paid attention to just a few weeks ago has created chaos across the globe, and I’m feeling it in my own personal life as well.

As universities have switched to “remote instruction” in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, this week has seen me scrambling to make alternate travel arrangements for my girls to come home early from spring break and stay late, possibly for the rest of the semester.

A safety wrench was jammed into the cogs of the New York Stock Exchange twice this week to halt trading as stock prices plummeted; the bear market has disrupted my plan to buy a new house.

And across the country and in my hometown, store after store’s shelves stand empty where toilet paper used to be.

We are all having to adapt rapidly to this evolving pandemic. We’re all having to let go of our normal routines as schools, churches, and places of business radically alter their “normal.” Increasingly, sporting and entertainment events are on ice. Travel is curtailed and in some cases, halted. Conferences and meeting are being cancelled or switched to electronic, rather than in-person, communications. As large and small gatherings are cancelled or changed, our way of being together in community is fundamentally shifting.

Much is uncertain in the weeks ahead. There’s no way to know how long the outbreak of coronavirus may last, or where it will strike. We don’t know what plans we may need to cancel or whether we will be confined to our own homes. We have no way of knowing what will happen with the economy or to our own savings and investments. The only thing we know with any certainty is that we’re going to need that toilet paper.

Tapped out of toilet paper. For me, those empty shelves may come to symbolize this time in history. As people scramble to prepare for the unknown, they stock up on the things they most will need. It isn’t canned soup or canned green beans. Not frozen fruit, or bread, or even milk. Of all the things that people consider “necessities,” the one thing that’s universal is the need to use the toilet.

When we let go of all our busy-ness, all our social plans, and all our daily routines, we are reminded of this truth: we all have bodies, and those bodies have rudimentary needs over which we have little control. They need to be watered, nourished, rested, and relieved of waste. We may control, to some degree, when and how we meet our bodies’ needs, but those needs are going to be met. This, and the fact that all of our bodies are vulnerable to germs, unites us with one another. Having to acknowledge our vulnerability can make us feel horribly lacking control.

And so… we panic buy toilet paper. It isn’t perishable, and we know that we’re going to need it eventually, so what’s the harm? It seems perfectly reasonable. And yet…is it?

On the way home from the airport yesterday, my daughters asked to stop at Target to get some things they were going to need—the usual stuff that they would have needed if they had simply come home for spring break. Initially, the trip to the store seemed quite normal. Not needing anything in particular, I wandered the aisles for a few minutes; then I noticed that the other shoppers had all piled toilet paper into their shopping carts. I thought, “Hmm. Well, I bought that huge package last week, but with the girls home, maybe I’ll need more.” So far, fairly reasonable. And then, “But what if we’re quarantined? What if we run out? What if I can’t go to the store, or the stores are out of stock and Amazon can’t deliver? There are two packages left on the shelves—it won’t hurt to stock up a little…” 

It’s contagious panic. Herd instinct. Feeling a lack of control, we see others doing something that looks like a good idea, and we follow suit. Recent research conducted by INSEAD concludes that “consumers . . . compensate for a loss of perceived control by buying useful products designed to fill a basic need or accomplish a task.” Thus, we hug those big, squeezable packages to our chests, feeling a little reassured that amidst the chaos, here is something to which we can cling.

That tiny, crown-shaped cell has the power to do more than infect us. It is forcing us to let go of the illusion of control. We can flail about, hoping to grasp something solid, but in the end, the reality is this: it is always about letting go. Everything is, and always has been, in a state of transition. Nothing is permanent. Even the Charmin. And the sooner we awaken to that reality, the sooner we let go of our perceived need for predictability and control, the sooner we learn to live in the moment and appreciate the Now.

Letting Go is surrendering. As Dr. Amy Johnson writes, “Surrender = Complete acceptance of what is + Faith that all is well, even without my input. It’s not about inaction. It’s about taking action from that place of surrender energy.” When we contract around our fear and anxiety, we try to force things to be the way we envision them; surrendering is a different energy. When we surrender, or let go, we are calm and peaceful, and we act from a place of clarity, seeing the bigger picture.  

May you, Dear Reader, remain healthy and strong. May you recognize how you are connected with others. May you have peace of mind in these uncertain times by learning to let go and act from a place of clarity.

Until next time,