I've been surprised at the breadth of reaction to the pandemic in my community.

Some people have hoarded toilet paper and pasta.

Others — appalled by news of a "student-free-day" on the first day of term two — have been shocked when I've broken it to them that schools could end up shutting for six months.

Another friend was buoyed by her husband's new job, even though it was an hour from where they lived. They were going to buy a second car, even though accelerating events meant the future of her job, his job and travel itself were all unknowable.

I've been surprised. But I haven't been astounded by how very differently people have responded.

There’s a reason. What has been imposed on us is grief.

Everyone is dealing with it differently, just as family members deal in very different ways with the death of someone close to them. Some organise. Some cry. Some think about it. Some drink about it. Everyone has their way of processing the sad news.

A lot of people can't place the rapidly oscillating feelings they have right now: a rollercoaster mix of fear, sadness, boredom, tension and flatness.

For a lot of us, it might be rooted in that grief. Because 2020 has gone, and it's pretty much packed up our hopes and dreams with it.

Some were still flocking to St Kilda beach on Friday, despite advice to practise social distancing. ( ABC News )

The year with an asterisk

Essentially, 2020 is going to have an asterisk (*) next to it.

In future record books, anything pertaining to this sporting year will note, "2020*", to explain the blip. In some ways, so will our lives.

The loss of opportunity, of jobs, of stability, of touch. All those people at New Year's Eve thinking 2020 would be the best year ever, and now it has an asterisk next to it, like a disputed sporting result.

People charged champagne glasses at New Year's Eve and toasted 2020 as it rolled in. Now their plans — much less their hopes — must fit inside the constraints of four walls. The loss of opportunity, of jobs, of stability, of touch.

Forget jet planes or cruise liners, moving overseas for work or taking the plunge of opening a new store: millions are wondering how they'll keep a roof over their head. We'll be doing well when we're able to cross state borders again.

A checkpoint on the Gold Coast Highway at the NSW/Queensland border was unthinkable a year ago. ( AAP: Dave Hunt )

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We can't look away

We're yet to feel the full impact of the health crisis caused by coronavirus. (If we can stay at home and keep distance between us when we shop for essentials, we'll be able to mitigate the absolute worst of it).

But you can't look away. In Victoria, the largest convention centre is being prepared as a hospital and morgue. I've been in it when it's empty: it's an epic, soaring space, a roofed rectangle one-and-a-half times the size of the field of the MCG.

And soon we'll use it to save lives and hold those who die.

Friends of mine, relatives, are preparing to go and work at hospitals for three months or more. As in, stay there, isolate in. They'll work, eat, rest when they can, work, eat, sleep, repeat. This is happening.

So it's OK to feel grief: this is an exceptionally sad situation.

Hold on to the good news

2020* is the biggest example, as if we needed one, that life is not a travelator. And it's certainly not an escalator, ever upwards. It can be a humbling, sad and difficult realisation. For many, we've got all the hours in the day to realise it.

Some of us will use this time to learn Indonesian, to bake croissants or to tone up our abs.

Some of us will die, and be mourned at funerals with 10 or fewer people, sitting alone, apart, with no hugs or handshakes at the door.

But there is good news.

Unlike the finality of death, we have an opportunity — through the way we act — to help mitigate the spread of the virus. If we do, we can reduce the number of families who must attend a sparse goodbye of a loved relative, we can lower the peaks of the painful decisions medical staff will have to make.

With technology we can remain connected to relatives, workmates, schools and our community. With heart we can look after the vulnerable and those who are struggling in what will be a long, strange year.

2020* won't be the best year ever, like we hoped three months ago.

But it can be what we make it.