There is a Taoist principle attributed to Chuang Tzū that goes something like this:

“When you open your heart, you get life’s ten thousand sorrows, and ten thousand joys."

The idea of “ten thousand joys and ten thousand sorrows” has become a bit of a philosophical shorthand, a way of explaining that life has both countless happy moments and countless sad ones. No one condition defines our lives. Life is both good and bad, satisfying and frustrating, exhilarating and infuriating, hurtful and healing. ⠀

And so, therefore, we can expect tragedy and simultaneously expect great joy. We can release ourselves from the pressure of this moment by remembering that it’s temporary. We can move through a litany of emotional states, reawakening to the circumstances of each moment anew.

Crisis loves attention. We are surrounded on all sides by it, so that our actions here are paralyzed by news from a thousand miles away. Our numbness is a commodity— networks and brands feed us fear and diversion, watching their analytics climb as we stare silently into bright rectangles, absorbing their messages, increasing their views.

To survive in a crisis, we need to frequently, and gently, shift our attention.

We can only do so much. Right now, as COVID-19 spreads, we can follow public health guidance, wash our hands, stay home. We can shop for groceries and check in with our neighbors and loved ones. But beyond that, we don’t have any control. Worrying, obsessing, withering inside with fear and sadness, refreshing pages for news — none of this will stop the spread.

It feels responsible somehow, appropriate even, to keep our eyes glued to the story. Staying informed feels productive.

But if we shift our attention, one moment at a time, back to our immediate present, to our breath, to the room we’re in, we might notice something.

Maybe we will notice a magazine we’ve been wanting to read, and open it to an article on Ida Tarbell, the woman who pioneered modern journalism.

Maybe we’ll see a plant that needs watering, and lose ourselves for a pleasant half hour in the task of poking soil, spritzing water, and removing crunchy dead leaves.

Maybe we’ll pick up that guitar for a few, and see if we have any calluses left.

When we shift our attention away from fear, art will be waiting for us.