Time for a taste of victory. Time to regain footing and rediscover beauty. Walk with me.

It’s difficult to hold fast to the center, to keep our balance as the coronavirus wreaks individual and global havoc. The mounting deaths and relentless grief caused by it paralyze. Like greasy film on glasses, covid-19 clouds our vision. Knowledge that it did not have to be this way in the United States—realizing how many lives would have been saved by stay-at-home orders issued even one week earlier and witnessing the success of intelligent and coordinated efforts in New Zealand and South Korea—such knowledge is almost unbearable.

I can’t treat or cure this virus. But I can loosen its hold on my mind and heart. I challenged myself to defeat the virus in the only way available to me—I can love my life and love the world. Here’s what happened.

Letting my mind drift while on a walk, I thought of the most common sentence I hear when encountering former students: “I learned one thing in your classes!” they boast with wide, self-assured grins. (After six classes, one thing, I inwardly smile—how well they cut to the chase!) On this particularly lucky walk, two statements from years ago surfaced, stopping me in my tracks. Robert’s one invaluable philosophical lesson: “Pay attention. Pay attention to that.” Susan’s go-to wisdom: “The only thing I can control or change is myself.”

Thank you both. Taking their comments to heart, I devised a simple plan. The next day I would pay rapt attention. I would be awake to whatever presented itself to me—I had only my neighborhood for a laboratory. Would my fresh awareness change me? How? Could it shut out the viral noise, even temporarily?

Yes! I present as exhibit A+ the ordinary, and therefore extraordinary, moments that revitalized my spirit.

“Therapeutic Musician Releases Songbook to Lift Spirits” the headline warms the morning paper. My neighbor, Blue O’Connell, strums on acoustic guitar “Seven Songs of Solace,” part of the proceeds to benefit Doctors Without Borders and Adult Musicians with Hearing Loss. It’s only 6 AM and I haven’t left the house!

A neighbor yells over: “Your geraniums really pop with color. I look for them when I come home. Thanks for the brightness.”

I see the USPS truck heading my way. While tracking shows that my package was delivered three days ago, I know better. I don a mask in the hope that asking about it in person will be more effective than filling out the online form. David, the postal carrier, engages fully in our distanced conversation. “I can think of all the things that could have gone wrong,” he enthusiastically responds. “The evening delivery person doesn’t know this area as well as I do. Let’s see. You’re 710. I’m going to check out all the 710 and 770 numbers nearby. If you don’t see me in half an hour, I couldn’t find it. But I think I know what happened.” What a pleasant exchange, regardless. Twenty minutes later, I hear a plop on the patio bench: “Told you I’d find it!” I quickly fix David a thank you bouquet of gloves, hand sanitizer, and a mask.

Readying for a walk to the park, I hear live music. Rounding a corner, I behold a few instrumentalists playing for a small, dispersed crowd. A child violinist performs, followed by an adult cellist. No one talks much, smiling and toe tapping—a couple of sturdy chairs strategically placed for older neighbors. Almost out of earshot, I hear a bluesy saxophone and hustle back.

Hitting the trail, I’m zapped by the season’s first fragrance of honeysuckle. It’s everywhere—have I simply not noticed? I inhale it down deep, the sweet smell of childhood summers, just the same.

I stop at the playground and watch a football game fall apart. Three young boys complain to their mother that their little sister keeps begging them to play. I see her in the distance, a rejected, dejected five-year-old. Dirty and red-faced, Windsor rubs her teary eyes. “You’re a great player,” I tell her as I pass by. “Thank you,” she answers. “One day you’ll be better than they are,” I add. Suddenly, happiness washes over her: “I know,” she concurs, nodding confidently. Look out NFL – she’ll own the team. Looking back as I walk away, she waves both hands. “Count on it,” I wave her back.

Two dogs sniff each other from a distance and fly through the trees and across a vast field. They run full speed at each other, meeting with a big belly-crashing hug and rolling in tumbles of glee. “That’s how we feel but aren’t as fast,” I volunteer to their human companions. “Yes, they are best friends,” I learn. We feast on their wild display of friendship and oh wow its explanation: “They haven’t seen each other since yesterday.” Can you imagine, when our day comes….

People zig and zag, politely distancing, always with a greeting. “Like your hat,” a fan remarks, spying my Washington Nationals hat, a replica of the one he wears. We stop and swap favorite moments from our highlight reels. I stroll the last leg home slowly, savoring. I hear with new appreciation the Nats’ mantra all season: “Go 1-0 today,” manager Davey Martinez rallied them. Exactly! Win the game today, forget yesterday and don’t fret about tomorrow. Honeysuckle and Windsor, a postal carrier and a street corner saxophonist. And all I had to do was pay attention to win today.

Ah. Yes. There you are, old North Star. It’s a win every day that I love my life and love the world. I can, and must, witness tragedy and beauty simultaneously—experience darkness while not losing sight of the light. Some days love and gratitude may lose the battle with sadness and bewilderment. And that’s okay. It’s up to me what wins day in and day out, over the long haul. I control the rudder steering my life.

You got game? Josh Grogan, singing in the shower, agrees “What a Wonderful World.” John Krasinski delivers “Some Good News” in his upbeat, uplifting series. Let’s “Graduate Together.”

A new day dawns. Good morning.