Growing up in the very median of Oklahoma's "Tornado Alley," I know first-hand the feeling of staring at the back side of a bolted-shut storm shelter door, and worrying the whole world will be gone when the wind dies down. After a considerable period of prayer, the next thing one does to tamp down the rampant anxiety is to mentally prepare to assess the damage — to comb the grass for broken glass, to listen for people shouting, to help neighbors account for their pets. More often than not, one over-prepares, and the damage isn't as bad as one imagined it could be.
When the worst has happened before, though, even if just to someone next door, one's imagination gains a measure of credibility.
Many of us are sheltering in place today. We've said our prayers, and to the extent that we're allowed, we've hugged our children. Now, while the Pause button continues to be held down on our world, let's assess what will have happened to the stuff from which our careers, businesses, and livelihoods were built. Where will the damage have been caused? Who will help us re-establish some sense of normalcy, even if it's not a resumption of what we had? And when we find forward again, will we be able to fast-forward to where we wanted to be? Or are baby steps the only ways ahead?
Sawtooth
By now, it's very likely you will have seen the chart that demonstrates the principle of "flattening the curve:" of managing the number of active cases of coronavirus infections[1] so that they fall within the capacity of hospitals and emergency facilities to address them and save lives. At the rate in which the virus has already spread worldwide, experts believe, people would need to maintain extreme