Three colleagues visited yesterday. We sat outside eight feet apart, took off our masks, settled into the shade and sun, and let ourselves talk easily. There was business to do, but first we chatted about families and the pandemic. One woman said, "it'll be fine." A few moments later when another concern came up, she said again, "it'll be fine." Minutes later, there it was again. "It'll be fine" began echoing inside me.

We moved onto the business of helping people in a time when we can't come together. "It'll be fine," came up again, again, and again, all of us saying it by then, returning to it like faith in which I found I was a believer.

That was yesterday. Today I walked to work half listening to a podcast. My mind drifted on the ideas from the podcast, the warm morning, the blue sky, the movement of my body through time and space. I'm in a new job, responsible for others, and with more to learn than since the births of my children. On the walk to work I don't dawdle or hurry. The walk settles me and helps me engage with ideas deeply. It moves me from a list of to-dos and insecurities to acceptamce and a firm belief that "it'll be fine."

I used to think acceptance was surrender, the end, but it's a way of saying, this is the world in this moment, this is who I am, and it'll be fine because the world and I are in balance. I'll be a changed person tomorrow but still be me. The world will have shifted but still be the place on which I stand.

I'm a person of extraordinary fortune, surrounded by love, doing challenging work that brings me joy. I walk a path of wonder. "It'll be fine" because it already is fine and because I'll keep working to make it fine.

I get now what my friend was saying yesterday. "It'll be fine," is a prayer, a call to action, a faith in our fellow human beings. I've repeated "it'll be fine" all day now. The sun has set and I'm ready for bed. "It'll be fine," I tell myself one last time, the echo coming back sounding for all the world like "amen."