I had to forego my hike today. It’s not a big deal, and yet it is. Hiking has been one of the few things that’s helped me feel normal in a surreal world.A large portion of California – like much of America’s West – is on fire, and even for those of us not directly threatened by flame, the air quality is simply too unhealthy to be outdoors. The very thing that helps relieve my anxiety and helps me cope with the daily and cumulative loss of a life I probably took for granted is, at least for now, off limits.

When there are those who’ve lost their lives, their houses, their jobs, their loved ones, or their health, it can feel insensitive to talk about other kinds of loss. And yet, we’re all grieving the absence of life as we knew it and the year we hoped 2020 would be.

Even the simplest of freedoms are not available to us. For me, that includes traveling freely, having outdoor barbeques with friends, spending time with extended family, watching my daughter graduate, celebrating my dad’s 90th with fanfare, and hugging my grieving friends without worrying about getting sick or being a secret spreader.

But I’m a coach, and it’s not in my nature to simply sit in it and stew. My clients know this, which is why they’re asking me, when we meet for our virtual sessions, how I’m managing and coping, what keeps me going. There’s a desperation in their voices I’ve never heard before.

I understand. I’m not immune to those feelings, the low-level grimness that comes from prolonged uncertainty and a barrage of unrelenting bad news. When will this be over? Will we get to see our extended family? Will we ever be able to let our guard down again?

In Man’s Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl describes the many injustices he and his fellow inmates endured in the Nazi concentration camps, from walking barefoot through the snow for miles and subsisting on meager amounts of bread and water to witnessing their loved ones being sent to their deaths and then forced to dig their graves. Most of them gave up in the face of this unfathomable cruelty, but the ones who were able to endure the pain and ultimately survive had one thing in common: They made meaning of their suffering.

Life in the concentration camp taught Frankl that what motivates us in life is not pleasure, but purpose. He intuitively knew that we cannot control our external circumstances, but we can control how we choose to respond to them. Years later, research would show that how we interpret the world is responsible for 90% of what we feel.

This doesn’t mean denying, suppressing, or bypassing our difficult emotions, nor the realities of this horrific pandemic. It’s important that we feel our feelings, or they’re likely to come back with a vengeance. What we resist does indeed persist.

What it does mean is that, in spite of uncertainty, pain, loss, and heartbreak, we can still seek meaning and purpose. And, paradoxically, making meaning of our circumstances acts not only as a cushion for hard times but gives us the strength, resilience, and, yes, even joy to work through them.

I find both meaning and purpose when I coach my clients. I find it as I seek another level of certified coaching and challenge my brain with new ways of thinking. I find it when I’m engrossed in writing and I stretch to find the right words to express myself. I find it when I craft ILY notes to people who are having a birthday or are suffering.

I find it in nature when I can, and in yoga, and on my Peloton when I can’t. I find it in conversations with my husband, my good friends, and my kids. And that is how I manage – with gratitude for my creativity and my capacity to challenge myself when I can’t take a hike or participate in the things I once took for granted. I find meaning when I come out from under the illusion that I was actually ever in control.

Where can you find meaning, even in the midst of a pandemic? What might you do to turn pain into a renewed sense of purpose?