It has been nearly 500 years since English poet John Milton first suggested in his poem “Comus” that dark clouds of misfortune may bring with them a silver lining made of something good. “Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud / Turn forth her silver lining on the night?” is how he put it. Five centuries of the telephone game have morphed the saying into the more colloquial, and certainly less poetic phrase Every cloud has a silver lining.

The black cloud of the Covid-19 pandemic has been swirling overhead for far too long now, and the terror it has rained down on us has taken too many of our loved ones. It has destroyed families, created political divides, delivered death and long-term suffering to millions of people. It is a scourge the likes of which no one alive today has ever seen. It may in fact be the first cloud in human history that doesn’t fill Milton’s hopes for a silver lining.

But to be human means to be ever optimistic. We may never see a full-blown silver lining to this cloud, but if you look closely enough, you will find some silver threads woven into that all-too-dark undercoating. Some good things have come from this pandemic. It is up to each one of us to find enough of those silver threads which we can weave together to create our own shiny cloth, from which we can parachute out of this gloomy cloud.

We have glimpsed a world where people no longer have to pollute the planet just to get to and from work. We have experienced a world where geographical separation doesn’t have to quash creativity and collaboration. We have seen an astonishing leap forward in the science of immunization that may pay benefits for generations to come.

For me, there are indeed a number of personal silver threads as well. The Covid-19 pandemic actually hastened my move to Costa Rica, making it clear to me that there was one chance for me to do so in a manner that may never present itself again. To fully understand what I mean by that would require an explanation far longer that a blog entry. In fact, it would require me to write a book about it, which I did. Plan A Never Happens is that book.

There have been other silver threads for me. The timing of this move meant that my application for Costa Rican residency ended up on the top of the pile, and I received my residency card far faster than the normal process. It hastened my move from full-time television journalist to a semi-retired life as an author who writes prolifically, but only when the mood strikes. It allowed us to use the process of getting Covid immunizations through the Costa Rican health system, whereby we learned the ins-and-outs of health care that is not built on a profit motive. The transition to on-line learning has allowed Carmen to continue to teach ballet classes online from our home in Costa Rica simultaneously to students as far apart as the US and Chile. It has allowed me to continue to work for some of my clients back in the US as seamlessly as if I were in the next room.

While the Covid-19 pandemic has had a sorrowful and direct impact on my life (two people in my sphere were taken by this awful virus), these and a couple of other silver threads have also flashed through my line of sight. That’s not to say this pandemic hasn’t been a terrible scourge, just that one way I cope with it is to look for those little shimmering flashes in the lining as the angry cloud roils over us. If you look closely, perhaps you’ll find a few sparkling strands to hold on to as well. They don’t excuse that dark mass of turpitude, but the silver threads can give us something to hold on to until it passes.