Covid time was not a fun time, I'll say that much. There was

Hear the voice of Lindsey Horan, who spoke with candor from the depths of trial: “Covid time was not a fun time, I’ll say that much. There was probably a week and a half there that was pretty miserable. And obviously I wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through that.” These words, though plain, carry the weight of a generation’s memory. They are not merely about one person’s struggle, but about the shared storm that swept across the world, when health, freedom, and certainty were all shaken.

The ancients would have understood this well. For every age has known its plagues and dark seasons. In Athens, the great plague struck during the Peloponnesian War, breaking not only bodies but also spirits. Thucydides wrote of how despair spread faster than disease, and how even the strongest faltered. So too in our Covid time, men and women were tested not only in flesh but in soul, learning endurance in isolation, patience in suffering, and compassion for others who bore the same burden.

Horan’s words are marked by both honesty and humility. She admits the misery of her own trial, yet also extends her thought outward: “I wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through that.” Here lies a deeper truth—suffering, when endured, can kindle empathy. It reminds us that our pain is not ours alone, but part of a wider fabric of human frailty. In this way, even misery can give birth to compassion, and hardship can teach the heart to be gentle toward others.

Consider the tale of Florence Nightingale, who walked the hospitals of Crimea during another time of great sickness. Surrounded by the groans of the dying, she might have turned bitter, but instead she turned her suffering into service. She endured her own exhaustion and despair, yet she said, in effect, “I would not want others to endure what they endure.” And so she labored to change the world of medicine forever. In Horan’s words, we hear a similar echo—the personal trial transformed into a wish that others be spared.

But take heed, O seekers of wisdom: every season of suffering carries within it a choice. One may allow misery to harden the heart into bitterness, or one may allow it to soften the soul into mercy. The plague, the storm, the trial—these are the crucibles in which character is revealed. Horan’s remembrance is not one of despair alone, but of perspective: pain was endured, the lesson was learned, and the heart emerged with deeper care for others.

The lesson is clear: when hardship comes, let it be not only endured, but reflected upon. Ask not only, “Why me?” but also, “What have I gained in understanding?” For to suffer without reflection is to waste the cost; but to suffer with reflection is to draw forth wisdom. As Horan shows us, misery remembered can become compassion shared, a reminder that we are bound together by the fragile cords of humanity.

Practical wisdom lies before you: cherish your health, for it is a gift not guaranteed. Offer patience to those who suffer, for you do not know the depth of their struggle. When the world darkens, hold fast to hope, but also hold fast to kindness. Share your story with honesty, for in doing so you remind others that they are not alone. And above all, when the storm passes, do not forget its lesson: to value life, to value others, and to walk in empathy.

Therefore, let Lindsey Horan’s words remain as testimony: “Covid time was not a fun time… there was a week and a half there that was pretty miserable… I wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through that.” In them is the memory of trial, but also the seed of compassion. Carry that seed forward. Let your own hardships, whatever they may be, become not chains of bitterness but fountains of mercy, that others may be spared, and that humanity may walk stronger together into the future.