I sit in my Dallas apartment as I tap this out, and I'm entering week three of sheltering-in-place. It's a Saturday night. I am thinking about the stories we rely on to pull us through hard times. Here are three of mine.

It's the 1960s, the Vietnam War rages on. James Stockdale, a naval aviator, is shot down over North Vietnam. He becomes the ranking officer of the Hanoi Hilton, a POW camp. He survived and ultimately returns home. How? It's called the Stockdale Paradox. Stockdale, who later rose to the rank of admiral, explained that you must think two thoughts at once; you are in a world of s____ and must fully acknowledge your predicament. Yet at the same time you must know and believe fully that someday this ordeal will end.

The trick is understanding that the ordeal ends when it ends. Those who did not survive placed artificial deadlines on their life: we will be out by the holidays, or by Easter, or by the Fourth of July. Stockdale says that they died of a broken heart. Read more about it in "Good to Great," where I first heard of the paradox. Stockdale gave credit to Stoic philosophy for his insights that he studied at Stanford after graduating from the Naval Academy.

Speaking of Stoicism, I am reading "Man's Search for Meaning," from concentration camp survivor Viktor Frankel. Frankel's message is that we cannot control what happens to us—zero control—but we are 100% in control of our reaction to it. This reaction is our existential space, which is very small but very real. No one and nothing can deprive us of it. We can only forfeit it but it can never be taken from us.

Frankel adds that those who survived the camps found meaning in their terrible experiences. They shaped the moment and dictated the story line. My colleague, who is younger than me, said she braved the grocery store aisles to help an older and car-less downtown resident to stock up on food. Or a former student and current brother in the law, who is on a three week leave from his firm to use his RN degree and experience to help our fellow citizens in New York City. Or taking time to listen—really listen—to the assistant of my financial planner on how she is trying to help a stranded son in New York City. Our choice. Always has been hasn't it?

And read or reread "The Inferno," by Dante. The protagonist and the poet Virgil walk through Hell. It starts with a cold open, where the protagonist is gob-smacked by life (sounds familiar); "At the midpoint of the path through life, I found myself / lost in a wood so dark, the way ahead was blotted out." They stagger on and on through one hellish vista and then yet another, until they see at journey's end, a light above and ahead. Dante writes, "We did not care to rest / but climbed and climbed until we saw / an opening, and through it were laid bare / eternal beauties that the Heavens hold / And walking out, we saw once more the stars."  Stay well.