Mark the date: Thursday, March 12, 2020.

As I write this column, that is 20 days in the past. It will be closer to 24 days as you read it. Here’s betting it seems a lot longer ago than that.

March 12 is when the United States began to temporarily shut down. Professional basketball had made its announcement the night before. On the morning of the 12th, the NCAA canceled its March Madness tournaments; Major League Baseball called off spring training and postponed the opening of the season; and the National Hockey League put its schedule on ice.

At the K-8 school at which my wife teaches, the conversation quickly evolved from a morning plan to add an extra week to the coming spring break to an afternoon decision to shutter the place indefinitely in favor of an online program.

That evening, the two of us along with our daughter in town for a visit, decided to venture out to our favorite Thai restaurant, disinfectant wipes in hand, knowing it might be a last indulgence for a long while.

Similar scenes were playing out in schools, workplaces and homes across America. Here, there and everywhere, our individual worlds were changing and narrowing in real time and in high anxiety.

Yes, we will get back to “normal” at some point, hopefully not that far into the future. Though that will be a new and changed normal in some ways we can anticipate and others we can’t yet imagine. Just as life was different in the aftermath of the Great Depression than before. The same being the case in the wake of World War II and following the horror of 9/11.

But what lies between here and there? Between this moment three or four weeks in and that reopening, even if only partial, some undetermined weeks or months hence after this interlude of isolation and quarantine?

Vast discussion has focused on the viral curve and how to keep that only slightly rounded so that the health care system can continue to function. It is that curve that is driving the changed lives all of us are living. However, let’s examine here the other health curve, that being the indicators of mental health and how all of us might emotionally cope.

What happens when the novelty wears off and the adrenaline wanes? When we start measuring this in months instead of weeks?

Ours is a culture increasingly defined by short-term gratification. And one not all that familiar with sacrifice. This virus is going to require traits, both individual and societal, that are not all that highly evolved in many of us.

How do we react when stir-craziness sets in? When the end of winter gives way to glorious spring and even summer, and every urge is to be active, outdoors, communal and going places? When those hunkered down solo are overcome by loneliness? Or when those doing so in close quarters with a spouse or partner have had more than enough togetherness?

How do we fare when our worst selves emerge? When social pathologies ramp up, whether in the form of alcohol abuse or opioid reliance or domestic violence?

How do we treat the neighbor, or the stranger exposed on the local news, who is not adhering to the protocols? The history of plagues is not exactly a tale of people’s better selves emerging. They have been periods of darkness due as much to fear and despair as to the disease itself.

How do we manage when the financial pressure builds? When the stimulus check is slower to arrive than advertised and the too meager savings of too many Americans are depleted? When the mortgage or rent payment comes due for the third consecutive month without the prospect of meaningful income? When the long-planned retirement account withers to complete inadequacy?

Can we resist being torn apart by the false choice between preserving public health and jump-starting the economy? Can we maintain our collective center even if our leader-in-chief struggles to keep his?

The world has seen pandemics before. But not in a time of ubiquitous news and social media. How do we process death and despair on the scale quickly coming? Presented dramatically on our high-definition, flat-screen televisions? And getting closer to home on our Facebook feeds?

How do we cope when those deaths become personal? An aunt or uncle; God forbid, a grandparent or parent, or even worse a child; a longtime neighbor; a close friend? And when we can’t even congregate to pay respect and say goodbye. Zoom is a terrific platform, but I am not prepared to use it for a memorial service.

If the projections are to be believed – and I dare say they may be conservative estimates – all of us are likely to be touched by the loss of someone we know. Please let me be wrong.

What happens when, inevitably, another crisis layers on top of this one? Whether a seasonal flood or tornado; or another fire season; or, please not, an act of political violence or terrorism?

Or, most tellingly, how do we get by when puzzle assembly gives way to carpal tunnel syndrome? Or when, in the words of a friend, we finish Netflix?

While many of us consider it an accomplishment to get off the couch, we are, culturally, a nation of sprinters being called on to run a marathon. That is a wholly different pursuit and we may be still only a handful of miles into the course.

It is de rigueur to remark that our nation has been tested before. But for many, many Americans, those tests were just chapters in a history book. This is our exam and the chance to prove our mettle.

What grade will history assign us? Not only for conquering the virus, but for weathering the storm and taking care of ourselves and each other?

Eric Sondermann is a Colorado-based independent political commentator. His column appears regularly on Sundays in ColoradoPolitics. Reach him at EWS@EricSondermann.com; follow him at @EricSondermann