People keep telling me I’ve had great training for the “shelter in place” ordinances. After working in politics, completing grad school in England and Boston, and running a consulting practice, I had a literal ‘come-to-Jesus moment’, left everything, and entered a Catholic monastery in California. I spent the next seven years living in monasteries with an ancient Catholic religious order called the Carmelites. I wore long brown robes and when walking in cities or airports, people often asked if I was a Jedi. I said yes.

But the vast majority of my time was spent in the monastery. I worked, ate, and socialized with the same people day in and day out. Basically, think coronavirus quarantine mandates in the same house for seven years. I recently made the difficult decision to not continue but I learned a lot during my monastic days, which I still apply in my own life and help others to apply in theirs. Here are some of these lessons in light of the situation today.

Small acts of love transform us

There was one brother in the monastery, who, without fail, offered a broad, genuine smile whenever he saw me. I felt like he was saying a little prayer for me in his heart as he smiled. This tiny act had the power to bring me out of whatever worry or preoccupation I faced in the moment.

Only weeks before my dad died from cancer, I watched him crawl from the bed to sit at a desk, where he slowly wrote a thank you letter to someone who gave him a thoughtful gift. Afterward, he sighed with relief and said “I feel so much better now.” That little act of gratitude had lifted him out of his physical and psychological suffering. In those moments, it healed him more than chemo.

Focusing on serving others, not only amplifies their joy but also transforms us. It’s often as simple as calling someone who’s lonely, smiling when it’s hard, biting our tongue, or doing an extra chore when we don’t feel like it. Sometimes, it’s hardest to practice small acts of love with those closest to us. But this is often where it’s needed most. Mother Teresa of Kolkata once said, “If you want to change the world, go home and love your families.” Small acts of love start at home and radiate from this epicenter.

Prayer and meditation change everything

When I entered the monastery, I didn’t really know how to pray or meditate. Since then, I’ve spent innumerable hours in meditation. And, you know what? I still don’t really know how to pray or meditate. I show up to the practice because I need it. I think this is the key to deepening one’s prayer or meditation: just show up. St. Teresa of Avila, the 16th century mystic and founder of the Carmelites, described prayer as “an intimate sharing between friends.” Like making time and space for friends, when we make time for a deeper encounter, we open the door to be mysteriously transformed.

Now that I have a “real job”, I can’t spend three hours a day in prayer like I did in the monastery. But I start the day with Mass (under normal, non-quarantine circumstances) and 30 minutes of meditation and then another 15–30 minutes to transition from work to dinner. Living in the same space with the same people all day can create immense tension. Prayer and meditation can help alleviate and heal inevitable discord. The timing of prayer and meditation is really important. Doing it before major times of interaction, such as in the morning before work or before a meal with others, can greatly reduce self-absorption and smooth interpersonal relationships. These times of meditation anchor the day, help to animate the spaces between, and make it far easier to practice life-giving small acts of love.

Menial tasks are really important

Growing up in privileged upper-middle class, I’d been spared the responsibility of cleaning and chores. An aversion to “menial” tasks persisted through college and beyond. But during my first weeks in the monastery, I was assigned to clean the chapel. With a rather small mop, I stepped into the chapel and the glossy floor seemed to stretch forever. It felt like I was asked to clean St. Peter’s Basilica with a toothbrush. I remember grumbling to myself as I scrubbed, “Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we hired others to do this? Couldn’t my time be spent better elsewhere?” I ended up cleaning that chapel every week for two years along with countless toilets, floors, old junky rooms, and much more. My realization? I need to do this.

Household tasks such as cleaning and cooking are fundamental human activities. In performing them, I came to see myself mystically united with others who share the same burdens and joys. In manual labor, there can be temptation to frustration and angst because we don’t want to do it. However, performing manual tasks with serenity of heart and patience is actually incredible spiritual training. It’s where meditation ceases to be something you do and starts becoming something you live. By performing tasks and chores calmly and well, I can also demonstrate love and respect for myself, others, and even God.

These days, without nannies and cleaners, with everyone at home all the time, many people will have more menial tasks and chores than before. Perhaps we can see these activities not so much as burdens, but as opportunities for interior discipline, growing in simple humility, and practicing small acts of love for ourselves and others.

Hope is a choice

Last summer, to discern a major life decision, I spent a month on silent retreat in a hermitage in the Colorado mountains. I had been wanting to do an extensive retreat like this for years. However, it ended up being one of the most harrowing and dark months of my entire life. On day 10, when I thought I couldn’t take any more, I remember the insight coming to me: “hope is a choice.” I had studied theology and Christian spirituality for years but never thought of the theological virtue of hope in this way. I wrote this phrase in big letters in my journal and repeated it to myself every day for the next three weeks. Whenever fear began to strangle, I would say “I choose hope.” Wherever anxiety started to cripple me, “I choose hope.” This phrase carried me through that time and taught me that yes, I can choose hope, even if I can’t feel hope.

For me, the monastic experience was one of radical personal transformation that still unfolds in my life today. Although we can’t see it now, many of us will also look back on these difficult days as a rich season of growth. Don’t be afraid to boldly seize this opportunity for inner stillness, small acts of love, and choosing hope. Through this — believe me — you will find untapped power toward uncharted horizons of new life.

After working in politics and management consulting, John Cannon lived for seven years in Catholic monasteries and now runs SENT, a network of faith-based entrepreneurs. He holds degrees from Notre Dame, Oxford, and Harvard Business School and resides in the Washington, D.C. area.