Who will you be when this lockdown is all over, when the ghastly killer germ has been vanquished by science and order has been restored to the world?
Will you be the same person you were at the dawning of this new decade, when the page was turned from December to January and we all embraced the new year oblivious to what lay just around the corner?
Will you be that person again or will you be changed forever?
Trauma, stress, lack of freedom - all are life-changing in their own way. And every day we are confronted by the numbers, a roll-call of the diagnosed and the dead.
Bereavement is a devastating experience at any time but there is often comfort to be gleaned from the manner of the passing, from the whispered reminiscences, the stroking of a hand and from the final words exchanged and remembered forever.
So I honestly can't comprehend how those who have been unable to be with their loved ones as they breathed their last due to the coronavirus have coped with that.
And yet they have. It's the way things are now. Death is different. Mourning is different. Life is different.
Two friends have lost loved ones in the past two weeks. One lost his mother to cancer while the other lost her mother-in-law, suddenly and unexpectedly. Separately, and oblivious to each other's loss, they both said the same thing to me about their respective small funeral gatherings, with only 10 people now permitted.
"It's what I would want for myself," said one. "So intimate, so dignified."
"It was really lovely," said the other. "A real sense of family. And the music - without a packed church - seemed to soar."
Adjusting. That's what it's about now. Dealing with the new normal - and looking for the silver linings in those still dark and overhanging clouds.
One of those glimmers of silver is kindness. It's everywhere, from the people who call "thank you" when you cross the road to avoid close contact, to the driver of an empty bus who waved to me while stopped at the lights yesterday morning. Just by way of greeting. Just to say hello. Just to include me in his day.
Fences, too, are being mended and bridges built. An out-of-the-blue text from a once-treasured relative landed in my message box this week.
After a falling out at a time when emotions were running high, it was our first communication in almost five years.
We'd been out of touch for too long, the message said. And was I OK in these crazy days?
There was a time - before these days of pestilence - when I might not have responded, when I might have dug in my heels. But not now. I texted back. Life is too short for grudges and grandstanding.
And too short for intolerance too. Do the six-year-olds on their scooters or tricycles, miles ahead of their parents on the pavement and coming straight for me, irritate me and make me want to tell the parents to keep them under control? Not as much as they did three weeks ago.
God knows, it must be a nightmare to be locked down with young children. Especially for those without a garden or any kind of outdoor space in which to play.
Nobody's perfect. We are all just trying to muddle through as best we can. To adjust. To change how we live.
And also, perhaps, to change who we are.
To cut out the dross and become a kinder, more neighbourly, more tolerant society.
To become, once again, the kind of people we used to be.