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Radiant Jane Retreats has always been a sanctuary: a place for rejuvenation, learning, connection, and slowing down to experience the simple joys of being. The rhythm of our days is idyllic—morning walks overlooking olive groves, delicious communal meals with laughter and storytelling, and a full day spent exploring the cobbled streets of nearby Pienza. But in 2024 we had a different kind of experience. It started with a single, persistent cough noticed right away and at our first dinner—a sound that immediately drew uneasy glances across the table. It seemed our idyllic bubble had been pierced. It appeared that COVID-19 had arrived.
The news was met with an eerie mix of denial and dread. At first, some people assumed it was just allergies, maybe a mild cold. But later in the week as more guests began to feel symptoms, and one person reported testing positive, the retreat turned into an exercise in damage control. Masks were put on, meals were take-a-way instead of shared around the long, welcoming table, and conversations became punctuated by a nervous edge.
What struck me most, though, wasn’t just the logistical challenges. It was how the presence of this invisible force altered people’s behavior. Anxiety bubbled to the surface in unexpected ways. Some retreated entirely, avoiding even outdoor spaces, while others fixated on assigning blame. Who had brought the virus? Was it the guest who had sneezed on the flight over? The person who had hugged people during introductions? Fingers were pointed and tensions ran high.
The retreat, once a beacon of connection, became a petri dish for drama. Some of the retreaters started not getting along with others; they disagreed on protocols. There were a few who thought they had the exact formula for handling this and insisted it was the only way. Another refused to follow isolation protocols, insisting they were fine despite their evident symptoms. And yet, in the midst of the diverse set of opinions and chaos, there were also quiet acts of grace—a guest bringing tea to a friend’s door, a meditation walk organized to maintain some semblance of togetherness.
On reflection, the most painful thing I witnessed was the finger pointing. There were those who decided this incident was because management had failed to do all of the right things to prevent someone from bringing COVID to the retreat itself. Or that somehow leadership and a fail proof plan wasn't enacted efficiently enough. It was discouraging to see up close how fear and uncertainty could fracture connection and shift the narrative from shared adversity to personal fault.
Yet, as difficult as it was, this experience taught me something profound about human nature. In times of crisis, people reveal their deepest selves—their fears, their generosity, their resilience. One woman who tested positive still gave the retreat a 10 out of 10. She said she loved it all and didn't even mind being in her room for the last two days due to COVID. The retreat, in all its imperfection, became a mirror for everyone involved, showing us not only how we respond to external challenges but how deeply interconnected we all are, for better or worse.
Weeks later, I see that the virus didn’t just disrupt our retreat; it magnified the vulnerabilities and strengths that were already within us. It was a painful chapter, but also a reminder that even in the hardest moments, there’s an opportunity to grow, to heal, and to find grace amid the chaos.