As we approach the one-year anniversary of the COVID lockdown, I’ve been recalling moments and events from last February and early March, a time knew about COVID but didn’t yet know just how much it was going to upend my life, the lives of everyone I know, and the lives of everyone else.

Tonight, I’ve been thinking about the evening of February 26, 2020 when I drove home from book-launch party at Boston University. As I headed out of Boston, I listened to a press conference where President Donald Trump downplayed the threat posed by the new coronavirus. “Because of all we’ve done, the risk to the American people remains very low,” said Trump, who also noted the while the US had ordered “a lot” of masks he didn’t think they would be needed because flights and “borders are very controlled.”

Asked if he was worried about the spread of the novel coronavirus in the US, Trump said, “No, because we’re ready for it….We’re really prepared.”

I remember listening and thinking that he sounded bizarrely clueless, weirdly overconfident, and strangely ill-informed. I thought things were going to get worse. But I never imagined what was about to happen – and what is still happening.

The virus has upended all of our lives and is taking an enormous toll, not only in terms of those who have died and those who have lost loved ones but also in the millions of people, who have lost their jobs, can’t pay their rent, and have had to cut back on health care, medicine, or food. And even those of us who are still working and have housing are struggling with the pandemic’s toll (particularly people with kids and/or elderly parents as well as those who are going through this alone).

Since it’s started, the pandemic and the lock-down, has also made me – like many people – think about what is really important. What do I really value? What do I overlook that I should, in fact, be cherishing? What, in short, is really important and how do I live my life to bring those “important” things to the fore?

I was reminded of these questions when I began the process of writing about today’s #stampoftheday, a 4-cent stamp, issued on February 25, 1959, that pictures JosŽ de San Mart’n, a soldier and statesman who helped lead the successful revolutions against Spanish rule in Argentina, Chile, and Peru. Along with Simon Bolivar, San Martin, who died on February 25, 1850, is generally considered one of the liberators of South America. The stamp (along with an 8-cent airmail stamp that also pictured San Martin), was part of the Post Office’s “Champions of Liberty” series, a Cold War-era effort to fight Soviet totalitarianism by honoring men who fought for freedom in their homelands.

I’m not going to review San Martin’s life in detail, though that would be fun because in some respects, his life story almost reads like a fantasy-like tale that belongs in a book like Gabriel Garc’a M‡rquez’s “100 Years of Solitude.” Born in what became Argentina, he left South America to study in Spain when he was seven and then served in the Spanish Army. But in the early 1800s, he returned to Argentina and, a few years later, fought against and defeated the Spanish Army via some daring maneuvers, most notably leading his forces across the Andes. While San Martin led early fights against Spanish rule in Peru, he unexpectedly resigned after a mysterious meeting with Bolivar in 1822. And after his wife died In 1823, he took his young daughter Mercedes to Europe, where, except for one failed attempt to return, he lived until he died in 1850.

While his story is complex and, at times, convoluted, what struck me as we approach the anniversary of the COVID lockdown, were his “Maxims for my daughter.” Written in about 1825, when he was leaving South America and taking responsibility for raising the girl by himself, these maxim described what he hoped she would learn and become as she grew up.

While the list reflects clearly reflects the times and its often stilted views of women, it’s still a powerful statement of what one man, who had done and seen “great things,” had concluded were the most important lessons that he wanted to pass on to the next generation.

Here’s one English translation of those maxims, which are well-known in Argentina:

1. Make her rich in human qualities, sensitive even to harmless insects. As Stern said when he opened the window to release fly, “leave, little one, the world is big enough for us both”
2. Inspire her to love truth and to detest falsehood
3. Inspire great trust and friendship, combined with respect
4. Encourage Mercedes to be charitable with the poor
5. Teach her to respect the property of the others
6. Teach her to keep a secret
7. Inspire her to tolerate all religions
8. Teach her to be kind to servants, the poor, and the elderly
9. Teach her to speak little and precisely
10. Teach her formal table manners
11. Teach her to love cleanliness and disdain luxury
12. Inspire her to love the Fatherland and liberty.

Sometime in the coming months (hopefully), we’ll be able to live more freely. While some describe this as “returning to” or “resuming” our lives, I hope it’s more than that. The experiences of the last year have (at least for me) have been sobering calls to focus on what’s important, which suggests I’m not returning or resuming but will instead be doing something entirely new. While my maxims for that life would differ from San Martin’s, his would be a good place to start.

Be well, stay safe, inspire great trust and friendship, fight for justice, and work for peace.