COVID-19 was the third-most-common cause of death between March 2020 and October 2021 in the U.S., behind only heart disease and cancer, according to a recent study.

Older adults face the greatest risk of dying from COVID-19, but infection with the coronavirus remains a serious risk for younger people, too. In 2021, COVID-19 was the leading cause of death in adults aged 45 to 54, the second leading cause for adults aged 35 to 44 and the fourth leading cause for those aged 15 to 34.

As sociologists who study population health, we have been assessing how losing a loved one to COVID-19 has affected people’s well-being. Our research shows that more than 9 million people have lost a close relative to COVID-19 in the U.S. This dramatic rise in bereavement is troubling because our research finds that COVID-19 bereavement not only increases people’s risk of depression, but can make them uniquely vulnerable to mental distress.

The distinctness of grieving COVID-19 deaths

Researchers have a sense of what constitutes “good” and “bad” deaths. Bad deaths are those that involve pain or discomfort and happen in isolation. Their unexpectedness also makes these deaths more distressing. People whose loved ones die “bad deaths” tend to report greater mental distress than those whose loved ones died in more favorable circumstances.

COVID-19 deaths often bear many hallmarks of “bad” deaths. They are preceded by physical pain and distress, often occur in isolated hospital settings and happen suddenly – leaving family members unprepared. The ongoing nature of the pandemic has inflicted an added layer of agony, as individuals are grieving during a time of protracted social isolation, economic precarity and general uncertainty.

In another recent study, our team used national survey data from 27 countries to test whether the mental health impacts of COVID-19 deaths are more severe than death from other causes. We focused on the case of spousal death and compared two groups of people: those whose spouses died of COVID-19 in the pandemic’s first wave and those whose spouses died of other causes just before the pandemic began. We found that COVID-19 widows and widowers face higher rates of depression and loneliness than expected based on widow and widower mental health outcomes pre-pandemic.

The secondary population health consequences of COVID-19 deaths

The outsized effects of COVID-19 deaths on grieving spouses’ mental health is troubling because we estimate that nearly 500,000 people have already lost a spouse to COVID-19 in the U.S. alone. The mental health problems that people face after losing a loved one can also lead to declines in physical health and even increase a person’s risk of death.

Our research suggests that COVID-19 not only increased rates of family bereavement, but that people who lost loved ones to the coronavirus were particularly distressed afterward. But we studied only widowhood; future research needs to identify the potentially unique health, social and economic consequences of COVID-19 losses for other bereaved relatives.

With COVID-19 representing 1 in every 8 deaths between March 2020 and October 2021, there are millions of people who could benefit greatly from financial, social and mental health support. It is also critical to continue taking steps to prevent future COVID-19 deaths. Each death averted not only saves a life but also saves numerous loved ones from the harm that follows these tragedies.

Emily Smith-Greenaway, Associate Professor of Sociology, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences; Ashton Verdery, Professor of Sociology, Demography and Social Data Analytics, Penn State; Haowei Wang, Postdoctoral Research Associate in Sociology, Penn State, and Shawn Bauldry, Associate Professor of Sociology, Purdue University

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The cost of eggs and bread is soaring – a trend that’s particularly punishing for the poorest Americans.

Average food prices climbed an annualized rate of 10.4% in June, the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported on July 13, 2022. The gains were driven primarily by the cost of groceries, which jumped the most since the 1970s, by 12.2%. Overall inflation was up 9.1% from a year earlier.

These sharp increases have startled consumers, in large part because food costs had been rising moderately for decades.

While all Americans have seen their grocery bills swell, many may not fully appreciate the enormous burden that rising food costs pose for low-income households. The reason is simple: Poor families spend a much larger share of their income on food than the median household.

In 2020, the average middle-income American family spent roughly 12% of its earnings on food. In sharp contrast, poor households spent 27% on food that year.

What explains this enormous discrepancy? The answer begins with a dramatic change in spending patterns among American households during the 20th century, which I learned while researching shifts in commuting practices.

In the 1900s, the bare necessities of life, including food, were enormously expensive compared with today, leaving little room for spending on other goods or services for most Americans, according to a 2006 study by the Department of Labor. On average, American families spent over 40% of their income on food in 1901, 23% on housing and 14% on clothing.

But the relative cost of food and clothing decreased steadily over the next 100 years. By 2002, the two categories represented only 17.3% of a middle-class family’s expenditures and by 2020, the figure had fallen to 14.2%.

The sharp drop in the cost of food and clothing led to a massive reshuffling of family budgets over roughly the past century. As people reduced their spending on these items, they spent more on housing, transportation and insurance. As the country became wealthier, discretionary spending increased, too. Most Americans had more room in their budgets for eating out, televisions and entertainment.

This revolution in household spending largely excluded poor Americans, who continue to devote most of their income to feeding their families and other necessities like shelter. As a result, they are particularly vulnerable to spikes in food costs.

Low-income households devote more than twice as large a share of their budgets to food as middle-income households. As a result, food inflation is around twice as burdensome for families of limited means. But this actually understates the burden of high food costs on the poor because, unlike middle-class families, they have little discretionary spending they can pare back to free up funds for food.

American households are responding to soaring food inflation by eating out less frequently, buying generic brands and consuming less meat. For many, it may be the first time they’ve ever had to be so careful about what they spent on food.

Poor families, however, have long been forced to deploy these tactics to keep food expenditures in check.

An estimated 38 million Americans are food insecure, meaning that they have insufficient means to obtain sufficient food. The concern is, with food inflation rising at the rate it is, more families will face the prospect of being unsure where their next meal is coming from.

David Soll, Associate Professor of History and Environmental Studies, University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire

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In June 2022, I set off on a 10,650-mile, six-week motorcycle trip from Tennessee to Alaska and back again, carrying not too much more than my GPS and phone. The ride kick-started a year of travel for research – and despite the horror stories of delayed and canceled flights, I couldn’t be happier.

Just about everywhere I went, even in remote parts of the Yukon and British Columbia, folks were traveling. Many of the trailers being pulled were brand-new, suggesting the owners had bought them recently. After yet another cooped-up pandemic winter, it seems people’s appetite to get away is just as keen.

But why do we travel in the first place? What is the allure of the open road?

As a professor of religion, psychology and culture, I study experiences that lie at the intersection of all three. And in my research on travel, I’m struck by its unsolvable paradoxes: Many of us seek to get away in order to be present; we speed to destinations in order to slow down; we may care about the environment but still leave carbon footprints.

Ultimately, many people hope to return transformed. Travel is often viewed as what anthropologists call a “rite of passage”: structured rituals in which individuals separate themselves from their familiar surroundings, undergo change and return rejuvenated or “reborn.”

But travelers are not just concerned with themselves. The desire to explore may be a defining human trait, as I argue in my latest book, “Just Traveling: God, Leaving Home, and a Spirituality for the Road.” The ability to do it, however, is a privilege that can come at a cost to host communities. Increasingly, the tourism industry and scholars alike are interested in ethical travel, which minimizes visitors’ harm on the places and people they encounter.

The media inundate tourists with advice and enticements about where to travel and what to do there. But in order to meet the deeper goals of transformative, ethical travel, the “why” and “how” demand deeper discernment.

During my book research, I studied travel stories in sacred scriptures and researched findings from psychologists, sociologists, ethicists, economists and tourism scholars. I argue that meaningful travel is best understood not as a three-stage rite but as a six-phase practice, based on core human experiences. These phases can repeat and overlap within the same journey, just as adventures twist and turn.

1. Anticipating

Traveling begins long before departure, as we research and plan. But anticipation is more than logistics. The Dutch aptly call it “voorpret”: literally, the pleasure before.

How and what people anticipate in any given situation has the power to shape their experience, for better or worse – even when it comes to prejudice. Psychology experiments, for example, have shown that when children anticipate greater cooperation between groups, it can reduce their bias in favor of their own group.

But phenomenology, a branch of philosophy that studies human experience and consciousness, emphasizes that anticipation is also “empty”: our conscious intentions and expectations of what’s to come could be fulfilled or dashed by a future moment.

With that in mind, travelers should try to remain open to uncertainty and even disappointment.

2. Leaving

Leaving can awaken deep emotions that are tied to our earliest experiences of separation. The attachment styles psychologists study in infants, which shape how secure people feel in their relationships, continue to shape us as adults. These experiences can also affect how comfortable people feel exploring new experiences and leaving home, which can affect how they travel.

Some travelers leave with excitement, while others experience hesitation or guilt before the relief and excitement of departure. Mindfulness about the stages of travel can help people manage anxiety.

3. Surrendering

Travelers cannot control their journey: A flight is canceled, or a vehicle breaks down; the weather report predicts sunshine, but it rains for days on end. To some extent, they have to surrender to the unknown.

Modern Western cultures tend to see “surrendering” as something negative – as hoisting a white flag. But as a therapeutic concept, surrendering helps people let go of inhibiting habits, discover a sense of wholeness and experience togetherness with others. The perfectionist learns that a changed itinerary doesn’t mean a diminished travel experience and lets go of the fear of failure. The person with a strong sense of independence grows in vulnerability when receiving care from strangers.

In fact, some psychological theories hold that the self longs for surrender, in the sense of liberation: letting down its defensive barriers and finding freedom from attempts to control one’s surroundings. Embracing that view can help travelers cope with the reality that things may not go according to plan.

4. Meeting

Meeting, traveling’s fourth phase, is the invitation to discover oneself and others anew.

All cultures have unconscious “rules of recognition,” their own ingrained customs and ways of thinking, making it more difficult to forge cross-cultural connections. Carrying conscious and unconscious stereotypes, travelers may see some people and places as uneducated, dangerous, poor or sexual, while hosts may see travelers as rich, ignorant and exploitable.

Going beyond such stereotypes requires that travelers be mindful of behaviors that can add tension to their interactions – knowing conversational topics to avoid, for example, or following local dress codes.

In many parts of the world, those challenges are intensified by the legacy of colonization, which makes it harder for people to meet in authentic ways. Colonial views still influence Western perceptions of nonwhite groups as exotic, dangerous and inferior.

Starting to overcome these barriers demands an attitude known as cultural humility, which is deeper than “cultural competence” – simply knowing about a different culture. Cultural humility helps travelers ask questions like, “I don’t know,” “Please help me understand” or “How should I …?”

5. Caring

Caring involves overcoming “privileged irresponsibility”: when a traveler does not recognize their own privilege and take responsibility for it, or does not recognize other people’s lack of privilege.

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Travel becomes irresponsible when tourists ignore injustices and inequities they witness or the way their travels contribute to the unfolding climate crisis. Ethically, “empathy” is not enough; travelers must pursue solidarity, as an act of “caring with.” That might mean hiring local guides, eating in family-owned restaurants and being mindful of the resources like food and water that they use.

6. Returning

Travels do end, and returning home can be a disorienting experience.

Coming back can cause reverse culture shock if travelers struggle to readjust. But that shock can diminish as travelers share their experiences with others, stay connected to the places they visited, deepen their knowledge about the place and culture, anticipate a possible return trip or get involved in causes that they discovered on their trip.

I believe that reflecting on these six phases can invite the kind of mindfulness needed for transformative, ethical travel. And amid a pandemic, the need for thoughtful travel that prioritizes host communities’ well-being is clear.

This is an updated version of an article originally published on Sept. 28, 2021.

Jaco J. Hamman, Professor of Religion, Psychology, and Culture, Vanderbilt Divinity School

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.