It is hot and humid on the East Coast—and the pollen count has absolutely defeated me. However, one gets used to hiding out, strange as that might be.

In the last four months, a close friend fell and bruised her face badly; another dear friend could not breathe, was hospitalized twice, but did not have the dreadful Virus. A third person, dear to me, finally had her elective surgery; the friend who fell is now having heart surgery; my oldest feminist friend has become blind and cannot read; a relative through marriage is in hospice....And a half million people, world-wide, have died. This is an unimaginable number.

I usually try to make one phone call each day to bolster the spirits of someone in pain.

But I’ve also noted that I’ve stopped communicating with people who are simply “too difficult”—who are cantankerous and demanding, who abuse my ability to listen, deeply, and who then attack me for setting boundaries. Is this a function of aging or of being quarantined? Or, is it the better part of wisdom and long overdue?

Have others also begun to set such limits?