In the uncertain early days of the lockdown in March 2020, I remember going on a quiet, lingering stroll with my daughter in the middle of a workday when she’d normally be at school. Because it was the best way of communicating with the larger world at the time, some people had placed signs of support and optimism on their lawns and in their windows. A few had even restrung their Christmas lights just a few months after taking them down and stashing them back in the attic because … why not? Ahhhhh, we needed this, I thought. We all needed a break to slow down. We’re going to be better for this. We’ll reprioritorize.

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The other day I got a text memo that clearly wasn’t meant for me. But it was about me.

Ah, the travails of modern life.

The message was from a mom of one of my daughter’s friends. We had been texting back and forth that day because her daughter was at our house for a playdate. This mom and I have only had a handful of brief exchanges while passing each other in the school pickup or at group gatherings. Our longest exchange had been earlier that day when I invited her into our house when she dropped her daughter off, wanting her to feel comfortable with her daughter here. We spoke for about five minutes.

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