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When the lockdown began — the orders to avoid travel, to avoid friends, to “shelter in place,” to shrink our worlds to the slightest physical dimensions endurable — my first impression was of how quickly and ingeniously we adapted. Abracadabra: Classrooms went online. Physicians and therapists used Zoom to see patients. Happy hour happened on FaceTime.

We’re going to realize, I thought, how much can be accomplished without the muss and fuss of actually meeting in person. Many of our activities will migrate into cyberspace forevermore.

Weeks later, I think the opposite. I know of exactly no one who’s satisfied with this way of doing things. Friends who have scores of faithful email and text-message correspondents tell me that they nonetheless feel out of touch and out of sorts. Colleagues who regarded the occasional opportunity to work from home as a gift concede that the office is looking better and better all the time. It has virtues beyond free pens and paper clips. It has, well, other people.

I’m suddenly a digital whirlwind, exponentially more fluent in emoticons and emojis than before. I never knew there was such bounty, such variety. But there’s not a one of them, no matter how colorful, that has the melting warmth of a flesh-and-blood smile that’s happening right in front of me, unmediated by keypad or keystroke.