STACKS OF MAGAZINES and newspapers, empty cardboard boxes, half-filled trash bags of clothes to be given away. Junk in every corner, nowhere to sit. How had my living room come to this? I stepped over a broken chair, some out-of-season decorations, plastic tubs full of who knew what. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. But maybe it’s who I am, I thought, plopping down on a sturdy tub.

Years before, as an idealistic young woman living in New York City, I’d dreamed of welcoming friends and neighbors over for coffee, impromptu. “Please, come in!” I imagined calling through the always