No man is an island. He can't be. Ought he be a continent? No.
The healthy man is a peninsula. He is connected to the mainland, and nourished by that connection, but he doesn't allow himself to be influenced from all sides. A part of him juts into the oceanic.
The peninsular life is best.
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A long-time reader responds (30 November 2018):
So I read your post just now a) at the outer extremity of a literal peninsula; b) linked to my life-partner only by the narrow isthmus of the telephone; c) suddenly disconnected from the quotidian working world by my recent layoff; d) having spent the last decade or two immersing myself in old books and questioning all that I thought I knew; and e) generally projecting myself further and further outward from the presentist mass-society craton into the "oceanic" of the past, the unknowable future, and the great mystery of creation and human awareness.
In other words: peninsular.
Many are the pleasures of blog. One is the pleasure of giving food for thought. Another is the pleasure of receiving appreciation.