I’m writing this from the Highlands of Scotland, where the first thing that has really struck me is the quiet. There is very little traffic noise, no constant hum of activity and far fewer sounds competing for my attention. At first, the silence feels almost startling. Then, gradually, you begin to realise that it isn’t silent at all. There is the wind moving through the trees. Water running over stones. A bird calling from much farther away than you would normally be able to hear. The sound...

Before you read any further, and if you’re at home, I’d like you to try something. Sit down on the floor. Now stand back up again. Go on… I’ll wait. How did that feel? Perhaps you stood up without a second thought. Perhaps you used your hands. Perhaps one knee complained a little, or you paused halfway to work out the best route back to standing. There’s no judgement here, it’s simply a quiet observation. We have all sorts of ways to measure our health these days. Smart watches tell us how...

Last week I wrote about the strange, quiet freedom of becoming a little less visible in midlife. This week I’ve been thinking about the other side of that. If fewer people are looking at us in the way they once did, perhaps we get an opportunity to stop looking at ourselves in that way too. Because so much of life teaches us to experience your body from the outside. How it looks. How it is ageing. What size it is. Whether it is behaving in a way that feels convenient, attractive, efficient or...