So I booked myself a massage. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done that in my life. They asked what kind I wanted. I decided on one called ‘deep tissue’ as I figured that was the most utilitarian, one that I could get something from.

I remember the very first time I got a massage the woman said, “You seem really tense”. I replied, “Gee, I have no idea why, I am just lying on a table naked and someone I’ve never met is running their hands all over my body”. She didn’t really see the humour.

I’ve done a pretty good job of separating my head from the rest of me. There are only a couple of places – the dance floor and the bedroom – where I have felt that my brain takes a back seat. But even then it’s not a given.

If I’ve thought about it at all, I’ve considered my body as the vehicle that gets stuff done that the brain wants to do. It’s not that I’ve abused it all that much, it’s been more benign neglect in service to what I’ve thought is more important.

The idea of ‘self care’ has always conjured two terms for me: indulgent, and self absorbed. Sure, it’s best to eat a reasonable diet, exercise, and get good sleep – but beyond that? I hadn’t really seen the standalone value and contribution of my body.

So, there I found myself, nude, face down on the table. I could either fight it, or let go. Untrue to form, I chose the latter. An hour afterwards I was standing talking to a guy and he said something no one has ever said to me. “Hey man, you seem really blissed out”.

Brain, meet body, body, brain – you two take it from here.