Like many others, I’ve been hooked into my screen a lot lately. I suddenly find myself in Facebook or Twitter without quite knowing how I got there: a bit like an alcoholic finding a drink in his hand, or a compulsive thief looking with surprise at the item she takes from her pocket.

And like any addict, I’ve found fallacious ways to justify myself: it’s good to take breaks from what I’m working on; I need to stay connected to the real world; the world needs my input. I should respond to all my emails, and keep up with every WhatsApp thread. Yet it’s all been keeping me from the real world. I knew this in my head and heart, but not in my body until last week, just before lockdown began.

Peter and I had planned a walk on the coast, but he woke up feeling dizzy, and decided it was wisest not to go. He said he was sorry to disappoint me. I said it didn’t matter; my main concern was for his health.

And then I realised I could go on my own. Even writing this feels ridiculous, for someone who has always been independent and adventurous: who lived on her own for eight years, and has a lifelong habit of going off on solo adventures. And yet after fifteen years in relationship, I’ve slid into forgetting I can do certain things alone.

Even having made the decision, it was hard to break away from the gravitational pull of relationship. I told myself: Peter knows this symptom well, and will probably be fine. But attachment wound its tendrils of inertia round my entire being.

After much procrastinating, I left the house. And instantly felt different. Less cautious, more self-assured. More myself and – cliche for good reason – more alive. And of course it’s not about Peter: it’s how I’ve lost sight of my individual identity.

I was soon walking south from Cadgwith on the coast path, with no plan, relishing the sensation of my whole body working. It was one of those days where you seem to flow over the terrain, your eyes working in harmony with land, brain and body to perform miracles, so that not even one footfall lands in the wrong place.

My hand unconsciously took my phone out of a pocket. I wondered briefly about checking in with Peter – and then switched it off.