Is it just me, or does life start to feel... compact as we get older? Not in a minimalist, Zen kind of way — more like, “When did my idea of a big night out become a garden centre café and a browse in B&M?”

As the world quietly shrinks — fewer last-minute adventures, more “meh, it’s too far” — I’m wondering: am I being charmed into becoming a local lifer? Or is there a chance that the next phase of life might actually expand my world again? Maybe I’m ready to rediscover the city (and myself) — with less FOMO and more comfy shoes.