Size matters. No, not that. Well, that too, but it’s much more complicated than all the jokes. We do not get a choice about what kind of body we find ourselves inhabiting for our whole lives. My parents played genetic roulette, and the body I am stuck with is the result of an interplay between Mendelian genetic laws and chance. My ego resists the idea that my identity includes the body. The ego is a natural Cartesian: I think, therefore I am, in which case my body is just a vehicle, no more part of me because I am inside it than my car when I am sitting in it. But I can only maintain that mind-body disjunction temporarily, in certain moods. In truth, we are