There’s a fine line between superstitious and ludicrous. I like to think I fall squarely in the latter category, especially when it comes to my health. When I feel good I don’t like to talk about it. When I feel crummy, I don’t like to think about it. I know a lot of people who are very superstitious about their health — especially when it comes to seeing doctors and taking medicine. It’s as though they cut everything off, cold turkey, when things are going their way. Probably a pretty stupid idea, but I don’t fault the psychological positioning of it.

It all became clear after a friend told me about a book she just finished, “The Secret,” which is all about imagining something with the right concentration — which ultimately makes it (whatever “it” may be) materialize.

I took away from this the fact that I’ve been doing just that for a long time, as it relates to my health. I imagine myself healthier than I really am all the time. Whether it’s choosing to take the stairs (which I ultimately regret by the third flight) or attempting to open a screw-top beer bottle, I channel my health and try like heck to make it happen. So far — knock-on-wood — it’s working.

It’s like the old saying:  “mind over matter … but if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”