Real life: overrated

Recently, my life has reverted to the kind of fantasy for which I, frankly, exist.

Real life is overrated. You've probably noticed this. I know what you're thinking: "yeah, but you have to face up to it, you know? It's unavoidable."

Blah blah. In my books, that attitude shows nothing but a dearth of imagination. Yes, there are difficulties and challenges. But surely fantasy is the ideal way to overcome that?

Example? Travel, which, let's face it, is like taking a trip into a storybook—a journey through all those rarified imaginings that started when you were five.

Another one? Fun. Riding a horse, sailing a boat, dipping into the warm waters of a palm-fringed beach, making a cocktail, eating chocolates in bed, playing the piano so hard you think you're going to break it. All the things you wished you could do all the time when you were young—they're the kind of fantasy I'm talking about.

Maybe I'm just easy to please. Or maybe you're just not looking at things the right way. In any case, I encourage you to come to the dark side: see life as a fantasy.

Better still, make it one.