When I was four years old my grandmother Alice gave me a broach that no longer fastened, it looked like an owl that could have been lifted from the pages of a Dr. Seuss storybook. With the broach came the news that I was a "worrywart". I had no idea what a worrywart was, only that it sounded like something I wanted nothing to do with. My fear was confirmed as Alice instructed me to rub the owls belly whenever I began to dwell on troubles and concerns, which she felt I did far