I sprinted through my twenties like a small animal on a plastic wheel.  Coworkers stepped aside when they heard my high heels flying down a hallway.  Friends affectionately asserted that I was their favorite manic squirrel and suggested I calm down and chill out.  Police officers—less affectionately—demanded I put on the brakes while handing over tickets, indifferent to my need for speed.  Yes, I was a mover and a shaker, making life happen and falling into bed exhausted at the end of each day. ...