Several years ago, I wrote a column about living my best life, where I shared my grand plans and visions for the future. I’d move back to south Florida, purchase a condo in a swanky little 55-and-over community, drink cocktails by the pool every Friday afternoon and whistle at the Cabana boy as he walked by. (Or something like that.) I’d yell at the young folks who were visiting their grandparents as they traipsed through the property. “Get off our sand!” I’d lead Zumba or Walk-at-Home classes for the other residents every Tuesday and Thursday morning. I’d offer writing workshops once a month. And I’d sashay off to afternoon tea…