I’m using my column this week to make an admission few adults would probably make.

I still believe in Santa Claus.

Every year, as Christmas approaches, I write him a long, long, l-o-n-g letter. I don’t just list the gifts I want for the holiday. Instead, I list all the wonderful things I would like to have in the coming year. Things I’d like to have, to do, to see, to experience, and to be. It includes all the things that would be on my Christmas wish list, my list of New Year’s Resolutions, and any other list you can think of. (That’s why it’s so long.)

Just a few weeks ago, right around Thanksgiving, I repeated another annual tradition of mine. I took out last year’s “Dear Santa” letter, and re-read it, so I would be sure to give thanks for anything that actually happened for me.

And as I read, I was astounded, because almost everything on last year’s list came to pass. There were career things. There were personal things. There were “thing” things (stuff I wanted.) I got nearly all of it.