Notes from the Red Bird House

It's been a rough month. One day I was playing tennis, breaking in a new doubles partnership, and working at a job I liked. My pay check stretched far enough to allow me frequent meals out and coffee at my favorite coffee house. My anxiety was in check; my stress level seemed to have settled into an new-found low. I was happy most days, even on the days when I yipped my way through multiple double faults and on the days when the amount of work at work seemed insurmountable. I was riding a wave, a really good wave. And then I hit a forehand wrong and felt a sharp pinch and burning sensation in my elbow. A week later I was out of tennis and back working a stressful day job. Trips to various doctors and physical therapists quickly drained my bank account. My social life (what little the introvert in me craved) ended when tennis ended. Meals out and coffee became a memory. And with all that, my stress level rose to what surely feels like an all-time high. ~ Imagine for a moment a

I've decided that I have an answer for the oft asked question (paraphrased here) - Why am I going to Sweden? Ready? It's not earth-shattering. Not really, I guess. Maybe to some it will be. Those whose lives are so filled with purpose that they've become swollen, lethargic, and unimaginative won't get it any more than those who don't actually, well, live at all. In the few short months since my grand announcement (read my blog "Sweden or Bust 2017" for details), I've grown tired trying to explain something I can barely explain to myself to people who live their lives as if it was a paint-by-number. Blue here. Brown here. Yellow there. Stay in the lines. Don't improvise. Look, all of our paintings look the same, just like they're supposed to. News flash... They're not supposed to look the same. The past week has brought a few welcome realizations. 1. A friend posted something to her Facebook today. It was a Word Porn meme that I'

There is a place I go. I am almost sure of it. Every night when I sleep. I dream. But beyond the dream, beyond the immediate subconscious, there is something...more...different. A feeling, a comfort, a familiarity, a knowing. A place. A life? Lately, as I ponder bedtime, sleep, and dreams, I am often confused. I don't want to sleep, but I don't want not to sleep. Am I worried that I won't find my way there? I think maybe. Which is real? Here or there? Asleep or awake? Do minutes pass as hours...and vice versa? Or is it just a dream? An illusion? A subconscious trick? I can vividly recall my dreams, but not what lies beyond them. I am frustrated. I should know, I should remember.  I should . As I lay my head down and pull the blankets tightly around me, I feel it. Peace. Peace is coming. In the morning, it will be gone, this I know for certain. And in that moment, when I silence my alarm, throw the covers off, and face a new day, I curse that I am once again...here..