Notes from the Red Bird House

 A friend texted me last night. Her almost twelve year old son is starting middle school today and she was more than a little stressed. I guess it's somewhat normal for parents to be nervous about such milestones in their children's lives. I mean sixth grade means a bigger school, perhaps switching classrooms, more complex homework assignments, etc, etc. I'm sure there's also some wistfulness about the whole thing. The "My baby's growing up" kinda thing. My friend's concerns last night (and again this morning) were far larger. You see, her son is different. He always has been. Not only is he on "the spectrum," he also has Tourettte's. And he's on the fringes of non-binary. Plus, he lives on the border of Texas and Arkansas in a place that is far from open-minded and falls just below marginally accepting. This is the land of conservative politics (ie Trump), gun rights, big religion, and the concomitant "family values" that i

 Back in the day when I did little except work, drink, and write, I used to write these Top 10 list blogs. David Letterman was still on and doing his so I copied him. Sort of. Anyway, when I didn't have any other halfway brilliant idea, I'd crank out a Top 10 list and call it good. I'd written something and occasionally along the way, writing just that little bit of BS would inspire something far grander. The popularity of said Top 10 list blogs was questionable at best. With the exception of one reader. She was and hopefully still is a sucker for a Top 10 list.  I'm super excited to because that reader is coming to Asheville in October and that gave me a blog idea (I also wanted to procrastinate writing fiction...). I can't wait to show her everything that I love about my new hometown. Well, as much as we can pack into 3 1/2 days. So I thought, why not pour my love of AVL into a Top 10 list? Maybe give her an idea of what we might see and help us prioritize our tim

Those of you who have been around awhile might recall the summer of 2018 when I trained through a God-awful Austin summer for a fall half marathon. Remember how I always seemed to draw inspiration during my long runs and then I'd pour all that into a blog for y'all to endure? Well..... I'm back training for a half marathon (A summer one this time...because it's Asheville, not Austin) and once again I'm finding the repetitive motion, lack of oxygen, and the hour-plus bout of "me time" fortuitously inspiring. That said, if running analogies and the life lessons derived from them aren't your thing, you might want to quietly exit and get on with your day. No sense wasting 5-10 minutes of your life you'll never get back.  Anywho, if you stuck around, thanks. I hope this turns out to be worth your while (and mine).  ~~ So let me regale you with some backstory. I was supposed to start training for the summer half marathon I mentioned above in May. And I g

  "This ain't for everybody. Toes hanging off the ledge..."  ~ from Eric Church, "Hell of a View" There are moments when I wish I could curl up safely within my comfort zone and just let the world around me do what the world around us does. It's been nearly five months since I gave the finger to my comfort zone such as it was in Vegas and set off through Snowmageddon scope-locked on (yet another) new life. Asheville. I've done this more times that I care to count - Kansas, Michigan, Texas twice, Las Vegas: Screwed the comfortable old normal and tried like hell to create a new one, all the while keeping my anxiety under a dull roar.  I spent my childhood safely ensconced in a one story tract home on Wanesta Drive in Poway, California. I can't say I ever thought much about my comfort zone back then. All I knew is that I preferred being home with my family more than anywhere in the world. I even faked a series of headaches in elementary school and  a fe

 "I might be undateable."  ~ Venus Williams Loneliness is a curious thing, isn't it? I wouldn't call myself a lonely person - I do masterfully on my own the majority of the time. But then.... There are those - let's call them - situations when it bodyslams me. One moment I'm better than good and the next I'm up to my chin a veritable puddle of self-pity. Look, I have enough self-knowledge to understand that's it's all just mental gymnastics bullshit that has me wallowing. I am truly better alone. Loneliness simply comes with the territory. Thankfully only occasionally. And thanks to the power of the mind - my mind - and the breathing exercises I nearly perfected in therapy last summer and fall, it always passes. With a violent eyeroll and loudly whispered "Jesus Christ, Stacee..." Because f*** I actually love my solitary life. I guess I need the occasional test of my 'sobriety' (Used in the figurative sense, of course, though thes

I'm a happy person. Glass half full, that kind of thing. I'm buoyant. I land on my feet. All that said, I'm here to tell you - no matter how it may seem from the outside looking in - happiness has not always come easy. I grew up actually thinking - at least until somewhere in  my twenties, maybe - that happiness wasn't something adults experienced. Miserable parents? Yeah, I think they were. And they were my example. I don't recall if I was a happy child. I guess it's safe to say I wasn't unhappy.  Happiness, though, wasn't something I really ever thought about. I probably mulled over being taller or richer or smarter, but happiness? Not so much. It simply wasn't a thing. I can't recall when I truly began to consider happiness as something I might one day have...or be. As I said above, I came to a realization that happiness was possible for adults at some point, but like relationships that last longer than six months, I figured it wasn't for

Yesterday I decided to write about gratitude. Then today, I decided to change that up. No idea why. Thoughts stay the course. Thoughts meander. Ideas come. Ideas go. Inspiration waxes...then it wanes. The words that want to be written eventually come to the page. All in good time, they say. If you're bummed I decided against gratitude, stick around. I'm sure I'll come back around to it in a few minutes. Because look, shouldn't everything begin and end with gratitude? All that positivity aside, I'm going to start with a bitch. It's a small one, but it something that grates a little. Like a pinky nail on a chalkboard. I know it shouldn't bother me and, trust me, other things bother me a lot more - Systemic racism, challenges to Roe v Wade, Madison Cawthorne, #MAGA, entitlement, figs on pizza, tuna casserole... But still this...gah. I don't like it. You're going to think it's ticky-tack. And you're allowed. To me, though, it's annoying.  Let

There are assuredly those who will think I should have titled this one "Oh, Poor Me." And look, it's not like they'll be entirely wrong. I created this and now I'm paying the price. Moreover, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I made the decision. I knew how hard it was going to be and how I was going to struggle. I knew I would feel the sting of tears and the crush of loneliness. I knew the Herculean effort it would take to step outside of my comfort zone again and again. I knew there would be many moments of anxiety, frustration, and resignation. And, YES, I knew that, before all was said and done, I would throw a pity party or two. Well, welcome to my party.  I'm only half joking. I don't believe in wallowing or complaining, but I do believe in feeling and experiencing . Right now, I'm in the middle of the beginning. I'm tired and I have a long way to go. I am fully confident I'll make my way through. Part of that knowing comes hav

  "You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'." ~ Zack Brown Band, "Colder Weather" I'm not entirely sure what I told myself all those years. Was it living twenty-years in the same house? Was it my parents' divorce? Was it the loss of my childhood home when I wasn't quite ready to create my own? Was it fear? Was it longing? Was it FOMO, the fear of missing out? Look, I have a degree in psychology and I've done several stints with a variety of therapists so please understand when I make this next statement. It's possible to think way too damn much. Or not think nearly enough. Looking back on this issue - one that plagued me for nearly thirty years - I realize that I didn't think enough. Or maybe I did, but not about the right things?  There is little as frustrating, confusing, and convoluted as the human mind. And when it's your own doing all that? I think that's why most people shy away from thinking. The more you

There comes a time when you just have to tuck it away. Pull out a new box, throw it all in, and close the lid. Write "Yesterday" on the outside, if you want, but it's not required. Tape it closed, if you want, also not required. I've created a lot of these boxes in my day; fifty-two years worth, in fact. I'm getting better at it. Quicker. Practice makes perfect. Perhaps. Or maybe I just decided that I didn't want to be that person anymore. I no longer choose to hold onto sh** that doesn't serve me or deliver me, make me a better version of myself or move me forward. I've learned to box it all up real quick, long before it begins to fester and pollute my soul, long before its tentacles have breached every facet of my being, long before months and years disappear into the ether.  I had to do another final accounting recently. Endings are seldom pretty, but they don't have to be awful. I catalogued the memories, our history - the good, the bad, and t

I'm in well-charted territory. It's far from my first rodeo. I know there are those who incredulously ponder my courage - after all I traveled across eight states (during Snowmageddon) to settle in a place where I knew a sum total of exactly one person. Some of those people question my sanity - Whyyyyyyyyyyy would I do this again?????? Others stand back in awe. I can tell you with every certainty that I am neither crazy (Full disclosure: I am medicated for anxiety) nor awesome. I've said that "This is just what I do," meaning I move and restart and move and restart again. Wash, rinse, repeat. I stay a few years, complain the whole time (usually not incredibly vocally - with the exception of Las Vegas), make plans, finally make the plans concrete, and Boom! I donate a bunch of sh** to Goodwill, load up the rest, and head out to parts (largely) unknown.  Look, I don't relish the stress, the loneliness, the wondering if I'll ever find my "people." W

I took off yet another ring yesterday. This morning my hand - right ring finger because it wasn't 'that' kind of ring (I was hopeful that maybe one day it would be) - feels odd, different. I feel lonely and off, unsettled like something is missing. In truth, she left awhile ago. I just didn't know it. A little piece of information she didn't feel was important, I guess. Strange because once upon a time we communicated so well. Of course that ended awhile ago also. Call me loyal, sentimental, loving, too trusting, dedicated but from the day I said 'I love you' and slipped the ring on my finger, I was in. Wholly, completely, and willing to work through anything. I don't take love and rings and commitment lightly. For me what I say today, I intend to mean for a lifetime. So today - this morning - my empty ring finger is a reminder of commitments broken, love lost, expectations shattered. A very different horizon stretches out before me. It's one I'm