Notes from the Red Bird House

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