Notes from the Red Bird House

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...