I have a very active brain, always has been.

During my early years, when my mother would try to get something done around the house, she would put me down on the carpeting in front of the console stereo, load a stack of record albums and leave me to my own devices. No toys or books or anything; I didn’t need them.  I was lost in the sounds of Walter Wanderley, Astrud Gilberto, Percy Faith and Henry Mancini.

And I was lost in my active brain.

As I got older, like into my early 20’s, I found it easy to get lost in the memories of my active brain. Often I would land in the “Sea of Regret” or the “Why didn’t he love me desert” or the “Man I screwed that up swamp.”  While it sometimes lead me to good places, more often than not my active brain would take me to places that I didn’t need to visit. And I’d go again, and again, and again.

So what the hell does this have to do with anything? Even at my advanced age of 48, I still have an active brain. I have a challenging and thought-provoking job. I have relationships, especially with my dear husband that tests my mettle every day. I volunteer with a non-profit organization that requires, no demands, my attention on a frequent basis. And I’m in a grad program that, like a jealous lover, asks me to continually prioritize it over everything else.

And yet my brain travels beyond those demanding activities and still wants more, still wants to think and test and wonder and problem-solve and fantasize and audiate.

You, dear Alice who has fallen down the rabbit hole, has found yourself in the world of my active brain. Working out my issues and trying to figure out this self-imposed though relatively benign exile which is my life.

I make one promise to you, dear reader: I will always be honest. As a Flatlander in Exile, I have no choice.

Till we meet again, in the rabbit hole…