About Courtney (why I am the way I am)
My logo is a biplane for a horse ranch. Why? Because why the fuck not.
The person to the left, the little girl rocking the checkered pants and the magenta sweater like a fashion icon, holding her very first dog, she wanted to be a fighter pilot. Little did she know her crap eyesight would make that dream impossible. Also I have a sloped, upturned button nose. Almost no bridge. Not only were my eyes poopy, my nose wasn’t designed to carry glasses. There’s a metaphor there I can pick at later, probably when I’m trying to sleep.
But those are all things little Courtney didn’t think much about. She wanted to fly planes and do fun things. She liked going fast, digging holes with spoons, and spending the evenings drawing silently in her room.
She’s me. Still. Deep down under layers of perfectionism and the ever encroaching feeling that I have to perform to be liked and accepted, 8-year-old me lives unbothered, ungoverned, without two shits to rub together about what reality holds for her future.
I’m trying to get back to her, to make her proud. To tell her that even though we didn’t become a fighter pilot, we still do fun, exciting things. We regularly engage in DumbDangerousShitTM with like-minded crazies eager to make the world their own.
Flying Solo Ranch isn’t a place.
I mean it is, of course. I live in a physical location as much as I wish I could project myself to the astral plane where there is no grass that grows faster than my impatience to mow it.
But the idea behind Flying Solo is not contained by acreage or area code. Flying Solo Ranch is a lifestyle choice, a decision to live more authentically. To get back to that which matters far more than KPIs, pitch decks, or celebrity influencer culture.
It is a place filled with the love of animals, sunny days, and doing things the way I want. Until I regret those things later. Of course that happens. But life’s about learning and moving on. Plus screaming at traffic jams.
Images from the last few years…
2021-2025 in Texas
My ranch in Texas had over 20 sprawling gorgeous acres, ponds, turtles, snakes, cicadas, and all my animals. It’s been a place of deep learning, not just about what it is I want (and just as importantly what I do not want), but who I am. And who I am not.
I am not a Texan, as it turns out. I moved here for a life that never happened. More on that here: Burning down my old life to start anew.
Texas is not the land of my home or my heart. But this place has taught me so much. It has given to me. It has taken from me.
The lessons I have learned and will continue to learn in my next home, will be poured here. The good, the bad, the funny, the serious.
This site, the ranch in Texas and in future locations, is my field journal of freedom, healing, horsepower and “oh no not agains.”
I make mistakes. Not apologies.
2026 – Southern California
In January of 2026, I finally and for the first time, became a California land owner. I always was a Californian. Born here, raised here. In the end, we usually all find our way back home. For me there was no other place I wanted to be than Southern California.
The 19 acres I have in California are raw. But they’re mine. I will develop an equestrian estate, transforming this gorgeous place into the home of my dreams.
The next chapter has arrived.