My Friend Amy

I can't believe it's been a week since I've posted anything. If you could see into my brain, you'd see all kinds of blog posts floating around, vying for my attention, waiting to be written.

 I watched a Martha Beck coaching video recently.  She explained the difference between what she calls her essential self (who she is at her core)  and her social self (who she needs to be in the world to accomplish anything).  Because her essential self has all kinds of issues like ADD and caffeine addiction her social self needs to make deals with her essential self to get things done.  Lately my essential self feels like it's addicted to speed. I know you wouldn't think it to look at the neaer comatose body sitting in the chair watching old black and white moves, but my mind is racing with things I'd like to write about. I don't seem to be able to corral those thoughts long enough to get them on paper - or in the computer, as the case may be. Heavy topics such as one of my best friends having cancer, the caregiver epidemic in the US, brave Malala speaking before the UN, and wondering what I'll find moved when I come home from work. Sweetie, left unattended, has a tendency to move things from one place to another organize. Add to that, the little every day things I could turn into a story with just a tad of embellishment. The acrobatic squirrel that somehow fakes out the bird feeder trigger so that he can gorge himself on sunflower seeds while hanging upside down, or how wonderful it is to play, "let's pretend" with Sweetie while floating in life preservers in the pool with a plastic shark circling us on the pools current are stories just waiting to be written.

See what I mean. That's a rather long introduction for someone who just wanted to copy and paste a nother person's blog.  I've mentioned my friend Amy before. I used to call her my writing bud, and she is still that, but she's morphed into my friend, confidant, and encourager. When I'm scared about something, which Amy might say is all the time, she becomes a veritable Push Girl. Amy has no tolerance for my Chicken Little persona.  And to prove my point, I'd like to send you over to her blog.  

Amy's is an incredible story, made even more incredible by the similarities it shares with the only other person I've ever known whose young, active life was cut short by a brain malformation. Zubin disliked words like handicapped or disabled. Amy, has more of a if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em attitude. Both had to learn how to live in a body that didn't work anymore. Both coped with being quadriplegic by telling their story for others and using their decidedly "abled" creative minds to deal with their circumstances, in the only way they could.

Amy has finished writing her memoir.  Misadventures of a Happy Heart: A Memoir of Life after Disability is in the final stages of editing. One day soon, when you walk into Barnes and Noble, there it will be on that front table across from the door with her picture on the cover.  As you will read in her post this week, Amy knows her limits, but refuses to be defined by them. There is little she won't try at least once. Her bravery and my cowardice make us strange pals. However, we both like chocolate, cats,  and writing. We both prefer to drink out of straws. A pretty good basis for friendship, don't you think?

You know those plastic bracelets people used to wear printed with WWJD? I should have one with WWAD? That way, if I'm ever faced with the doing something dangerous  new, like swimming with sharks, sky diving, or telling a hungry goat I might have some crackers in my purse, I could ask myself what would Amy do, then opt to do the opposite.

What would you do if you had no fear?
Merry ME
aka Chicken Little

P.S. When you go to her blog, be sure to leave a comment.