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Amy F. Quincy Author/Freelance Writer

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amyfquincy

Freelance Writer

The Importance of Proper Sleep

131123_0006This is what good sleep looks like.

It’s 3:00 a.m. Saturday morning and although someone in the house is sleeping soundly, it’s not me. I’m doing it again. Taking on too much and striving to find the balance. I’m still looking.

Ever since completing my book, I’ve been under the impression that the pressure I felt to be writing would ease up a bit. Not so. The self-imposed finish-the-book pressure has been replaced by the similarly self-imposed get-it-published pressure. There are queries to write, agents to contact and publishing houses to research. There’s also new writing to submit to my writer’s group, proving to myself and to them, that a writer without a book idea is still a writer. And let’s not forget the commitment I have here. To this blog and all of you. Though as my friend Mary puts it, no one’s holding a gun to my head.

I’m just as busy as I’ve ever been, if not busier. So why did I decide this would be a good time to start a new business? Either I’m glutton for punishment or a closeted martyr. Maybe I thrive on complaining about how busy I am, all the while piling on paperwork like I’m striving for a promotion. Maybe I’m out to disprove the theory that disabled people sit around all day and watch television. Maybe, I just didn’t think.

See, I got sucked into the same business I wrote about my friend having. The business that’s all about making your home smell great? Well, lately my home smells like warm apple pie, but I’m half asleep and there’s a mountain of dishes in the sink. And I say “got sucked in” because I’m kind of run by my emotions. I liked the products and the marketing. It’s called Pink Zebra and there’s this adorable little zebra mascot. When I joined the team of independent consultants, they welcomed me “to the herd.”  I’m a sucker for that stuff. And when something feels right, I throw myself in — all in. But again, no one put a gun to my head. My life is busy because I keep it that way — I have to face that.

But something’s gotta give. Especially after the holidays, when I (and the rest of the world) head back to the gym. For right now, that thing is sleep. I’ve been hitting the pillow far too late each night and waking around 2:00 a.m. when Frankie wants to go outside to do potty dance circles for a half hour. That or I wake up with a start, unable to move, pinned in my too-small bed by a dog on one side and a cat on the other. And I can’t go back to sleep. My mind is racing with new business ideas or I’m crafting sentences in my head for my next story. Some people call it the witching hour. I call it the genius hour.

So no, this post really isn’t about proper sleep at all, except to say I’m not getting any. A friend and I noticed that I tend to write about the things I need to work on. It’s not that I’m so great at being healthy, letting go or getting organized (well, I am pretty good at that,) but I try to inspire myself, too. And in case you were really looking forward to reading about the benefits of obtaining a full eight hours, I’ll tell you that chronic lack of sleep can lead to excess weight gain, high blood pressure and a weakened immune system. Plus, sleeping feels good. Especially on these cold nights and rainy mornings.But don’t take my word for it, I wouldn’t know. You can ask Frankie. After he wakes up, of course.PZ-logo-main

2

The Choice

indexSomething’s been bothering me ever since I heard about it. The story about the Indiana man, Tim Bowers, who fell 16 feet from a tree during a hunting accident and was paralyzed from the shoulders down. His family asked that he be taken out of sedation long enough to decide for himself whether he wanted to live or die. He wanted to die. Doctors removed his breathing tube and five hours later, he was gone. He left behind a wife and unborn child. And I can’t stop thinking about it. Or feeling sad.

My heart goes out to his family and I can’t imagine the gut wrenching emotions they must have gone and are still going through. I don’t pretend to have all the answers here. Not by a long shot. But I’m troubled by this. For many reasons.

It was reported that the family had an idea what Bowers would want because he’d previously talked with his wife about not wanting to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I wish it had read that they had an idea he wouldn’t want to spend his life on a ventilator. Or live all his days in a hospital. Because for all my love of life, even I can agree — that’s no way to live. I might have done the same. But to report that the family knew he didn’t want to live his life in a wheelchair? You guys know there’s a difference here, right? Because statements like this, as if they are one and the same, just perpetuate the myth that becoming disabled means life is over.

I’m reminded of a Push Girls episode in which the mother of one of the girls admits to having wished the girl had just died because she didn’t think she’d have much of a life in a wheelchair. I hope your mouth has hit the floor over this as much as mine did. It seems ludicrous. To me and probably everyone who knows me or anybody in a wheelchair. But this perception is out there, people!

So I’m going to stress it again to all of you able-bodied people out there. In the sad event that tragedy strikes you or someone you love. LIFE IS NOT OVER. Yes, it’s the end of the world as you knew it. But it’s not the end of the world.

But back to Tim Bowers. I’ve read that his family had a small window of opportunity in which to let him make his own decision. If he’d decided at some later point that he didn’t want to live, then it would be called murder.

This is why I support an individual’s right to die. I think Jack Kevorkian had it right. If someone like Bowers decides two years down the road (when he might actually be better equipped to make such a call) that he doesn’t want to go on, that his quality of life doesn’t warrant sticking around, then I believe he should have the right to call it quits. But to decide that in an instant? The day after a tragic accident?

And I realize this may come as a shock — but doctors don’t always get it right. The day after an accident? Who knows how the prognosis would have changed over time and with therapy and technological advancements?

I’ve met all kinds of people that thought they didn’t want to go on. But they have gone on. Gone on to fulfilling and productive lives that they are thankful to be living. The paraplegic who taught the rock climbing clinic I took wrote in his book that at first he wanted to die. He wanted to hurl himself out of the hospital window. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he physically couldn’t get out of bed, let alone get to the window. He wanted to die. And yet he went on to become the first paraplegic to climb El Capitan and Half Dome in Yosemite National Park. And inspire thousands like him along the way.

I have a friend who can only move her head (and one hand on a good day). And I’m betting she wouldn’t trade getting to see her granddaughter’s face light up or watching her take her first steps. It’s different. I know it’s different. My friend can live at home and get around out in the world. I don’t know what it’s like to face a future as bleak as Bowers’. Everyone must decide for themselves what in life, if anything, is worth living for.

I guess I’m saying I wish he could have had more time. Slept on it a night or two. Of course he immediately wanted to die. It’s just a shame we couldn’t have asked him later.

8

Holy Holidays!

1320885969y6i5ExThose of you that have been reading for awhile will recognize this as the cheap and easy ploy that it is – the holiday rerun. That’s right, I said holiday. It’s never too early. Retail stores tell us it’s that time. Kmart began advertising their Christmas layaway plan well before Halloween. This year, I will be prepared.

Original Post:

 I’m not prepared. Either mentally or physically. I have no money, no time, and very little good cheer. Not that I’m a Grinch. I’m not. I’m as pleasant as usual. But it seems this time of year requires extra pleasantness when all I really want to do is be left alone to don my sweatpants and eat a big plate of Christmas cookies. Baked by somebody else, of course.

I attempted to commiserate with a friend a while ago. I should have known by the carol music playing in her car well before Thanksgiving that I was barking up the wrong Christmas tree. Turns out she’s Martha Stewart’s fourth cousin twice removed. She’s had her shopping done since October.

If you’re also kin to Martha, then by all means, bake, shop and decorate away! The season is what it is because of you and your 10-foot trees and chocolate rum balls. If, however, you’re more like me — here are a few of my survival tips:

One for all. This year, almost everyone in my family is getting the same thing. It isn’t unthoughtful if you put a lot of care into picking that one item. You’re really just taking a great idea and duplicating it. I have a standard wedding present that gets rave reviews — delivered champagne and chocolates. A friend has a favorite bereavement gift that includes a comforting, soft blanket and beautiful engraved wind chimes. Giving in mass works for friends and co-workers too. A variety of teas, cocoa and a candy cane with a nice bar of chocolate in 20 mini-stockings and you’re good to go.

Bag it. Do yourself a favor. Use gift bags instead of wrapping paper. Avoid the hassle of needing the scissors, tape and bows. Or better still, opt for gift wrapping if it’s free.

Just say no. Don’t feel obligated to do everything. There’s a reason more people get sick this time of year and it usually involves burning the Menorah at both ends. I’m not suggesting you skip the office Christmas party and all of the good gossip that entails, but you don’t have to R.S.V.P. yes to every invite in the mail. Speaking of mail, one thing I’m forgoing this year is holiday cards. Skip the stress of that terrible moment when you open a card from the neighbor you left off your list. And I’ve never been the family newsletter type. I find that when you write a blog, people you’ve never met know your life story anyway.

‘Tis better to give … Instead of buying one more anything for the person who has everything, why not experience the joy of giving to someone who really needs it? Let the people on your list know that this year you will be doing something charitable with your holiday budget. Who can gripe about that? I found so many organizations online and ways to give, it’s hard to pick just one. Help nationally through the Salvation Army, Toys for Tots or Make a Wish Foundation. Or research programs in your area. Provide presents for a low-income family, shop for children with a parent in prison or give to the victims of domestic violence. How about helping make the holidays brighter for the family of a fallen military soldier? Pick what tugs at your heartstrings the most.

“Get it yourself!” Let them buy what they really want. Gift cards are quick to purchase, easy to redeem, and can be slipped in a stocking. Plus, you avoid the risk of buying the wrong thing in the wrong size.

If you’re still feeling overwhelmed, there’s always egg nog. Sane animals usually hibernate this time of year. So, take a tip from nature: unplug the phone, stay in your pajamas, and don’t come out till it’s 2012. It’ll all be over soon.

1

These Days

As much as it pains me to start a post with “kids these days,” I have to. The holiday demands it. So here goes. Kids these days have no idea how great Halloween used to be. Today is a safe, watered down version. Like paying to see an R-rated movie and finding out it’s PG-13. Or worse yet, that it’s been edited with lame words like ‘gosh-darn’ and ‘fudge.’

We used to have Halloweens like those scenes in E.T., with hordes of kids packing the streets. We’d think nothing of sitting down at some stranger’s kitchen table to close our eyes and stick our hands into a big bowl of brains and eyeballs (cold spaghetti and meatballs). Back then, Halloween meant walking door to door, not riding in the backseat of Dad’s car, or trick-or-treating at Publix.  And we never trick-or-treated with our parents. (Unless we wanted to be ridiculed by the entire student body at school the next day.) And when I say “we,” I mean myself and most of you, as I assume I have very few readers under the age of 20.

I remember taking my full-to-the-brim pillowcase home to Mom, dumping it on the living room floor, and heading back out again. I asked a friend’s daughter how well she did and she said she got “tons” of candy. That meant a third of one pillowcase. Nowadays, there’s lots of candy in the house in the days after Halloween, not because it was received, but because it was never given away. We had about a dozen trick-or-treaters in my neighborhood, more if you count all the parents.

In fact, now that I think about it, Halloween hasn’t been all that great since my childhood. I guess there were some fun costume parties in my twenties and thirties, but for the most part, the 70s were my heyday. And I guess that’s as it should be. Halloween is for kids. And not having any kids of my own … I suppose Frankie is the closest thing I have and he’s liable to bark at strangers, and can’t eat the chocolate anyway.

But now that I moved to Mom’s, the holiday’s looking up. For those of you that don’t know her, my mom’s really just a big kid at heart. She was so excited, we were outside by 4 o’clock. She had bought us ridiculous styrofoam wigs. I was willing. It was a super easy costume. Frankie had a jockey on his back, so I guess that made him a horse. He didn’t seem to notice his rider, so I guess he didn’t mind much either. We invited over a few of my friends, mostly hers.jo

As we passed out candy to a small number of trick-or-treaters, I was reminded of an important lesson. In a world that changes constantly, we have to live in the present to really get enjoyment from it all. It’s hard not to compare the present to Halloweens past, but by constantly lamenting, you’re liable to miss it. Everything changes. And everything can do so in a millisecond. Kids grow up fast. I don’t like to think about it and he’s still a young pup, but there are only a limited number of costumes in Frankie’s future. I heard somewhere that in hindsight, we were always happiest right before everything changed. Today is tomorrow’s fond memory. Don’t miss your happy.1381223_10201004166806705_2120968943_n

5

Mad as Hell

angry

I’m not ready to make nice         I’m not ready to back down               I’m still mad as hell and         I don’t have time to go round and round and round

~The Dixie Chicks

                                                   Something’s been eating at me for quite a while now. Well a couple things, really. I’m not one for confrontation. I figured the anger I felt would just, well …  go away. It hasn’t. Apparently, unexpressed anger doesn’t work that way.

It came up again, as it always does, literally around the house. It comes up when I’m sitting sideways at my inaccessible kitchen sink. Or when I fall off the too-narrow walkway in my power chair. Or when I have to call someone to fix the dishwasher that was improperly installed.

Let’s just say, I have a few unresolved issues with the contractor who did our renovation. Don’t get me wrong, I have a beautiful place. In the end, and for the most part, I’m happy. I’m sure it could’ve been worse. You hear nightmare stories all the time about contractors leaving unfinished work, never to be seen again. Ours wasn’t as bad as all that. If I were to call him right now, he might even pick up the phone. Maybe.

When the latest of these issues came up, I was sitting with my mom and issued forth my standard response. I called the contractor a few choice names. Mom, who used to join me in this game of profanity, simply shrugged and told me I needed to get over it. Get over it? She used to be just as mad as me! And now here she was, the picture of Zen, telling me to move on. But apparently, she had done just that.

I decided there might be something to this whole idea of getting over it when I realized I was still nursing a wound from over seven years ago. Some cowardly man-child I had dated broke up with me in an email, you see, and I still wished him ill will. Talk about get over it! I mean enough is enough! He doesn’t know I’m still mad. And if he did, it would probably only make him feel like a super stud! Luckily, chances are slim to none he’d actually stumble across this blog. So really, the only person I hurt by holding on to my bottled up anger is me. Seven years. I might be dangerously close to becoming bitter.

If you also have one or two things you’re holding on to, here are some ways to start letting go of your resentments and learn how to forgive and forget:

  • Write about it. If you watched it this past week, you already know I was inspired by The Voice, my latest guilty pleasure. Songwriters (like The Dixie Chicks) and writers have an advantage here. I feel better already, having called my ex a cowardly man-child on the Internet (maybe Mark Zuckerberg was on to something). Just kidding, of course. While I can’t condone public name calling, here are some things that might help. Keep a journal. Write a letter and throw it away. Take a piece of paper and write the person’s name at the top. Then write down every single injustice, real or perceived, and what impact it had on you. End each one with “but I choose to forgive you and move forward.” Tear your paper into tiny pieces and burn or release them.
  • Visualize or meditate. Reflect on the person, sending then kind and loving thoughts or prayers. Think about a postive attribute of their personality. Everyone has at least one. Develop your compassion. I’ve found it helps to picture them as they once were, an innocent child. Before life got in the way, gave them issues, and hardened them, as it does us all. It’s a lot harder to keep feeling anger towards a child.  
  • Reflect on examples of patience. We all know someone like this. Maybe you have a friend that doesn’t gossip and never has an unkind word to say about anyone. The kind of person you would feel guilty and petty ranting to. Calling that person to mind helps you evoke a sense of patience.
  • Give a gift. I like this one. Maybe because I really like giving gifts. I can’t see mailing my ex a gift after seven years, but maybe I could send it anonymously. I think the point is the whole process. When you give the other person a gift — especially something you value — then you break the dynamic of your resentment. You shake things up within yourself. You have to think of the other person as a human being with needs. You have to think about what they might like. And if there’s mutual resentment, then you may shock the other person into seeing you differently.

It’s not easy. This is all still a work in progress for me. But it’s a start. Good luck!

4

The Sweetest Things

dahlia1I don’t want to be one of those people that start something and never finish it. I do make a lot of the same New Year’s resolutions year after year, but I usually end up doing whatever it is I’ve resolved to do — eventually.

Of course, I don’t want the “soul space” I’m creating (and blogged about last week) to take that long. So I’m writing about my progress to keep myself accountable. And it’s interesting to find that when you take small steps towards the thing you want, your goal often meets you halfway. Opportunities come about and doors open up, as if the universe is in complete cooperation with you.

Last week, a friend just happened to have a book she loaned me that tells you exactly how to construct a raised flower bed. And what flowers grow where. Next, someone helped me set up wireless speakers, so I can hear music all over the house. Then, I got an invitation to a party that introduced a friend’s new business, which just happens to be all about making your space smell great. The line of all natural, soy-based wax “sprinkles” are perfect for me, because they melt in an electric simmer pot (for those of you worried about me burning the house down.) I chose the scents of Coffee Buzz, Ooey Gooey Caramel, and Spiced Vanilla. But there are also scents like Warm Apple Pie and Fresh Raspberry. Sweet. Or I should say, yum.

So, progress is being made. My writing coach said something fitting last week that struck me as profound. She said, “What you want, wants you.” It’s wonderful to start operating under this priniciple. I believe we all have a creative side that yearns to do something. Even if it’s been buried or you’re not currently doing it. You don’t have to be an artist in the obvious way. I think even the most repressed accountants have dreams of learning to play the guitar. (Sorry, accountants. Maybe your dream has always been to work with numbers, but I kind of doubt it.) So join me as I dig in the dirt surrounded by my favorite coffeehouse scents. What have you always wanted? Take a step toward it. It may meet you halfway.

Surrounded by the sweetest things: good friends and good scents
Surrounded by the sweetest things: good friends and good scents

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Soul Space

th2I’m on a new kick. Well, it’s not a new idea. It’s something I used to do and forgot about. And it’s worth remembering.

I used to surround myself with fresh cut flowers, relaxing music and good scents. I prided myself on my apartment always smelling like Pier 1 Imports. You know that smell. I think it’s the eucalyptus. And the candles.

But somewhere along the way I stopped. I know when and why. It was the brain hemorrhage. When you’re focused on trying to re-learn walking, speaking and eating, home decor tends to take a back seat. And then learning to live independently, I let certain things go, assuming I couldn’t handle them given my new disability.

Well, I’ve decided that’s ridiculous. There are ways around everything. Adaptive sports have taught me that. And why shouldn’t I be enveloped in a space that feeds my spirit, my creativity?

It all started with a “vision board” we made on my writing retreat in the mountains. My fellow writers and I cut and pasted from magazines those pictures that spoke to us. It was an exercise in manifesting the kinds of lives we wanted for ourselves. Some people had beautiful photographs of the exotic places they wanted to visit. One person found images of ballerinas and remembered a long forgotten dream of being a dancer. I found myself ripping out pictures of flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.

Then a few weeks ago, my writing coach read to us from a book she’s been reading called Soul Space by Xorin Balbes. The author believes in creating your space both to refect who you are and to transform yourself. To create the kind of environment where you can flourish, not just exist.

The final nudge I needed came from watching Dr. Oz the other day. He was extolling the virtues of flooding the senses with calming sights and sounds rather than chaotic ones. In his experiment, volunteers watched videos with emergency lights and sirens, crying babies and breaking glass, and then more calming videos with scenes of yoga and sounds of peaceful music. Not too surprising, the more relaxing input lowered the blood pressure and pulse rates of all three participants. The good doctor then prescribed meditating every day for just ten minutes.

th4I was sold. I don’t mean on meditating (though I am, it will probably be a separate post). But I set about making my home like it used to be — bringing in fresh flowers and burning incense. My mom began buying me battery operated candles years ago. I guess the glow’s all right, but it’s not the same. I’m going to buy some real candles. I know she doesn’t want to read this, but since moving in with her I worry less about burning the house down. (I figured with two of us there, the chance is cut in half, when really, it’s probably doubled.)

So, when I went to Publix this week I bought a bouquet of mixed flowers. To my dismay, I learned their sunflowers are $4 a piece! And I was further dissappointed by my mother’s flower arranging skills. (But really, fellow perfectionists, can anyone do as good a job as us? If you want something done right …) I plan on searching for a pair of clippers that I can easily operate. I think I can do the arranging as long as someone else fills the vase up with water. And Dr. Oz would be happy to know that flower arranging is considered an art form with meditative qualities.

And look what a friend found for me!

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How’s that for solving the expense problem? I’ll grow my own flowers to cut! I told you I was on a kick. Apparently, now that the book is done, I have creative energy to spare. What are you doing with yours?

6

Lessons from a Classic

gwtwI may be from Miami, that modern, forward-thinking city stuck in the South, but I must be a Southerner. Every year while growing up, my mom and I watched Gone With the Wind. The 1939 Best Picture may be a classic, but I bet not many New Yorkers can say that. And the tradition continues. We watched it again last night with friends. It never gets old. Here are just a few morsels that can be applied to life today:

I can’t think about that now, I’ll think about that tomorrow.                                        (A procastinator’s gold. Always sound advice.)

gwtw5What a gentleman says and what he thinks are two different things.

(I don’t mean to sound bitter here, but …)

gwtw7Do not squander time.

That is the stuff life is made of.

 
Most of the miseries of the world were caused by wars. And when the wars were over no one ever knew what they were about.
(It bears repeating. And repeating …)
With enough courage, you can do without a reputation.

gwtw1

You should be kissed, and often, by someone who knows how. (Damn.)

The happiest days are when babies come.

There must be a great deal of good in a man who could love a child so much.

(And my favorite.) After all, tomorrow is another day.gwtw2

3

To the Woods

woods 2 “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

~Henry David Thoreau, Walden

CAM00128My writing group spent this past week in a cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains of Georgia. I think we all went for the same reason as Mr. Thoreau. We, too, wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. Most of these women have families — spouses, children or grandchildren. But though we are a quilt of many different patchworks, a common thread unites us. Writing.

This might be my favorite group to travel with. Everyone knows what it’s like to travel with family or friends and find it difficult. Someone wants to see every sight right down to a museum exhibit on the history of local postage stamps. Other people don’t want to see anything but the backs of their eyelids. Some are early risers. photoSome like to stay in the hot tub till 2 a.m., drinking and talking. (I’m both, obviously.) The thing about this group is — for me, it’s like traveling alone, only better. How freeing to be with a bunch of women where there is no pressure or squabbling. To do exactly what you want to do, when you want to do it.

CAM00157At any given moment someone might be reading, someone else making dinner. Another two might be lost on a hike (literally) while someone else works quietly, watching the mist settle over the mountains. This was a writing retreat, so there was plenty of that, along with lots of appreciation for the beauty of words. What was more unexpected was the depth of comraderie and fact that I could be so relaxed and comfortable away from the comforts of home and my accessibility aids (i.e., special pole, shower bench, etc.) The cabin was advertised as accessible, but that was pretty much a joke. It took three people to help me negotiate the steep ramp, and two more to get me in and out of the shower or hot tub.

CAM00148But that’s the way this group is. Everyone supports and helps everyone else. I never once felt like I was putting anyone out. A rarity, since traveling with me comes with some unique challenges. There’s something wonderful about spending time with a group of people unlinked by family bonds or shared alma mater. People that come together, instead, over a common interest. Something important to us all.

I guess what I’m trying to say is — I found my peeps. May you find yours.cabin1

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