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Getting Past What Holds You Back with Baby Boomer Weight Loss Expert Scott 'Q' Marcus

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Looking Back – And Looking Ahead

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The holidays were behind her; decorations stuffed in the attic until next year.

She liked gussying up the living room every December, but there was also a sense of relief once the house was restored to a less chaotic, more familiar décor.

Breathing in the return to normalcy while sitting on a weathered wood bench on the back deck, a cool breeze gently tussled her hair; causing her to pull tighter around her neck the red fleece sweatshirt; raising the zipper high to help block the chill. With both hands clamped around the mug of hot tea between her palms, she savored its radiance as it emanated from the ceramic, warming not only her hands but her soul. Try as she might, she had not been able to find a flavored tea that replaced the bold satisfaction of morning coffee, but tea didn’t impact her stomach unfavorably. “Ah, the sacrifices one makes to Geras,” she thought, amusingly surprised that she remembered the name of the Greek God of Aging.

She sighed and redirected her attentiveness to the untidy back plank fence bordered by weeds attempting to reclaim their space. “The back yard really needs attention,” she considered, but knew there were yet several more weeks of winter and nothing would get done until the gray cleared and the rain stopped.

“No need to concern myself with that now…” Her thoughts drifted and she trailed, letting them lead wherever they might stroll.

“Another new year,” she mused, holding tighter the mug, hoping to claim a bit more heat. She pondered what was in store for the coming months.

She didn’t make resolutions; they were merely repeating the unkept promises she of last year; as she tried to catch up with those from the year prior, which were actually tasks undone from the year before that. At some point, why bother? “Just do your best and keep moving forward,” was as close to a New Year’s resolution as she came.

Yet, the newness of another January was not lost on her. With the changing of the calendar, there came a freshness, a bloom of new possibility for the time ahead. A clean slate was laid out in front of her, what would she do with it?

It was getting harder to say she was still “middle aged;” after all, few folks make it to 120. Was this where she expected to be in her sixties? She contemplated that for a moment and realized she didn’t have an answer. Was it a myth that some kids knew exactly who whey wanted to be from their first day? That had never been who she was; instead following a more meandering road.

“Retirement, what a concept,” she thought.

Many of her close friends, after having spent decades in a nine-to-five, walled off behind a cubicle; were now starting to collect pensions. Some were traveling, or spending times with grandkids — or both. Others pursued long-hibernating passions they had put on hold since their twenties. A twinge of envy flittered across her emotional horizon; there would be no retirement party for her, her course would continue until she decided it was at its end. And even then, what would that look like? Would she simply wake up one morning and declare, “I’m now officially retired,” awarding herself a watch and a cake?

“Did I really choose this?” she asked herself, “Or did I just let it happen?”

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she recalled the choices that brought her to this place. What if she would have finished college instead of pursuing her craft? How about if she had married someone wealthy? Everything would have been different, she pondered, a pinch of melancholy seasoning her mood.

A song drifted across her thoughts, something about a woman who died and was sweating her interview with Saint Peter, who was going to look up in some colossal journal every decision — good or bad — that she ever did, and then decree where she will spend all eternity. “Will I have done enough to get into Heaven?” the singer wondered. Enter the chorus: “There’s nothing I can do about it now.” Might as well relax; it’s too late to change it.

“Yep, nothing I can do about it now,” she reminded herself and exhaled deeply the tension that she didn’t realize she was even carrying until that moment.

Whether planned or not, no one could argue that she was her own woman; traveling her own road; pursuing her own dreams; following her own uncharted course. She assumed there yet more twists and turns ahead; in those lie possibilities and dreams. “Who knows what’s in store? I might yet be in for some exciting times.”

Her elderly orange cat, tired of being ignored, hopped onto her lap, brushed its head against the warm mug and snuggled into her lap, purring loudly. Transferring the mug into one hand, she stroked the cat’s fur as they both stared out into the dreary, unkept lawn.

“Life is good. Thank you,” she said to no one in particular, and smiled as she sipped some tea. “Not a bad flavor at all…”

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is the CRP (Chief Recovering Perfectionist) of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com. He is available for coaching, speaking, and reminders of what really matters at 707.442.6243, scottq@scottqmarcus.com or www.facebook.com/ThisTimeIMeanIt.

A Month of Gratitude

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Almost everyone is into challenges these days.

If you own a fitness monitor, no doubt you are well aware of them: “Mary M challenges you to the workday hustle.”  Because I have such a device, I receive challenges constantly. (For the record, I don’t accept them. Please don’t invite me.)

Recently, the craze which spread across the globe was the Ice Bucket Challenge. In this seemingly masochistic event, a bucket of ice and water was dumped over a person’s head to promote awareness of ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) and encourage donations. I was never sure the relationship between them, but, what the heck, it was for a good cause.

At the risk of being judgmental (okay, I’ll own it; I am judging), some challenges are simply downright weird. As illustration, the “eat it or wear it challenge,” where participants each place one food into one of a series of numbered paper bags. A bowl with folded slips of numbered paper, each corresponding to a bag, is passed among the contributors and each takes a turn choosing a number. He or she then has to either eat a spoonful of the food in that bag, or must wear said food. Yep, you read that right. It’s weird, isn’t it?

Anyway, tips to make this more stimulating include choosing foodstuffs such as baby food, hot sauce, and horseradish. The question remains, “Why would anyone do this?” Unsure. However, it’s safe to assume a prerequisite for this challenge is possession of way too much time on one’s hands, and a worrisome lack of culinary and fashion senses.

That said, I have a challenge for you. Don’t worry, you won’t have to protect your clothing.

Step 1: Take a deep breath, relax your posture; loosen your muscles, and settle yourself down. (Go ahead; do that now; I’ll wait).

Step 2: Think of something for which you are grateful. It matters not what it is. Feel it deeply; let it flow over you like a warm shower.

Step 3: Try and feel angry, frustrated, or sad while you feel grateful.

Can’t do it, huh? I knew that. It’s impossible to feel bad when you feel thankful. It can’t be done. Period. Gratitude and anxiety cannot exist in the same sphere; only one will survive.

So, to that end, as we enter the last month of the year, I figured — ever being the helper — that I’d provide a catalogue of reasons to stimulate gratitude; 31 of them to be exact, one for each day. Feel free to add your own.

I am grateful for…

[Read more…]

What Do We Do After The Election?

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As I click-clack away on my keyboard, we are less than one week out from the most divisive, disruptive, discordant, conflict-ridden — and expensive — midterm election in our history.

In the supposed interest of improving the lives of millions of our fellow citizens (not to mention our own), certain candidates and their supporters have espoused hatred, name-calling, and “dog-whistles;” rationalizing such actions (I suppose) with the logic: “The ends justify the means.” Woefully, some campaigns, once platforms for intelligent, wise, uplifting deliberation of principles and goals, have been jam-packed with half-truths, falsehoods — lies — with no regard for the damage to remain in the wake of the vote.

If you have read this far, I know you share my sentiment that Election Day cannot come too soon; our sanity depends on an end to this madness.

Yet, the bleak reality is that — although, yes, elections do indeed have consequences and next week’s will bring with it its own — very little will change in our national sentiment come Wednesday. Do not misunderstand; I am in no way cynically advocating to stay home and skip your responsibility. Do not misconstrue my statement to be, “It won’t make a difference.” It will. Whether you agree or disagree with the direction of our country’s trajectory, you have power: the ballot. Be not dismissive of this awesome privilege. One vote – your vote – does make a difference. Additionally, this is not another in the on-going cavalcade of public service announcements and celebrity lectures preaching at the masses to “get out and vote.” You know that. Go do it. You owe it to this country you call home.

What I am attempting to point out is that the disarray that got us to this heartbreaking state of affairs will persist after the votes are counted. Those who fail to understand history are forever condemned to repeat it. Should we therefore not address the conditions which birthed this fetid swamp, we’ll be standing in it again in 2020, 2022, 2024… I don’t think I could take this another time; I wager you feel the same. We must then — together — strive to end this national psychosis which smothers our nation.

Hence it is crucial that we take a different road.

To that end, I offer some ideas, no matter on which side of the political spectrum you find yourself. [Read more…]

I am not getting older!

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Recently, a most horrifying discovery was foisted upon me: my eyebrows contain more gray in them than they do brown.

Yikes! how does that happens, being I’m not yet old?

After all, at 64 I’m just entering the second third of my life.

Apparently, others – such as my wife – have known of this solemn condition for quite some time and have kept it from me; obviously not wanting to burst my bubble by saving me from the knowledge that Father Time has been schlepping across my face for years.

“Honey,” I said while examining closely in the bathroom mirror the wiry, frizzy, randomly-aimed, string-like gray filaments that inhabit my lower forehead, “Did you notice that my eyebrows have turned gray?”

“Yes,” said she, in the same manner that one would respond to the question, “Did you notice that I have a nose on my face?”

“You’re just realizing it now?” she asked.

Sheepishly – and somewhat defensively – I responded, “Uh, yeah. I don’t pay too much attention to my eyebrows. Besides,” I added, seeking a rationale, “I wear glasses; the frames hide them.”

Trying to be empathic (but failing, I might add), she continued, “Your hair has been gray for twenty years. What makes you think you’d keep those Groucho Marx caterpillar-like things forever? You’re getting older; things change.”

She paused. “By the way, how come you’re just noticing them now?”

“My play,” I answered, as if that would clarify everything.

“Your play?” she echoed, perplexed.

“Yes, I had to wear make-up when on stage. I don’t normally do that. Staring that closely at my face, I noticed my eyebrows.”

“Oh,” she said. “Welcome to what women deal with,” and left the bathroom, leaving me alone to examine my facial terrain. Not willing to tweeze them, I did opt to trim them. Despite my years, I absolutely refuse to look like Andy Rooney used to; a bridge too far.

Okay, I get it. I’m aging – but I’m still in denial.

[Read more…]

The Only Path Forward

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My son, half my age at 32, asked me if I can remember a time when things were “this bad.”

“No,” sadly I replied. “We seem to be at a new low.”

Later that week, speaking with an octogenarian friend, I posed to her the same question. Her reply was the same as mine. “No, we seem to be at a new low.” Should I ask someone celebrating 100 years on the planet, I fear the response would not change.

We might disagree as to the definition of “bad” — or even “things” — but I am convinced we’re all in agreement: Colloquially stated, “What a freakin’ mess!”

At the risk of harshing your mellow, let’s examine a couple specifics:

  • After observed the most divisive Supreme Court nomination process in history, one might argue we are also witness to the fabric of our nation being ripped asunder. Not only have we have drawn lines in the sand, we have fortified them with cement, and constructed walls to prevent passage from anyone of differing views. More than one political observer has postulated that our country’s temperament is akin to the mid 1800s (sic), prior to — and triggering — the Civil War. There are many who offer that “this great democratic experiment” is sunsetting; our future looking like George Orwell’s classic novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Hang on, that’s not the worst news.

  • The UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, in what many consider a moderate perspective, implores “urgent and unprecedented changes” are needed NOW to prevent global warming from climbing over 1.5º Celsius (2.7º Fahrenheit) by 2030. Should we continue on the path on which we now find ourselves, expect an uptick of approximately 3º C (4.5º F) resulting in major cities flooded; island nations wiped off the face of the planet; extreme droughts and heat waves; insect infestations; and wars over water and food — um, just to name a few. Yes, the planet will carry on – but it will become close to inhospitable.

I could – as I’m sure could you – site countless more illustrations, yet once one has enumerated the end of humanity as a potential outcome, everything else seems, well, somewhat inconsequential.

Yes, things are indeed bad.

[Read more…]

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Scott "Q" Marcus 707 442 6243 scottq@scottqmarcus.com

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