Is it Fear or is it Excitement?

September 30, 2020 By Scott "Q" Marcus

As if we need yet another way to divide us, I’m going to do it anyway.

There are two types of people in the world: Those who enjoy roller coasters, and those who would rather have sharp object pierce their eyeballs. The difference between is how each rider labels what is happening in their body as they are being hurled over the amusement park’s grounds at 80 miles per hour. As each exits the ride onto the platform, those who enjoyed the experience are screaming in glee, “My God! That was amazing!” Conversely, the others too are yelling: “My God! That was terrifying!”

Upon giving thought to the reactions, the reality is they both experienced the same events, possibly even sitting next to each other. Each viewed the same sights; felt the wind racing across their skin; faced (literally) the identical ups and downs at the same precise periods. Their bodies felt equivalent forces acting on them; heart rates elevated; breathing increased and shallow; g-forces pushing on them without a difference.

The only variance was whether they labeled those sensations as “fear” or as “excitement”

In that word, lies all the difference.

Excitement is anticipatory; propelling us forward with a sense of awe and an expectation of positive results forthcoming; our senses are heightened. Excitement triggers creativity, sparking us to ask of ourselves, “What if…?” From such analysis, inspired energy explodes outward, saturating our views with the prospect of what might be. Excitement spreads outward, embraces the next; moving us eagerly, joyfully, expectantly, and fully aware into new experiences.

Fear, on the other hand, is protective; alerting us to – in reality, or perception –pending danger. Of course, that triggers the fight or – most likely – flight response. Physically and emotionally, we shrink, hunkering down, seeking shelter with a laser focus, ignoring all that surrounds us. We desperately hunt for avenues to extricate ourselves from what we perceive as a threat, our one and only objective — overpowering all else — is “make it stop.” Nothing else matters.

Neither emotion is good nor bad; they simply are.

Without the cautionary voice of fear, we would not survive. Without excitement, we do not thrive nor love nor grow; we merely exist.

You might be saying, “That’s all well and good, but I don’t care what you call it, there’s no way I’m getting into a rickety, coffin-shaped mechanism and allowing myself to be hurled at excessive speeds up and down a skinny metal track while secured only by a bar and a belt. Call it what you wish, that’s just nuts.”

Yet the implications of understanding the difference between these two twin-sibling emotions can make all the difference in the path of our lives. As I’ve said oft-times, “What we say to ourselves determines what we do to ourselves.” To that end, let’s move it into the real world of 2020.

I’ll own up to being frightened; there is much to be fearful about. I don’t want to get COVID; it strikes terror in me. I am filled with consternation about financial collapse and not being able to survive well and easily into my later years. I am deeply dismayed at the level of discourse and violence shattering our country. I shudder at the affront shown to vulnerable populations. I am anxious about our planet; I know Earth will survive – but will we? I am upset about the world in which future generations will be raised. There is much to be worried about.

I am scared. I admit it. I own it. And when I so focus, I, by default, contract, hopeless, stagnant, hunkered down, immobile; a passenger in my own life.

Yet, I also know that from pain births greatness.

I don’t understand why they have to be related but I accept that they are. While admittedly timorous, the prospect of cooperative peoples overcoming climate change, injustice, and financial inequity fills me with hope. I can imagine a world where we live in balance with our environment, where disagreement is resolved civilly and respectfully, and those elected ‑— via free and fair contests — seek only the betterment of all concerned. That prospect is exciting.

Of course, I don’t know how it will turn out. Both are formless futures. Yet, together they reside in possibility at the same time, neither path locked in. Should I paint tomorrow with the hues of “excitement,” I will move forward toward that vision. Should I brand it as “fear,” I shall remain stagnant, allowing that vision to manifest.

One day, we’ll exit this ride, one way or another. When we place our feet firmly or shakily onto the platform, what will be the conclusion of the statement: “My God, that was…”?

The choice is ours.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and founder of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, where he can be contacted for coaching, consulting, and presentations. During this social distancing period, he is conducting monthly on-line workshops on setting goals and getting past what holds you back. You can find out more at www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com/intentions

Hanging Around Getting Fit

September 23, 2020 By Scott "Q" Marcus

There is confusion as to why the current pandemic’s virus is named “COVID-19.”

The CDC, on its website, explains, “In COVID-19, ‘CO’ stands for ‘corona,’ ‘VI’ for ‘virus,’ and ‘D’ for the disease.” “Nineteen” refers to the year the virus was discovered.

Not wishing to disagree with such an esteemed, well-respected, scientific organization but, in the same manner that the “Freshman 15” refers to the 15 pounds many first-time college students gain in their first year, the 19 in COVID-19 is, in reality, a reference to how much weight most of us gain while stuck in our abodes, gulping junk food, watching Netflix, and hoping to survive until 2021. After all, let’s be honest, if the apocalypse is nigh, does it really matter how many Twinkies I consume?

So, while commemorating “south of the border night” on my couch (a celebration in which I engage several nights a week), consisting of an extra-large helping of nachos and a Margarita (or two), I had to unbuckle my belt and was therefore painfully confronted with the fact that I was becoming a tad “thick around the middle.”

“Nah, not me,” thought I. After all, everyone knows that calories consumed to medicate feelings of sadness or anxiety don’t add pounds. Clearly, my belt shrunk. Hefting myself from the sofa like a nine-month pregnant woman struggling to rise, I waddled to the scale, only to be alarmed at the number flashing before me.

“NO! Can’t be,” said I, putting down the bean dip and wiping the melted cheese from my face, “Time for a new scale.”

“Honey,” I called out, seeking confirmation that I remained as svelte as a 27-year-old fitness trainer, “Am I putting on weight?”

<crickets>

“Honey? Did you hear me?” I bellowed again from the bathroom scale while contorting myself into various poses on the platform to lower the number. (None worked.)

From the kitchen, the garbage disposal activates, blasting forth an earsplitting racket; my wife shouting over the din, “Sorry dear, I can’t hear you. Talk to me later.”

Point taken.

Faced with an indisputable truth, I – being the motivator that I am – decided to immediately commence a plan to flatten my stomach. Eating fewer chips would be a good start, but I wasn’t quite “there” yet. Instead, opting to strengthen my arms and make flat my belly by pulling out timeworn exercise equipment stored in the back of the closet since the Carter administration. I lugged the “ab flattener” sit-up machine into the guest room, blew off the dust (coughed repeatedly), and located it in the center of the floor. Next, pushing aside old moth-ridden blankets, and beyond the tchotchkes in boxes, I yanked loose my ancient pull-up bar, secured it to the door jamb, and gave it a yank or two to ensure it could support my now-heftier bulk.

“Okay,” said I to myself, picturing six-pack abs within the week. “What is my strategy?”

[Read more…]

Message of Encouragement

September 16, 2020 By Scott "Q" Marcus

These are troubling times, to say the least.

We are confronting the most widespread, extensive, global health emergency in at least 100 years. Our economy is staggering like a boxer battered into delirium. Opinions have become “facts.” Social unrest is boiling. Political “discourse” (such as it is), centered around the removal or retention of arguably the most controversial, divisive, polarizing administration anyone can remember; has devolved to that of a couple of three-year-olds shouting “You’re a poo-poo head!” “No, your face is!” It feels like we’re together, untethered in a 1950s rusty, claptrap old school bus; sans seatbelts, careening down a potholed mountain roadway, out of control, hanging on for dear life while screaming in terror for someone to save us as we hurl towards a cliff on November 3. We’re hoping we don’t go over the edge; assuming all will eventually be okay. Yet, that grating, inner voice refuses to shut up, saying, “Don’t get your hopes up” continues to grow louder. I just want it all to stop.

But wait, there’s more!

Ghia, Mother Earth, is facing an existential crisis, resulting in unending firestorms, relentless flooding, bone dry draughts, and – in general – exceptionally severe weather, which is devastating property and lives (including non-human) on an unprecedented global level. (For the record, I long to live in a world where the word, “unprecedented” is no longer a standard adjective.)

The vise-grip, chest-squeezing, anxiety-producing catalog of happenings has us on hairpin triggers, damaging our collective and emotional physical, and mental health. For those of us who can remember it, 1968 is a Disney fairy tale compared to the Stephen King horror story of 2020. No one – not a single person alive today – has lived through an upheaval like this ever. Not one of us.

Of course, I don’t need to tell you that. You see it. You feel it. You’re living it, just as am I.

As goes the curse, we are living in “fascinating” times. It’s challenging to hold hope high when even the sky is covered in a thick blanket of burnt smoke.

Yet, a flicker crossed my mind.