This Time I Mean It

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

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Message of Encouragement

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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.

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We Will Adapt

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photo of orange skies from northcoast journal

Photo was taken from www.northcoastjournal.com. Click on the image to be taken to the story.

Today was supposed to be a sunny warm day on the beautiful north coast of California.

you know, that part of the country known for majestic redwoods; rocky coastlines; Victorian buildings, and breezy blue heavens. Yet, instead of light gusts and azure skies, the atmosphere is strangled by a thick, putrid orange-brown, which is holding back the light from getting through. House lights are on yet darkness swallows us. I have to remind myself that this is not night; it’s lack of light. Because of the gloom, I keep thinking any moment will rise the sun and the skies will clear.

Alas, not today. This is the day of the dark.

I know I’ve said it a gazillion times. I know virtually everyone else has too. But 2020 is a year for the record books. This chapter in time makes the tumult and turmoil of 1968 seem like a fairy tale compared to what we face these days.

It’s hard to remember that as the year began, the biggest points of contention were political: a couple of dozen Democratic candidates vying for the presidency; an investigation into the president; and the subsequent impeachment. We were divided. We were angry.

News of a pandemic began its spread in late winter; come March, our vocabulary included terms previously unknown: social distancing and self-isolate. We secluded ourselves. We were scared.

We did our best to adapt.

The economy and stock market collapsed. Events of every nature were canceled. Workers were laid off, companies shuttered, food lines returned; it was a flashback to the great depression a century ago. We were alarmed.

We adapted as well as we could.

Countless millions the globe over, took to the streets to proclaim black lives matter and protest the deaths at the hands of police of black men; “Karen” became a meme of privilege. We were outraged.

And again, we adapted.

If you’re old enough to read, you’re old enough to remember everything else that has happened this year; almost 200,000 dead Americans and millions of infected fellow citizens; voter suppression; super-spreader events; hurricanes and floods; accelerated climate change couple with the hottest day on record; bringing us to today’s fires. As fall approaches, we are warned of election tampering and more violence. Oh yes, come winter the pandemic will bring with it the winter flu.

“Apocalypse” has been thrown around like a water balloon on a hot summer day. One might say it’s overused. However, it feels like the end-of-days is right around the corner. These are undoubtedly unmatched times. None of us have lived through a pandemic nor experienced an economic crash of this magnitude. Only those of us that are older have been through this much social upheaval. Climate change has never been so dire. Needless to say, the combination of all is indeed “unprecedented,” another over-used but accurate word.

It’s difficult to keep the choking fear at bay. Although I’m not an angry person, I find myself mad almost all the time; wishing desperately to blame someone, something – anything – for this B-quality horror flick in which I find myself. If this was a script, it would never have been green-lit. “No one will believe this,” would have been the studio execs response.

However, we are here and we must yet again adapt.

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I Lost Another Friend This Week

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The ability to cope with loss is one of the most important life-skills we need as we age.

Bluntly put, either we die or those around us will die. If we go first, it doesn’t really much matter (at least to us). Yet that’s not the preferred option. Therefore, the longer we live, the more loved ones we will lose. If we cannot cope, we shrivel.

I don’t need to tell you that, especially in a year like this one.

Although you and I might appear to follow different trails, we’re actually traveling the same path. You’ve had losses. I’ve had losses. It’s a sad part of the universal human experience. With life, comes death; ain’t no way around it. Said new-thought singer Jana Stanfield in her song I’m not lost, I am Exploring, “All of us are headed for the same destination/ So why not blaze travel that’s got imagination.”

I’m now closer to 100 than I am to 30, and this is not as old as I plan to be.

So, I must look ahead and plan for what those future days will be like.

To do so, I – most likely as do you – look for inspiration from those with wisdom; in action, thought, or deed. My preferred role models have altered over the decades. When younger, with life stretched out in front of me, an unending highway vanishing over a far-away horizon; I sought career advice from those successfully earning their way in my field of choice, radio. Wanting a relationship, I took a seat at the feet of many successful in their pairings, querying them as to how they met, how they knew they were right for each other, and what kept them together.

In order not to live in fear at this age, I’ve now taken to looking for older role models; men who are healthy and active well into their later years. Over time, I’ve been inspired by Dick Van Dyke, Mel Brooks, George Bush Sr., and Jimmy Carter. (The difficulty I’m running into woefully is that the older I get, the fewer men I can find who are a few decades older than me.) Politics aside, these men show(ed) zest for life continuing to appear to welcome in each morning. By the way, they lead their lives, they sweep away doubt and fear for those who follow. They’re not perfect. They’re probably not fearless either. But it doesn’t matter. As Jack Nicholson said to Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets, “You make me want to be a better man.”

Last week, one of my local role models, Everett Henkle, passed on.

Right up until he passed, Everett remained active. He had to be ordered to rest. Even in his eighties, he kayaked; worked to clean up our local highways, and volunteered at every event we conducted at the Center for Spiritual Living. He was first in line to move tables, sweep floors, mow lawns, or just hang with you and talk. Energizer bunny? Meet your human counterpart.

But it’s not just about how much one can accomplish. I was drawn to his joie de vivre  — he was upbeat, aware, and engaging. (He also had great taste; he loved to read this column.) Finally, although he and his wife, Ruth, were a couple of decades older than my wife and me; seeing them together inspired us because we saw that “getting up there” didn’t mean romance must end.

I don’t want to paint a false image. Everett and I didn’t get together for coffee or go out to a movie or march in protests together. Truth be told, outside of events associated with the Center, the only other times I saw him were accidental; maybe if we bumped into each other in the store or something similar.

See, but that’s the thing. One doesn’t have to hang out with one’s role models in order to learn and be inspired. It’s their energy, the way they approach their lives, it’s their attitudes that speak to us. Being around them lifts us up.

Everett did that for me. I am more than I was and I am more hopeful because I knew him.

Possibly the saddest thing is on a Sunday morning when I’d greet him at the entrance to the Sanctuary, he’d say, “Another good column Scott.”

I hope I did you proud Everett. Thank you for being in my life.

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

 

Seeking Joy in Difficult Times

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Twenty-twenty was supposed to be “our” year.

My wife is crossing into a significant new decade age-wise (aren’t they all?). I was supposed to “retire” – in whatever definition that was. This month commemorates our twentieth anniversary; we were planning a recommitment shindig and a nice long tropical vacation. Buzzing with anticipation for all that would come this year; that was us last December.

Said John Lennon, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”

The year literally began with a bad case of the flu on January 1. That should have been an omen. On the same day, our eldest cat’s health began a steep too-rapid decline, leading to what would be his passing a few months hence. Want more? We unearthed extremely distressing news about a family member; the kind of tabloid information you’d hear on one of those daytime TV dysfunction fests. Less important, but still adding to the pressure, our washing literally burned up and our sink’s faucet could have been replaced with a fountain. I’m sure you’ve got stories too.

We tried focusing on the positive. Knowing Tiger’s passing was imminent, we promised that after it happened, we’d grieve, lick our wounds for a short while, and then get away for a few days just the two of us; something we haven’t been able to do in too long. Afterward, we’d put together plans for our “Celebrate 2020” vacation. Panama Canal cruise? Trip to Europe? Two weeks in Hawaii? The choices were endless – and invigorating.

Yeah, not so much.

I am so disappointed about how this year has evolved.

I know. It’s not just me; it’s you too. It’s the elderly couple across the street self-isolating. It’s the maid at the Best Western who was let go due to a lack of guests. Grocery clerks insufficiently protected by panels of acrylic are feeling it. Health care providers are suffering PTSD. Mom and pop restauranteurs feel immeasurable guilt about laying off employees; simply hoping to survive. Teachers want to return to classrooms, but not at the risk of dying. Spiritual communities and self-help groups are shuttered.

It’s a cluster.

EVERYONE is disappointed; it’s the global zeitgeist.

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If I Could: A Prayer for Healing

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If I could, I’d wash away the sadness.

I would wrap you in my arms and hold you against me, pressed against my chest. I would protect you from everything that makes you unhappy and reduces your spirit. Gently, I’d wipe away the tears and hold gently your head between my hands, looking you deep in the eyes, reminding you without words that I am with you no matter what comes. We’d embrace again, a little too long; yet as we pulled apart, we’d eke out delicate smiles as we went our separate ways for the day, confident in the awareness that we’d be together safely again come evening.

If it was up to me, I’d banish the fear.

Standing bullishly, steel-tower upright and strong; arms crossed over my chest, facing into the bleak; I’d defend you as you stood behind me. Nothing would pass to bring you agony. No harm could penetrate. An invisible shield lovingly guarding you from all that might bring to you hurt, or cause you to cower fearfully in the dark places. The soft, bright, warm glow of inner strength would flood over you until you again could stand tall beside me. At that point, arm-in-arm, the two of us would face the day, supported by each other, looking forward to the future once again.

If it was in my power, I’d eliminate the worries.

I would keep us in the present, realizing all that happened has gone and what is yet to come is powerless until it appears. We would rejoice in the Now, infused with the awareness that, in this moment, at this point in time, despite the maelstrom that swirls around us near and far, we are safe and secure and together. Remembering that this moment is all we have; for the past cannot be changed and the future is still a formless shadow. Anxiety would subside. We’d breathe deeply again, filling our lungs with peaceful calm, and savor the perfect moment of the here and now.

If there was a way to accomplish it, I’d heal away the illness.

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Scott "Q" Marcus 707 834.4090 scottq@thistimeimeanit.com

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