This Time I Mean It

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

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She Attended Over 100 Funerals – And Found Life

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I am delivering a eulogy of a close friend this week.

I know it’s an honor; albeit one I’d prefer not to have. Instead of standing in front of a room commemorating the accomplishments and celebrating his life, I’d rather be talking with him over lunch at the Marina. Alas, ‘tis not a choice. We take what’s given.

According to statistics, the average 40-year-old will have attended ten funerals by that age.

Of course, it increases where – if you’re so fortunate to celebrate your 90th tour around the sun, you will attend no fewer than 50. I guess that makes me “lucky” in some fashion, since I can count those I’ve attended on one hand.

Although not backed by data that I could find, I assume most people attend memorials as a tribute to the one who passed, as a means to support the family, and/or as a ritual of closure. I highly doubt – with the exception of the two primary characters in the 1971 dark comedy, Harold and Maude – anyone attends because they enjoy it.

We do what we can to avoid them; very few of us have what it takes to continually be subjected to so many painful losses.

Until not too long ago, I would have said that none of us do.

That was prior to meeting a middle-aged foster mother from the South.

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This Time, We Are All Thai

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I really was planning to put out a brand-spanking new column today.

However, as my grandmother used to say,

“Man plans, God laughs.”

At least this time, I’m laughing with optimism, not cynicism.

In case you’ve missed it, a dozen Thai boys, aged 11 to 16, and their coach, disappeared when flooding trapped them in a cave a few weeks ago. After a desperate ten-day search, in what can be described as no less than a miracle, they’ve been found, surviving in an air pocket half a mile underground and 1½ miles into the cave. All things considered, they’re healthy.

That’s the good news.

“We found them safe. But the operation isn’t over,” said the governor of the province. The divers who discovered them had to make their way through a byzantine, water-filled up-and-down passageway which is extremely narrow, making it difficult for them to even fit through it with their gear. They were repeatedly blocked by rising water that filled sections of the cave and forced them to withdraw. Nonetheless, they persevered.

The boys however are not trained for such arduous work; none of them knowing how to swim, yet alone dive. Therefore, figuring out their escape plan is problematic. It is estimated that they might have to live underground for weeks — or even months — while a strategy to extract them is developed.

We’re not out of the woods — or more accurately, cave — quite yet.

In following this story, the feeling I have, is mostly of hope. Yet, despite literally thousands of people working 24/7 to bring these young men topside, the road home is as complicated as the tunnels that must be navigated for safe return.

In October, 2010 the entire world watched as 33 Chilean trapped miners emerged to safety. Ironically (or maybe not) the “attitudinal climate” back then paralleled today’s. Therefore, I can only hope and affirm that the outcome in 2018 will also be the same. I believe that if we can picture such a result, we too will be able to cheer collectively the good news we know is waiting to happen.

Back then, our “leaders” (quotation marks necessary) were acting with a prevalence of boorish, childish, self-absorbed behaviors (sound familiar?). Political discourse then — and now —  once considered noble and eloquent, had degraded to what one would overhear between bullies in a kindergarten sandbox.

Virtually nothing positive seems to have been accomplished.

The rivalries endure, even harsher. Our planet hurts. More people suffer. Has anything changed?

When I originally wrote of the mineworkers, after having been trapped 70 days in a Chilean mine, they were being hoisted, one by one, through a narrow tube, from half mile underground, to the loving embrace of friends, family, and an enrapt world. To survive, they supported, encouraged, and counseled each other. In a place literally as close to Hell as any humans have ever existed, their better Angels held forth.

When Florencio Avalos, the first to emerge, exited the wire cage that brought him topside, the entire world was Chilean. We felt the embrace of his wife and the relief of his child. We cried tears of joy as he breathed in fresh air for the first time in over two months. We shared the bear hug with the Chilean president and our chests swelled with pride while the crowd chanted “Chi-Chi-Chi! Le-Le-Le!” With each man’s emergence from 622 meters below the Atacama Desert, we willingly experienced it — more accurately, longed for it — again and again and again.

From tragedy rose hope, like the Phoenix capsule in which the miners emerged into the Chilean sun.

They survived, in no small part, because they knew they were one; a lesson oft overlooked.

Now, again, we wait. This drama plays out half-a-world distant. Their nationality, race and ages are as dissimilar from each other as are the climates in which they live. Yet, we — each of us, all of us — yearns for the same outcome as that which took place south of the equator almost a decade past.

In our present environment, we NEED for these dozen young men to emerge, blinking in the sun, embraced by family; virtually by the entire world. Our days are so dark, we’re counting on good news.  Until that happens — and I know it will because I manage to retain my faith in the Human Spirit — we need to be reminded to be more grateful for what we have. Personally, I might not like the fog, but at least I can hold my wife’s hand and walk freely into it whenever I choose.

Today, we are all Thai.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds over 23 years ago, he works with overloaded people and organizations who are looking to improve communication, change bad habits, and reduce stress. He can be reached for consulting, workshops, or presentations at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. He will sometimes work in exchange for chocolate.

Living A Life Entirely Surrounded by Love

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Most of us don’t want to think about dying.

That news won’t garner a banner headline anywhere.

I’d go so far as to say we desperately attempt to sidestep the notion at all costs, illustrated in part by a society that’s fixated on youth and beauty, while ignoring the loveliness and wisdom ushered in by aging. A disavowal of our mortality is not necessarily a “bad thing;” it could be argued that to function on our day-to-day activities, we require a healthy dose of denial about our end. After all, if we spent too much time thinking about it, we’d never get anything done, rationalizing our dithering with, “Why bother? It’s all futile anyway.”

Yet, there’s no avoiding the Grim Reaper.

At a “certain age,” we need to pull back the curtain and face him, planning for his inescapable arrival. For whether we do or do not, he visits us all.

Recently, I attended a presentation by Dr. Michael Fratkin, director and founder of Resolution Care. In full disclosure, I actually met the good doctor years back as he and I shared the platform at a TEDx event. Back then, prior to establishing Resolution Care, he referred to himself as “a midwife for people on the way out.” Else stated, Dr. Fratkin specializes in the field of palliative care, a specific medical regimen for people with serious illnesses. Although not the same as hospice treatment, it’s my understanding that there is more than a small amount of overlap.

I’ll circle back to our meeting in a moment.

Watching Dr. Fratkin last week, it’s clear that he is the type of medical practitioner in short supply, exuding a warmth and genuineness that puts one at ease immediately; a trait important in any vocation, absolutely essential when dealing with frightened and suffering people (whom he refused to call “patients”). I was captivated by his empathy — I’d go so far as to say, “spirituality” —  an attribute one doesn’t often associate with medical doctors.

His talk, although dealing with a frightening subject, actually offered a sense of relief. After all, we’re all on the freeway but few of us know what the offramp looks like. Dr. Fratkin gave us a road map, relaying the experiences and sensations of innumerable souls he has counseled on this path.

When I first heard Dr. Fratkin speak at the TEDx event, one of my clearer memories is a story of a woman about to give birth. What made her narrative so unlike those of countless others is that she and her family knew that their baby — due to a problem in the womb — would barely survive its birth. Dr. Fratkin relayed the account of the family nonetheless decorating the delivery room with balloons, flowers, and a “Welcome” banner. The entire clan was in attendance, despite knowing its soon-to-be tragic outcome.

Raven entered the world, and — as with any newborn — was embraced with joy, hugs, celebration, and comfort. One hour later she passed.

As they say, “there was not a dry eye in the house;” one could hear sobs from several people. “How sad,” thought we, “How can one have the strength to celebrate an experience so saturated with pain, loss, and disappointment?”

Dr. Fratkin continued (paraphrased), “You’re not seeing the whole picture. Imagine this from Raven’s point-of-view. What would YOUR life be like if — from the moment you were born until the second you died — you were totally, completely, one hundred percent immersed in love? All you understood, for your entire time on this planet, was Love. You had no fear, no judgement, no regrets. You were born, existed wholly in Love, and then passed. Can you conceive what that would be like?”

I can’t – but I’d like to try.

Sadly, it’s too late to say our lives have been exclusively encircled in Love.

We’ve been taken advantage of, let down, disappointed, hurt, insulted, taunted, and frightened.

If one looks at it a certain way, one might say Raven was blessed.

There’s nothing we can do about what has transpired. In my stronger, more balanced, mentally-healthier moments, I might go so far as to say they have helped shape us well. Nope, can’t go backwards… Yet, we can affect our present and our future, and that of those we know and will yet meet.

There is no situation where mixing in more Love and caring will make it worse, no matter how little or short-lived.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds over 23 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations. He also coaches individuals and consults with companies on how to implement and handle change. He can be reached at www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com or 707.442.6243.

Perfect Moments

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It’s 11:43 PM, the red LED numerals broadcast into the dusky room from the clock on my nightstand.

Teeth brushed and clothed for sleep; I am ready to end another hectic day. While sitting on the edge of the mattress, assessing the activities of the last 18 hours, I am aware of my dog, Willie, snorting and grunting and snoring in his bed, dreaming of chasing cats across our back yard. Speaking of such, our oldest feline, Tiger, has assumed his nightly position, curled up at the foot of the mattress, bogarting far more space than is necessary. (I’m consistently amazed how an eleven-pound feline can manage to hijack half the bed, causing my wife and I to hang on to the edges so we don’t tumble off.) Both kittens, Oreo and Hobbs, sleep soundly on perches in the guest room.

A streetlight, noticeable from our bedroom window, doesn’t shine directly inside; it’s not glaring; more of a faint glow that lightly crawls — just barely — over our neighbor’s roof, allowing for a vague pale light which scarcely illuminates the contours of our room. It’s rather comforting, providing just enough illumination to allow navigation alongside the side of our bed before I slip under the blankets. Upon doing so, laying on my left side, my soulmate, my wife — who went to bed an hour before me — snuggles up behind me (careful not to disturb Tiger). She drapes her right arm over my waist, nestles her face into the back of my neck and falls back to sleep. Reaching my right hand behind me, I pat her on the leg and whisper – so as not to wake her – “I love you.”

A light breeze slides through the screen, caressing us both as we drift off into the waiting arms of Hypnos, the God of Sleep. Before I do so, I make a mental note:

THIS is a Perfect Moment.

I’m aware that it won’t last. I know that in the future, we’ll be thrust into situations unwanted and unpeaceful; yet, right now, this instant, in the present tense – EVERYTHING is as good as it can ever be.

My last conscious thought for the day: Grateful beyond words.

Several weeks ago, I wrote a piece about “being where your feet are;” staying in the present, realizing that the vast majority of time, I couldn’t really ask for more. In the day-to-day hustle-bustle, clang-bang, slammed full of appointments and concerns, I don’t think I’m the only person who forgets how fortunate I really am. My health is fundamentally fine. I have the love of a family and the friendship of countless others. Where so many are shelter or food insecure, I afford my mortgage and keep my refrigerator well stocked.

Could it all change tomorrow? Sure. But, if worry were a cloak of protection, nothing would ever harm us.

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Walking a Minefield: Tribute to Friend

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It’s been said the difference between depression and grief is that the former seduces, while the latter attacks.

Whether it’s delivered by phone, direct conversation, email, or – ever more prevalent these days – via social media; the effects remain the same. Word blasts you in the solar plexus as a surprising sucker punch. A tsunami of shock flooding away whatever thoughts had been active the instant prior, blood rushes from your head, you stagger slightly, and then the awful reality of the moment clamps itself firmly on to your psyche, a rabid dog unwilling to let go.

Shake it as you might, the jaws of grief hold tightly; the only effective tools to pry loose its pincers are acceptance of this new horrific, hurting actuality; and patience, allowing time to apply — however slowly — its healing salve.

Looking back on the twisted road that to date has been my life’s journey, one of the main thoroughfares on which I’ve traveled has been my involvement in the media.

Starting as a college DJ at UCLA, I spent decades on the air and behind the scenes, eventually ending up as a media coordinator and consultant (among other jobs). There was an expression among “air personalities” back then: “You can tell the success of a disc jockey by the size of the trailer attached to his car.” Between the years of 1977 and the early eighties, I had no fewer than nine addresses. Tribes of nomads were we, wayfaring across this vast land, U-hauls in tow, pursuing larger audiences and higher wattage, mostly in pursuit of the Holy Grail of prime time on a clear-channel 50,000-watt blowtorch.

Some found it. Most took a detour — as did I, ending up on the Northcoast of California in 1983 to program an AM/FM combo. My original plan? Stay among the redwoods for a few years before moving to the bay area, intent on afternoon drive on KFRC. Should 35 be labeled as “a few years,” there’s still time. (Of course, KFRC has been gone since 2005 so there is that.)

Over the last 24 hours, I’ve heard distressing news about two of the tent posts of my life for these last three-plus decades.

One of my closest friends has been fighting cancer. Recently, he was told there was nothing left to do, “Go home and live your life as well as you can.” I fear that a future column will pay tribute to him.

Yet, today, I awoke to find out that Pete Meyer, morning personality on Power 96 in Eureka, passed away shockingly, suddenly, without foretoken.

It’s appropriate that as I write this, gray clouds suffocate our sky line, embracing the melancholy that this community now collectively bears.

If you don’t live among the towering titan trees and rocky coasts in Humboldt county, I’ll bet you know someone like Pete.

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

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