This Time I Mean It

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…

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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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What Makes One Happy?

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Sometimes, life is just plain freakin’ glorious.

Sitting next to a loved one, inhaling deeply the cool air of an autumn night while watching the sun slip soundlessly over the horizon, casting shades of red, orange, yellow in a broad fan across the sky, backlighting the clouds; can it really get better than that?

Sure, I guess it could. But if life consisted of an unending string of moments such as those, why go to Heaven? It’s all right here.

Actually, when you think about it, our lives are probably pretty good more times than they’re not.

I mean, yeah, “stuff” happens; into every life some crap must fall and all that. But, really, unless life has dealt you unending sucker punches, those moments are thankfully scattered.

To that end, I’ve stolen a line from one of my favorite talk show hosts, Thom Hartmann. When a caller gets on the line, they many times robotically ask, “How are you?” Mr. Hartmann’s reply — which I’ve now commandeered — is “I’m great, but I’ll get better.” Try it sometimes. Others find it perplexing. Oft times only hearing “I’ll get better,” they’ll react, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear things aren’t going well.” If they actually pay attention, in many instances, I’ll get a chuckle. Yet, mostly, they just don’t know how to handle it; no one says how great things are. It’s just not done.

So, why do we so often downplay the beauty and exhilaration that is this thing called “Life?”

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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.

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