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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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…]

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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Personal Confession

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Since I started writing these columns oh so long ago, I’ve had several objectives.

First, I wanted them to be of value to you; I didn’t want to vomit a bunch of words on a page assuming that merely because it’s in print, it’s worth your time. That’s delusional and ego-centric; I wish to be neither.

Next, I wanted them to inspire when needed and provide a laugh when possible.

Finally, and as important; they needed to be honest. In other words, I would be transparent, doing my best to be who I am really am so that the person you might meet on the street is the same guy you read in print. The way I look at, if shame was transformational, we’d all be soaring across the heavens. Take a look around, it doesn’t work.

Putting all that on the table, I was reticent about this piece because it’s something with which I’ve wrestled for too long, keeping it in a dark, backroom closet. Will you think less of me if I expose this to the sun? Will you wag your finger, shake your head judgmentally, tsk loudly, and say, “I’m so ashamed of you”? Odd, isn’t it, how that perceived — not necessarily actual — reactions weigh so heavily?

Finally, I decided, “Screw it. If that’s the way you’re going to be, there’s nothing I can do about it. Stick to my truth. After all, as the song says, ‘if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.’”

So, here goes.

I haven’t had anything with alcohol in it for a month.

There, I’ve said it. It’s in the world; no taking it back now. [Read more…]

Dealing with Loss

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A relative of mine died recently.

Aside from the sadness and sense of loss, death puts a mirror of our own mortality to our faces. As we age, learning to deal with the grim reaper becomes a bigger and bigger issue.

I have to admit, I don’t get – nor like – this “death thing,” so I seek denial that it could be me next.

I’m convinced he began that morning as he did so many others, yet that day ended so horribly different. Surely, there must have been a warning; a sign, giving him room to avoid the outcome. I look for understanding, a meaning, solace. I’m embarrassed to say I even blame him for not avoiding it; maybe he set himself up for it. Understand, I am trying to do something – anything – to avoid the reality that I, Scott Marcus, 62 years on planet Earth, writer, speaker, friend of many, father of two, lover of one, just might not have all the tomorrows I need either. We convince ourselves that there is always another sunrise over the horizon. Yet, as my grandmother said so many times, “Tomorrow never comes.”

When fear goes unchallenged, it becomes cement, weighing heavily on our souls; we hunch down our shoulders and grovel in whisper-like tones to the Universe. As Oliver Twist said, holding his now empty bowl of gruel, with a voice tiny and meek, “Please sir, more…” We hold out frail trembling hands and beg for more time, unsure we are deserving but wanting and needing it so desperately. I’ll be good. Please don’t take it away from me.

During however many revolutions around the Sun we have, we are essentially faced with one main choice: embrace love or cower in fright.

After all, we each begin and end this journey in the same fashion; traveling similar paths; ups, downs, lots of middles. How we view ourselves and that passage is what really makes the difference.

Yet it’s not easy to shut off the panic, and as much as I don’t like it, I guess it is okay to be frightened.

[Read more…]

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

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