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

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Powerless

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November, as we know, is the eleventh month of the year.

It doesn’t take a Fulbright Scholar to know that. Its name (derived from Latin “Novem” meaning “nine”) carried over from the Calendar of Romulus (c 750 BC) when it was indeed the ninth of the ten months in that calendar. (As a side note, January and February were added to the calendar about 300 years later, giving us our present twelve-month calendar.)

A few factoids about the now-eleventh month of the year:

  • World Kindness Day is celebrated annually on the 13th. On this day, participants attempt to make the world a better place by celebrating and promoting good deeds and pledging acts of kindness, either as individuals or as organizations.
  • November also is the home to several “awareness campaigns” including Lung Cancer Awareness Month, Transgender Awareness Month, Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month, Military Family Month, National Adoption Month, COP Awareness Month – and many more.
  • If you’re tired of seriousness, Blasé Day (really) is celebrated annually on the 25th of the month. On this day we have permission to be blasé’ toward just about anything. To celebrate, it is suggested we yawn, feel “meh” and tune out; posting our actions on social media – but only if we feel like it.

Of course, most of us associate this month with Thanksgiving and gratitude — which I’ll admit has been difficult to feel when, for the last few weeks, our power has been cycling on and off like a strobe light at a rave.

If you don’t live in California, and are therefore not aware of this phenomenon, PG&E, the energy supplier for large swaths of the state, has been “de-energizing” vast portions of their electricity delivery-system as an attempt to minimize fire danger caused by the hot, dry weather and strong winds besieging the (not-so) golden state via what are known as “public safety power shutoffs” or “PSPSs”. The logic is if there isn’t electricity flowing through the power lines, should one be toppled by the gale force winds in a tinder-box parched region, it cannot start a fire. However, if one has listened to the news of late, one knows that California is ablaze from one end to the other. That’s not necessarily the fault of PG&E, but obviously, something more needs to be done.

Whose fault is whose is of little consolation to my inner child when he’s sitting in a light-less household sans heat, worried about food going bad in a lifeless refrigerator and anxious about how to make a living when he doesn’t have electricity.

“Someone needs to do something!” I yell with righteous indignation at no one in particular. “This is horribly unfair! How are we supposed to live like this?”

Granted the anger and frustration are legitimate. After all, this is 2019, not 1819.

[Read more…]

In Celebration of Old

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There’s an app making the rounds that analyzes selfies and projects how you will appear when you’re “old.”

It’s apparently all the thing because my social media feed is unexpectedly cluttered with images of millennials sporting crow’s feet, gray hair, and age spots. (My son sent an image of him at what I assume is my age. For some unexplained reason, he looked more like Richard Dreyfus than me. Maybe something I need to know?)

I would like to believe that this sudden fascination with aging is a positive sign that we’re embracing the inevitable, and finally celebrating the wisdom, history, and knowledge in our seniors. After all, we’ve been obsessed with youth and beauty since Adam insecurely asked Eve if his hairline was receding. Yet, I don’t think that’s the case; sadly, it’s more likely another passing fad such as ice bucket challenges, latex wristbands, or man buns.

Yet, this serves as an excellent jump-off point to remember that — especially in an aging society — there’s are larger issues at hand:

How do we prepare for our inevitable outcomes? Is there a way to change our collective view of the aging process into one of acceptance and wonder of the life cycle and — dare I say it — welcome embrace of the gift of being old? Can we remember that “beauty” is not age-specific and does not evaporate as the calendar moves onward? Can we acknowledge that that not all beautiful bodies wear bikinis and sport six-pack abs?

Recently I staggered across a video from a female internet influencer replying to a “troll” who scolded her for appearing “old” because she was unwilling to dye her hair. Apparently, this miscreant said the influencer should “take better care of herself.” Came the reply: “First of all — it’s no one’s business but mine whether I choose to color my hair.” (Bravo!) She then went on to reveal that she suffered from an incurable disease and would not make it past her sixties; she would never have the opportunity to become “old.” Summing it up, she reminded us, “Old age is a gift many of us will not receive.”

No one likes the idea of dying.

Focusing on that inevitable outcome is terrifying; we need a hard-wearing shield of denial simply to make it through the day. Yet, to that end, desperately attempting to avoid the truth, we also overlook the richness of aging, wasting our today’s lamenting yesterdays we’ll never recover, while worrying about tomorrows we all know we’ll have.

With the passing of years come gifts, unavailable to those with smooth skin and full heads of hair:

[Read more…]

Kiss You Every Night

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The weather was made to order; as if purchased from a postcard factory specializing in perfect-day clip art.

An unbroken clear blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon, white downy cotton clouds drifted lazily without hurry across the overhead vista, draping fleeting patches of cool shade upon the celebration and its attendees who came together to send off the newly married couple into their lives together.

As they stood face-to-face beneath the canopy, holding hands, the minister raised her head from the couple and looked toward the crowd;

“The couple has written their own vows which they’d like to share.”

He could hardly hear what she said; the sound of his heart pounding too loudly in his ears. When she finished, he, with shaking hands, pulled a thrice-folded sheet of paper from inside his charcoal-grey tuxedo pocket. Looking deep into the brown eyes of his beloved, desperately attempting to prevent his voice from cracking, he croaked out his pledge.

“Today, in front of friends, family, and God, I am marrying my soul mate. I know not what lies in our tomorrows. Yet, no matter that, I promise to you that I will love you deeply and without reservation in every manner in which I know. I shall love you for the remainder of my days and beyond. In all that time, I commit to honor you for the person you are and not try to change you, as there is no reason to do so. you are already of my spirit, interwoven through my essence, closer to me than my breath. I ask nothing of you in return except to be with me. And I promise as each day fades into yesterday, before I sleep, that I will gently kiss you good night and thank the Universe for your presence. When we agree, I shall kiss you with gladness. Should we differ, I shall do the same. In sickness, my kiss will heal. In good times, it shall celebrate. I will – through joy and sorrow, illness and health, poverty and riches – forever remain by your side, ending and beginning each day with you and with a kiss.”

A beam of sunlight reflected from the gold ring as he placed it on her finger.

Faintly, he heard applause and cheering, noting the soap bubbles as they floated to the heavens over the two of them as they walked back up the aisle, drifting in their thoughts as the clouds and bubbles above.

Together they knitted their story through the fabric of time.

[Read more…]

Thank you for the money tree.

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Editors note: This column is a follow up to a previous column, that is worth reading first.

I’ve thought regularly that if the low-life individuals relentlessly attempting to scam us out of our hard-earned income took a few moments and focused on how they might improve society, not only would the world be a better place, but they would perhaps be wealthier.

After all, an individual in a dark boiler room, chained to a desk, deceiving people on the phone can’t be a) very happy, nor b) very wealthy. What a miserable life!

Yet, that’s as much sympathy as I can muster for the scumbags who besiege us with a non-stop waterfall of scam phone calls intent on swindling us into purchasing credit card protection, extended auto insurance, or — now that I’m a certain age — Medicare options.  It’s become so prevalent that I don’t answer my phone; assuming – that if the call is legit – the caller will leave voice mail and I will return the call at my leisure.

Anyway, I doubt my experience differs much from yours. I receive – no exaggeration – between ten and 15 rip-off calls every day. So, when the phone rang, I was loath to pick up. Yes, it showed a local number with a person’s name but I’ve been Charlie Brown to that football too many times. Yet, something inside me said, “Answer it.”

I’m glad I did.

“Hello. This is Scott,” I said as I activated the speakerphone, poised to shut it off immediately upon hearing a south-Asian accent telling me that my computer is infecting the internet. Rather, I heard an elderly woman’s voice crack through the speaker.

“I read your column in the paper,” she said, “I have a gift for you.”

I stumbled, “Um, well, thank you. That’s very nice. Who is this please?”

She admitted to being private and didn’t want to disclose her full name. As much as she deserves credit for what you’re about to read, I’ll honor that, and will simply refer to her as “Ruth.” (Which was the name of my mother, who would have been the same age as is she.)

Said “Ruth”, “I’m 95 and I I’m blind so I can’t drive. Could you come by my house so I can give it to you?”

Truth be known, although I’ve written this column for almost 15 years, never before had anyone invited me to their house in order to bestow presents upon me. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“What is it you want to give me?” I asked.

“I don’t want to tell you,” and then added, almost as afterthought. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

I’ll own up to lots of irrational fears, but being bludgeoned by a sight-impaired house-bound nonagenarian who’s a fan of my writing isn’t even on the list. It put things in perspective. “Not a problem; where do you live?” [Read more…]

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…

[Read more…]

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

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