Getting Past What Holds You Back with Baby Boomer Weight Loss Expert Scott 'Q' Marcus
Your emotions are as real as your limbs and they have vital functions.
Of the four “primary colors of emotions:”
It’s no one else’s right to change what you feel or to tell you you’re wrong. [Read more…]
I presume that is a common arrangement in many bedrooms. Upon the shelf of the nightstand are many books; this too I assume is widespread.
Some wait to be read. While at a bookstore, the concept between its covers was so striking that I plunked down money, thinking, “I will read that someday.” Alas, “someday” has yet to make its appearance. Being optimistic, I’m sure it will (probably about the same time as when “I get my act together”).
The second classification is books started but still unfinished. Maybe I lost interest, the story was not as expected, or simply “life kicked in.” I could give them away but feel like I betrayed them, (does co-dependence apply to books?) so I pledge to finish reading them in the future. Until that fateful moment, they too shall gather dust.
Finally comes the definitive category: Books completed. Residing here include authors such as Robert B. Parker, Dean Koonz, and Roger McBride Allen. Most are novels because I like to “escape.” However, there is one self-help book I have read over and over again. Although I do not buy into everything she says, You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay is infused with 210 pages of brilliantly simple wisdom (usually the best kind).
Hay’s philosophy, outlined in the foreword, includes:
You followed a passage faithfully through a lush forest, now standing at a fork in that path; one bearing leads slightly northwest, the other, tending to the southwest. Standing at this juncture, you place your hand over your eyes to block the glare of the setting sun, and strain while scanning the horizon. Ahead lays a long, grassy, seemingly endless prairie with hills on either horizon, obstructing your view from where each trails leads.
You know with certainty that in one direction lays a picturesque, emerald city, chock-full of light, music, and gladness. In that township is great joy and contentment. Should you opt however for road number two, what waits at its terminus is far less glorious, resembling the ruins of the firestorms of Dresden. There lies darkness and foreboding, sadness and frustration.
Although either direction assures you a safe arrival at your destination, the route to happiness is rocky, long, and hilly; it will require effort. Its alternative beckons with a flat, easy-to-navigate, and well-worn, shorter course.
We’d all like to say that we’d choose the first. After all, look what waits at the end of either. It’s a no-brainer.
Yet, when we analyze our histories, the reality is that too often, we opt for the alternative; the smoother, shorter, easier pathway guaranteed to lead in the end to a sense of defeat and unhappiness.
Stick with your diet for one more hour and go to bed happy and proud, or give in and eat the bag of chips now, berating yourself all day tomorrow for tonight’s poor decision. Which do you choose?
Hold your tongue until you can figure out a more productive way to bring up your frustration to your wife, or let loose with a blast of heated epithets driving a hurtful spike in your most important relationship. Which do you do?
Put $200 away into your retirement fund, knowing it will be out of reach for the next decade, or buy a new TV even though you don’t need one. “A” or “B” please?
The common, accepted portrayal of a happy, joking, and supportive family joyously celebrating around a food-laden Thanksgiving table is definitely not a universal reality.
Some families despise the ritual (and aren’t too keen on one another either); yet they meet year-after-after out a sense of guilt or tradition, jabbing each other with passive-aggressive verbal stabs. Even within families that are indeed content overall, certain members of the clan might resent, or even dislike, one another. They hold grudges over past transgressions or historic bitterness stalks silently beneath a transparent veneer of tranquility.
I point out these realities not with intent of injecting an unpleasant aftertaste to Thanksgiving dinner, nor as some sort of post-apocalyptic view of the holidays. And to be honest, I also do not know percentages of “unhappy” versus “happy” families; maybe it’s minuscule; possibly it’s everyone but you and I. Yet it is true. Moreover, to focus on “how many” bypasses the greater issue: we cannot release these strains until we acknowledge they exist. Once there, we discharge them with a type of thanks.
“Thanks,” you might ask with understandable confusion; “Why would one give thanks for an irritating collection of boorish relations with whom I’m forced to endure boring football games and overcooked turkey?”
In the traditional sense of “giving thanks,” you wouldn’t. However, when one expands the concept of thankfulness, we realize that gratitude and forgiveness are actually the same act. All that differs is the direction in which they are pointed.
One of these days, I’m going to get back on track with my diet.
Really. I’ll burst out of bed inspired, invigorated, and enthused. I’ll clear the kitchen, throw out the junk food, pull out my motivational books, and start weighing, measuring, and monitoring anything that crosses my lips. No crumb of cuisine will be too trivial to escape my scrutiny. Yep, that’s the way you lose weight you know. One of these days, boy am I going to get my eating act together! I’m just so busy right now.
Someday soon I’ve got to start exercising. I could wake up earlier, strap on some tunes, and stroll around the block. It’s just so warm in bed, and I’ve been waiting for the rain to stop; my raincoat is so old, I’d look silly walking around town in it. I’m looking forward to a patch of blue sky so I can get back out there.
Just as soon as I can get around to it, I need to start a journal. I’ve been organizing my thoughts — even thinking about jotting down a few notes. I considered using a yellow-lined pad, but I really want to keep my thoughts and feelings for years. Recording something so important on any old bland notebook would be tacky, so I’m toying with buying a deluxe, leather-bound journal — maybe even an expensive pen. When I can put away a few dollars, I’m so there.
In a little while, I think I’ll even go again to my meetings. It’s just, well, you know how it is: holidays, travel, celebrations… who can control themselves with goodies everywhere? A slip-up here, some sloppiness there — boom — eight pounds! I almost went back last week, except it’s so embarrassing to keep putting on the same pounds — so I’ll knock them off first, and then head back. In a few weeks, it’ll be a better time anyway.
One of these days real soon, I’ll get it all together. I’ve been planning it a long time; I just want to make sure I do it right, no mess-ups allowed. So I’m waiting until life settles down before I get started. Let me tell you though, when the time is perfect, there’s no stopping me.
I can feel it coming, one of these days, real soon, right about the corner…