I believe

I believe there is more to each of us than we could ever know.

I believe there is one Source connecting everything, everywhere, always. It sits not on high, separate, watching passively, as we meander through the parade of choices composing our lives’ stories. Instead it is inextricably intertwined within and around, nearer than our breath, no further than our thoughts.

I believe each and every thing we experience, feel, or think is born of that source. Every powerful spark of inspiration, tinge of emotion, or idea that will ever take shape is created of that place, centered deep within — and connecting — each of us. It is that innate connection we all share that has driven us from wanderers to farmers, thatched-leaf hut villages to expansive cities.

That force within us has guided us as we have fashioned astounding, spectacular, creations that can light the darkness, locate unseen ill-nesses, or further connect us: anywhere, anytime, with the tap of a SEND button. We hurl computerized, complex objects billions of miles across a darkened sky to land with pinpoint accuracy on far-flung worlds so distant that they are invisible to the naked eye — and would have remained unknown if not for others inspired to create by that exact same source we all share. We create because the Universe is in a constant state of creation. Being of it, we do the same.

We have founded treatments for afflictions and ailments from scurvy to smallpox, measles to polio. And someday, it is as sure as we exist that morning will dawn over a world devoid of cancer, AIDs, and Alzheimer’s. We know we will find cures; we are merely in the process of bridging the distance between inspiration and implementation.

When we believe, we do spectacular, astounding things — and will do far more. It is what we do because it is who we are.

Our greatness has names, some known to many: Mother Theresa, Albert Einstein, Miguel Hidalgo, Fa-Ngoum, Martin Luther King, Jesus, Mohammed, and Buddha. Some are lesser known: you, the store clerk, the daycare worker, and me. Yet, within each is the precise unchanging power that created all who have come before and who will ever be.

Since we are part of the universe, we must be infused with the same stuff that created our rivers, mountains, oceans, and even our Mother Earth. Moreover, beyond that, the same universal force that envelops each of us, at all times, wherever we are, wraps the furthest star in the darkest night. Therefore, when we gaze far into the nighttime sky, we see some of ourselves. We cannot be separated from that which created us; it is denial of what we are, and what we can be.

I believe all this. And because I do, I am convinced that a force so pow-erful, so creative, so expansive to do all this, would never put anyone on this planet doomed to fail, whether her goal may be to change the future of millions or simply to lead a happier life for herself.

I felt we needed to be reminded. I sure do.

Taking The Pledge

The pledge is all the thing; apparently, everyone's doing it.

Searching the Internet, I discovered 7,570,000 entries for "Take the Pledge." As examples, one can abandon old-fashioned round light bulbs in favor of newer CFL curly neon bulbs by taking the "Energy Star Pledge." According to their website, 549,033 bulbs have replaced! I'm a little concerned about that count however. For instance, if a bulb burns out, do they subtract one from the count?

Another organization requests we take an "End the Stroke Pledge." I cannot envisage anyone in favor of strokes, but question the necessity of having to swear allegiance publicly to ending them. Then again, I guess it cannot be harmful. Count me in.

One over-the-counter medicine asks us to pledge to create "germ-free defense zones" while also pledging to use their hand sanitizer. Personally, I think that's two pledges. It's also a little confusing; as illustration, am I in violation if I eradicate germs but use another product? I am not skilled in pledge-construction but do believe well worded pledges are devoid of loopholes.

A dedicated cluster of Macintosh computer users requests others not boot their computers into the Windows operating platform. I use a Macintosh. I didn't even know I could boot into Windows. Maybe I took that pledge without knowing.

I even stumbled across a group dedicated to improving our planet's atmosphere by asking cows to pledge to stop passing gas. How would one know if a cow made such a commitment; beyond that, who would be responsible for monitoring the contract? That would seem a rather unpleasant assignment.

So, in the interest of better dieting, I have devised - your guess it - a pledge. Put down any tempting sweets, raise your right hand, and begin:

In the interest of better health, I (fill in your name) hereby pledge to...

• Forgo all sugars and artificial sweeteners, eating only unprocessed, fresh, non-packaged foods
• Engage the services of a personal trainer who will ensure that I wake up three hours earlier, meditate extensively about better health, stretch extensively, and then finish with a 90 minute aerobic work out every day
• Record all food consumption in a food diary - but only after weighing it on a top-of-the-line electronic scale that computes fiber, fat, protein, sodium, and sugars
• Hire a top-end, live-in chef to ensure all food is prepared in the most healthful manner present nutritional science allows
• Read every food label, cross-referencing it with a portable food index that to be carried at all times, double-checking to make sure that I consume no trans-fats, very few calories, and a great deal of fiber (not being cows, we need not worry about fiber's side effects)
• Disregard the previous ridiculous commitments and make one small lasting change in my routine to eat a little less, walk a little more, and enjoy steady progress of a realistic program

Reclaiming her life

In line at the coffee house, she stood leaning on her left leg to prop up the baby on her hip. He sucked noisily on a yellow pacifier, watching over mom's shoulder as people queued behind her, huge blue eyes with an intense open stare greeting each new patron. The canopied stroller was therefore empty of its occupant. An SUV of child carrying conveyances, it was constructed to withstand the impact of an army of toddlers. Currently however, it served as transport, loaded with an assortment of quilted belongings, stuffed toys, a cell phone, bottles of baby food, and several zip lock bags distended with a plethora of toasted oats, wafers, and carrots.

On the opposite side of her infant son was her three-year-old daughter; clinging fiercely to mommy's leg for protection, burying her young face in her mom's thigh whenever anyone made eye contact. From her small hand, dragging across the tile floor was a white, weary, worn blanket, emblazoned with a smiling penguin.

Mom was only 32. Yet with her long dark hair hastily hoisted above her head in an elastic band, a gray oversized sweatshirt with "UCLA" (and numerous drool stains) across the front, and faded, fraying black sweatpants, some days she felt as well worn as her attire.

She retained an attractive shape (albeit heavier from bearing two children), but could still "pretty up" quite nicely provided she had the time - or desire. She adored her husband; he was a kind, supportive, gentle man, who appreciated her for whom she was. Their financial situation required him to work long hours on the road, leaving her to attend to the house and the children. When he was in town, and the kids were finally in bed, and the maintenance of home chores at long last completed, romance ranked low compared to sleep. So neither of them spent as much time concerned about appearance as they had in earlier years.

Staying at home with her kids was vital, and she enjoyed it. It also provided her life with a value that working at the insurance company never could. Yet, everything bears a price. When you take care of everyone else, who takes care of you? The lack of self-attention was taking its toll and she felt it heavily.

She used to jog each morning; now she changed diapers, washed sheets, and prepared meals; always tasting while she cooked. In those all-too-fleeting, precious, rare moments of solitude, she escaped with a novel and a bag of chips. Every afternoon - just so she could get out - she scooped up the kids, walked to this place and ordered a cookie for them and a muffin for herself.

This afternoon, while the kids napped, she noticed her shape in the mirror and suddenly felt very old. In that instant came the spark of change. "Just take a step," she told herself. "Not everything, anything. It's a beginning."

When the clerk asked for her order, the whirlwind of thoughts collapsed into silence. She replied, "Juice, yogurt, non-fat milk, and a diet soda."

With that simple action, she felt alive again.

I am not

I am Scott "Q" Marcus, whomever - or whatever - that is. Despite my belief that I think I know who I am, I admit to periodic doubt.

One thing of which I am certain however, is I am not a number.

Uncountable intertwined characteristics and traits make me "Me." On the simplest level, I am human, gender: male. I, with a couple billion of my closest friends, arrived on this small, ocean covered, awe-inspiring, nurturing planet via a chaotic and organized chain of events stretching so far back in time, that the very concept of that many millennia is beyond ability to imagine - even though I am gifted at imagining incredible things. I am a miracle of nature, a product of creation. I am: Life.

I am NOT a number.

I am a father and a husband. In our society, at this instant in history, those titles foster responsibilities ranging from the important: leaving a better world for our children (we're not performing well with that currently); to the mundane: I must shave every day (except weekends if my wife doesn't object).

I am a thinking, analytical soul. In my mind, I can articulate important concepts and - once in a while, when I'm very fortunate - even inspire others. Trillions of sparks criss-cross the synapses of my brain, flickers of my thoughts: the fate of the universe; the state of the nation; the choices on television.

I have philosophies, beliefs, and values. With those as guideposts, I have developed a roadmap that I presume (and pray) will lead me well to wherever is my final destination. From time to time I stumble and fall, to date always rising yet again. Therefore, I apparently must be determined, sometimes downright stubborn. Yet, I am also confused and wise, excited and bored, happy and sad, loving and lost, frightened and brave, teaching and taught, leader and follower, almost always - hopeful. All of these descriptors, words, and adjectives, are accurate in their portrayal of me, as are numerous others.

But I never describe myself via numerals. Neither does anyone else.

When friends greet me, they do not shake my hand, grasping warmly my shoulder, and say, "Hey 179, how are ya?" Instead, we hug, the warmth of his or her body held close to mine in a loving embrace. It is my name, not a number, spoken affectionately by someone about whom I deeply care.

They do not call to me by what shows on the morning scale.

I am not described as "179," "187", or - during particularly painful periods of my life - "250." My value, who I am, what I do, my legacy, does not fluctuate with the number of pounds reflected by what I ate nor by how many miles I jogged. That one number, my weight, although a description of a single, visible, component of WHAT I am, is virtually insignificant in the grand scale of WHO I am and what I am capable of accomplishing.

We are far more astounding than what any number, anywhere could ever make known.

The New England Journal of Medicine, in a study of over 12,0000 people, suggests that obesity may be contagious, like a common cold. Apparently, when a study participant's friend became obese, that participant had a 57 percent greater chance of becoming obese himself. In pairs of close friends, one person becoming obese meant his friend had a 171 percent greater chance of following suit. "You are what you eat isn't the end of the story," summed up study co-author James Fowler. "You are what you and your friends eat."

As a child, if I insisted on going outside without a jacket, my mother warned, “If you get sick, don’t complain to me.” How will this new news play in today’s health-conscious world?

“Mommy, can I play at Scott’s house?”

“Isn’t he the overweight boy down the street?”

“Yes, he’s very nice. He’s got cool toys.”

“I don’t think I want you to go there sweetie. You might catch a case of chubby.”

“I won’t mommy. Please.”

“If you do, don’t expect me to let out your seams.”

I don’t wish to poke fun, but can one be “infected” with obesity? The research, in my mind, simply points out the old adage, “Birds of a feather flock together.”

As illustration, someone who enjoys triathlon training and a buddy who is an avid video game enthusiast might enjoy each other’s personalities, and share similar views on politics and morality. Yet, would they hook up?

“Hey, Chris. Want to get together this weekend?”

“Sounds great. What shall we do?”

“We could grab something to eat, go to the mall. What do you think?”

“Sounds fun, but I’ve got my exercise regimen. How about we go to the pool first?”

“I can’t swim.”

“What about cycling?”

“Don’t have a bike.”

“We could go for a run.”

“I’ll just meet you there.”

As Tevye said in Fiddler on the Roof, “A fish may love a bird. But where would they build a house?”

It is a function of human nature to feel best with people who are most like us and do as we do.

When I say, “you know?” I’m reassured when my friend says, ‘Yeah, I do.” That’s why we’re buds. If one enjoys sedentary, high-caloric activities, it stands to reason that so too will those around her. If she begins jogging, she didn’t catch a dose of “fitness;” she changed a routine. Desiring to share that newfound interest, she will seek out others of similar mentality.

The biggest surprise to me was that this surprised them. Most people recognize that smoking and drinking are influenced by group standards, but apparently that realization is relatively new for obesity where so many still consider it a moral failing or merely a clinical condition. Obesity, like so much of life, is largely a function of behavior patterns. To change it, we must change what we do, not necessarily with whom we do it.

So — what the heck — try taking a walk with a friend. It couldn’t hurt, and, who knows, you indeed might catch something: a healthy habit.

Walking the walk

Exercise was never my long suit. For decades, the only activities in which I regularly engaged were jumping to conclusions, running myself ragged, and pushing my luck.

Over recent years I have modified my sedentary ways by adding walking and bike riding into my schedule. I have even figured out methods to do most of my in-city errands sans automobile, which does require some ingenuity; a large, sturdy backpack; and better time management. Payoffs however, include improved health, a sense of global pride by helping to some extent to heal our planet, extensive gasoline savings, and an enhanced ego (as many find it way cool to see a middle-age guy in a tie riding a bike; causing them to lavish praise upon my person, which I demurely accept - as to not offend of course).

Lately, I had to ratchet up the activity as the aging process and slower metabolism are having an expansive effect on my midsection. To further that aim, I established a "fitness center" in our house. (OK, to be honest, it's really a TV, DVD player, and three exercise videos in the guest room; but c'mon, you were impressed when I called it "fitness center," weren't you?) Weight loss remained elusive so I reluctantly decided that in order to achieve results, I must actually WATCH the videos and perform the routines (as opposed to leaving them inertly stacked on the bookcase). Grudgingly therefore, I dragged my sleepy body into the guest room, - er, fitness center - and have endeavored to emulate Billy Blanks in his kickboxing routine, Tae-Bo.

Progress has been made; I have advanced from inept to clumsy to awkward, and have - believe it or not - started looking forward to morning practice. This newfound over-enthusiasm drove me a sinew too far, the result: a pulled muscle.

In earlier times, such discomfort would have been a welcome rationale to abandon my schedule (having been known to forgo previous routines because of broken shoelaces). Yet, something shifted; instead of attempting to justify inactivity, I turned my thoughts toward, "What can I still do?"

My pulled tendon had not become a barrier; rather, it became a source of pride. I'm not just speaking of how, when queried, "Why are you limping," I could assume a manly, macho, Bruce Willis, swagger and reply, "Pulled a muscle during my workout." Of much more import was the fact that I was not looking for excuses to quit, rather seeking methods to endure.

I consistently profess, "My health is my highest priority," while finding countless validations to avoid the steps necessary to act as such. "I don't have time." "It costs too much." "There's always tomorrow." Such internal dissonance feels plain lousy, generating feelings of hypocrisy and shame; burdens less visible, but equally as weighty, as a few extra pounds.

It is worthy of note that soreness in my quadriceps generated healing in my thoughts. No longer am I only "talking the talk," I am proudly "walking the walk" (albeit with a limp).

Giving thanks in tough times

"May you live in fascinating times" is an old curse; the logic being if one chronicles history, "fascinating times" were jam-packed with upheaval. Turbulent, troublesome, frightening, epoch-making periods; anyone experiencing them would be upset, frightened, and anxious.

I point this out because, with the way the world is, one might make a case that we are currently experiencing "fascinating times," and that future historians will find the initial piece of the 21st century to be chock-full of tumult, worthy of study for generations yet to come. For them, that may be well and good, yet for us in the present, I don't think I stand alone when I pray we figure out soon how to get along a little better.

Giving thanks in such chaotic times is not simple. It feels difficult and trivial to find positives when all around seems urgent. However, to do so, requires a refocus on what one has, rather than a sadness of the way it is not. Saying "Thank you," lightens the heart, and loosens life's burdens - if only for a moment, making living worthwhile. Now, more than ever, it is essential to express gratitude for what one has. We are still blessed in many ways.

I can be thankful to sit at a table with family and friends, sharing food, conversation, and stories. We will laugh at where we have been, even if we disagree about where we are headed. We are not a perfect family unit; but we are what we are. I give thanks, and send a prayer to those less well off.

I am grateful to live where I do. Sure, I complain about excess rain and a hidden sun. I lament the dreary fog in the morning, and the wind in the afternoon. Yet, on the grand perspective, this patch of Mother Earth is no less than stunning. Endless forests of trees on majestic mountains caress the heavens; rushing, raging, rivers cut through strong stone canyons in their never ending race to become part of a breathtaking vista of world's greatest ocean. I reside in a postcard photograph; is that cool or what?

Contrary to how I was raised, I taught my children, "Do what you love, the money will follow." Although it took me four decades to heed my own advice, it has worked out and I am uplifted by what I do. While others never leave a squalid village, and have no hope, I have traveled far, seen much, and spoken to many. I am again grateful.

I am not alone, residing in a community, a true enclave of people who greet me with handshakes and "hellos." We still ask about each other's children. We share personal successes and setbacks. I have no interest in living elsewhere; I am gratified to be where I am.

My story is different than yours; each of us travels his own path. However, it is my purest intent that in my appreciation, I kindle within you a smile or joyful thought that you will share with others, lightening your day and theirs.

Saying thank you might not change a life. However, it sure won't hurt.