Too Many To-Do Lists: A Conversation

“Yay! I am finally moving forward on my goals for the year!”

“Good for you! So, what are these great plans you have?”

“Well, I always make resolutions and then I give up. So, I did some research and I found out that experts say if you’re really serious, you have to write them down. So I got organized. I got all these ‘to-do’ lists, each broken down by priority, category, and deadline. And because we’re more likely to change when we focus on the rewards instead of the work, I’ve listed them in this column, ranking them from one to ten. See?”

“Wow! Those are sure a lot of ‘to-do’ lists. You’re going to get a lot done, huh?”

“Sure am! Let’s look at my ‘health’ list. I want to lose 30 pounds, so I devised a strategy. It’s right here. Step one, clean the kitchen of temptation; you know, get rid of the junk food. Then, go to the store and stock up on range-free, organic, all-natural, non-processed, low fat, low-sodium, high-fiber foods. I’m also buying some of those inert non-reactive, toxin-free pots and pans that let you cook healthier. To keep track of my food, I write down everything I eat in this journal over here, including recording the calorie count, as well as fat, fiber, and protein grams. But, I’m not done! Every Sunday, the family meets to plan out the entire week’s meals in advance, which we goes on this list. That way we have a proper healthy dinner every night. What do you think so far?”

Avoiding Family Drama to be Healthier and Happier

Not all family reunions are, well, shall we say, “familial.”

Despite the two-dimensional, everything-works-out-in-the-end, sitcom model of American life, some relatives are just not cut from the same cloth. Gatherings can more resemble armed camps across a kitchen table, rather than a joyous reunion of long-parted siblings longing to catch up on the past year’s goings-on.

Alex, her oldest brother, was always hell-bent on proving how much he knew, accuracy be damned. He over-talked, was excessively loud, and foisted his I-could-be-with-someone-more-important-than-you attitude on everyone from the moment he strutted into a room.

She was yin to his yang; righting the “injustice,” alone she would step into the fray and engage. Of course, this further amplified the conflict; but it drove her nuts to let him push his way around, ignoring everyone else’s needs.

This year, however, she would not be sucked into his dark drama vortex. Since her divorce, she was working on accepting things as they were rather than how they “should” be. Therapy, a fitness program, and losing 33 pounds; was allowing her to reclaim her life. She would not let her boorish brother steal that away — not tonight, not again.

Mustering a Herculean effort, she engaged Alex in small talk only, and the family reunion fared better than usual. He jabbed, she sidestepped; he blew hard, she refused to blow back.

Once the clan dispersed, sans spectacle, the quiet of the house collected around her, and she replayed the events in her head. “I should have told him off! He thinks he’s the only one who knows anything! What gives him the right?” Her inner dialog grew more bellicose and she pondered all the things she could have said — but didn’t.

She might be getting in touch with her “better self,” but she was far from “perfect” and she realized how agitated she still was. Sure, she kept the peace, but at what price?

The kitchen clock chimed midnight; yet she was as awake as if she had downed a convenience store’s inventory of energy drinks. Not knowing how to disperse that excess agitation, she found herself nibbling from a pyramid of dark, cubed, walnut fudge blocks that graced the center of the table. As the sweet texture melted in her mouth, she lost track of Alex, floating away on a cloud of sugary goodness.

“I really need to stop eating,” she thought, while reaching for another chocolate block. “It’s wreaking havoc on my diet.” Yet she had to admit, nothing soothed the image of Alex like chocolate.

She could stop right this second, take back control, and be angry; or chow down on fudge mountain, feel great, and look like a blimp. THAT would sure give Alex something to crow about, wouldn’t it?

That’s all it took.

Impulsively, she grabbed the plate, rushed to the sink, and poured into it a cascade of fudge bricks. The thought scampered across her mind to reach in and save a few, but she refused to give in and — while still empowered — brushed the remaining cubes into the drain.

The dilemma remained however, how to deal with her pent-up tension?

Dear Santa - A List We Could ALL use for the New Year

Dear Santa…

There are some things I’d like for the New Year. I know that’s not within your usual bailiwick, and you’re probably pooped from a long sleigh ride, but if you don’t mind…

First, please give me good health.

My body carries me faithfully from before my birth until my last days. I abuse it and overuse it. I overfeed it and undersleep it. Yet rarely do I appreciate it. Nonetheless, it usually works amazingly well. It doesn't seem to smile as much as I'd like (and it's not quite the size I wanted) but in all modesty, it's pretty cool.

My eyes can enjoy the magnificent pink of a rich sunset. My nose can inhale the deep, full scent of a spicy stew simmering slowly on a blustery winter afternoon. My ears perk up to the reassuring tap-tap-tap of light rain on my roof in the middle of the night. And the touch of a lover's hand on my skin, can in a moment, calm and excite me at the same time.

Remind me that whatever else I have is worth nothing without my health. When I bend without pain or breathe deeply without effort, make me smile. Let me remember that this is the truest, purest blessing of all. Through this miracle of life, I experience all the universe has to offer.

Secondly, please strengthen my connection to family.

There are those who came before me; and there are those for whom I am responsible whom I will never meet. Even so, we are connected. In that chain, I am a vital link, the entirety of all that has gone before me and the bedrock of generations still unborn. Each in that string is a part of me as I am of them. We are all of the same stuff.

Through the ages and across the miles; today, yesterday, and tomorrow; we will guide each other when we are lost, and we will pick each other up when we fall. Everything I do reflects upon my ancestors and shapes my children of future offspring. I am inextricably connected across time. Remind me each day to take time for my family.

Teach me to be a better friend.

Is Pizza Really a Vegetable?

A “meme” is a basically a “thought virus.” In the same fashion that influenza infects one person, replicates itself and then spreads to another, eventually infecting large numbers of a population; memes follow the same process through the consciousness of our culture, affecting (or “infecting” if you wish) the way we react or behave. Unlike an “urban legend,” which is a widespread false story wrongly accepted as fact; or a “fad,” which is a behavior that explodes in popularity and quickly dies; a meme is more akin to a belief or a concept that affect our view of society — and therefore how we react to it.

As illustration, a recent diet meme was “carbs are bad, protein is good.” This spread so quickly and deeply to the point that some honestly believed that scarfing down a one pound bacon cheeseburger — providing you avoided the bun — was a healthy method of dropping weight. This misguided all-protein diet meme spawned several variations of fad diets. Currently, although the meme might remain, those diets are mostly debunked.

Today’s column had its impetus because I was (once again) irritated with an action by our “leaders.” In this instance, the meme currently winding its way through conventional wisdom is that Congress has defined pizza as a vegetable. The underlying logic (if indeed it can be classified as such) was that since that a certain amount of tomato paste equates to a “vegetable,” and whereas there is more than said amount on pizzas; they too would therefore be classified as vegetables.

I imagined children being told by their parents, “If you don’t eat your pizza, you won’t get any dessert,” or seeing the old food pyramid returning with “pesto-chicken pizza” or “double pepperoni” on par with carrots and lettuce. (We can only wish.)

Umbrage redlining, I sought facts (because unlike some cable news networks, I wish to be accurate) and discovered that although the story is untrue, it is not made up out of whole cloth. What essentially happened is the U.S. Department of Agriculture wanted to increase standards so a half-cup of tomato paste would count as a vegetable serving, instead of the current one-eighth cup. In an over-simplified nutshell (which I fear might also soon be classified as a vegetable), in bowing to the wishes of large agricultural companies — and against the wishes of the Administration — Congress opted to maintain the status quo. Therefore, two tablespoons of tomato paste remain the virtual nutritional equivalent of one half-cup of broccoli, green beans or any other vegetable in a school lunch. (In fairness, Congress did not however re-classify pizza to be a vegetable.)

Although somewhat relieved to hear the complete story, it is still disquieting.

Childhood obesity is at all-time high. The current generation of youngsters might indeed grow up to need as much health care in their middle age as my generation will require in its old age, adding yet additional pressure to an already overly-expensive, ineffective health care system, and lowering the quality of life for two generations (plus burdening those following behind). Would it really hurt to teach them to munch on a carrot or celery stick now and then?

We cannot regulate what people eat, nor am I an advocate of doing so; but — tomato paste? Really? This too has become a political battle line? If we cannot stop bickering long enough to help develop standards of what we feed our kids, it will be a short leap before chips are equated with bread and wine is considered a fruit.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. His first five years of these columns are now available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/StrivingBooks

Who is more stubborn - cats or us?

My wife, Mary Ann, is one of the most nurturing individuals you will ever have the pleasure to meet. She is also a passionate advocate for animals. More specifically, one might refer to her as “one of those cat ladies.” I personally would not do that as the result would be that I would spend my evenings in solitary. (Of course, she would spend the night-time with our cats, proving my point. Yet, I think the irony would be wasted on her.)

We had three cats.

Sadly, “K.C.,” the elderly matriarch passed away early this year, leaving the two identical ginger cats, “Tiger” and “Motor.” (Let’s be clear; I did not choose their names, okay?) These “orange boys” are “inside cats,” because our vet said that the best way to ensure your kitties lead a long, healthy, purr-fect life is to not them prowl the streets. As nimble and agile as felines might be, they don’t understand the concept of automobiles.

Within our fenced backyard dwells a third, Birman, cat. She (we think she’s a “she” but we’re not sure) unexpectedly appeared six years ago, and although she has departed for short periods, she always returns. Exhibiting no fear of us, she’s incredibly affectionate, so we think she was abandoned. Due to her silky, strikingly beautiful, long, silver, and black fur, we call her “Smokey.” (I wanted “Velvet” but was over-ruled.)

Since K.C. passed, my wife has wanted to integrate Smokey with the orange boys, especially as the weather turns harsh. Last weekend, she was finally able to convince Smokey to come inside. To help her feel safe (as well as let the other animals acclimate) Smokey stayed in an unused upstairs bedroom, replete with bed, food, water, litter box, and a screened — but slightly open — window, allowing her the ability to survey the neighborhood from on high. After Smokey was given the good-health go-ahead by the vet, we would begin the process of assimilation.


Until the appointment, my wife checked on her regularly, refreshed her needs, and — in general — kept her company. All was proceeding according to plan until yesterday morning. Upon entering Smokey’s room, she discovered a Smokey-sized hole torn in our screen. During the previous night, Smokey pulled a Steve McQueen and escaped back to the “wild,” only to return to our backyard later in the day as smug as if nothing had happened. She was as affectionate as ever, and despite rejecting the four-star hospitality we had so graciously provided, was only interested in her standard nightly canned food repast.

“Why would Smokey prefer to live in the rain and cold instead of in a warm house?” my wife wondered.

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” I granted. “However, if you look at it from her point of view, outside is all she knows. Frosty nights and wet grounds might not be pleasant, and she’d probably even enjoy being inside once she got used to it, but sometimes you stay with the discomfort you know rather than take the time to learn about something better.”

I’m not a cat; that’s probably evident. But, at least in that respect, humans are not that far removed. How often do we pass up the option for “better,” obstinately remaining with “same?” Even after accepting things can be better, we still have to shake up long-held behaviors, and usually, we decide it’s not worth the effort. So, on we plod…

With enough tuna to keep her belly full, and a warm fireplace by which she can lay, Smokey might have made the switch. We, on the other hand, can be a lot more stubborn.

Observations after an accident

This is my 312th column, putting a period on six years. These thoughts I share every week do not have a “mission statement” or goal per se; however, I always aspire to use the privilege of this space (and your time) to inspire, uplift, and to be supportive in whatever way I can. If I am also able to generate a laugh or two in the process, that makes it all the better. However, whatever my topic, I attempt to tie these dispatches into what I consider the “big picture;” that each of us possesses the ability to be who we wish to be. Whether we indeed want to drop a few pounds, improve our relationships, or just smile more often; the solutions lie not in our actions but in our thoughts, those sparkling connections firing day in and day out between our synapses.

Let’s take that concept a little deeper, shall we?

Our thoughts — to a large extent — are altered by our feelings. If I am angry or sad, my thoughts will be unlike when I am happy or excited. Upbeat folks are more inclined to venture down new avenues than depressed folks; who will lean toward stagnation; both of these due in large extent to underlying emotions. Therefore, it makes sense — at least to me — that the more I accentuate the positive, the more I engage in new behaviors.

Why don’t we do that more often? It’s not that difficult really.

Underneath these thoughts and their triggering feelings lie beliefs. By example, if I believe that life is painful, it’s much more difficult to modify my emotions to find the positive than if I believe life is glorious. Since we are always looking to validate our beliefs, we find “proof” of them wherever we look. One who believes life stinks will uncover countless examples as evidence. Whereby, one who loves life will find an equal number shoring up her philosophy. In effect, what you seek generates emotional responses, altering your thoughts, leading to different actions, adjusting the outcome of your life. Change your observations; change your life.

What I have personally observed since my bike accident is a tremendous outpouring of love, support, and good wishes from people I do and do not know. Where I live has some drawbacks; I won’t deny it. Yet, it is also populated with the most astounding, assorted, diversity of magnificent individuals.

Here’s where beliefs come home to roost. I trust that people the planet over — while not identical — are similar. We rise in the morning hoping to do the best we can, striving to take care of family and to contribute to our communities. We attempt (mostly) to treat others with dignity and respect, and hope that they will do the same with us. We are all fighting — or embracing — the “human condition,” coming from and returning to the same place. We are alike.

So, if that is correct, and the citizens of my community have been so wondrously caring and compassionate, my beliefs profess that the people where you live are parallel, and that applies no matter where you’re reading this. Logically then, if the world is bursting with people who, at their center, support and assist each other, then this planet is a better place than I gave it credit for being.

I cannot prove it of course, but I assure you that it’s true. (Besides, it cannot hurt to hold true that belief, can it?)

Again, thank you for the concern. I’m getting better every day.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.

The True Story of Getting Hit by a Car

Yesterday was horrible.I was going to ride my bike to my appointments. The bright sunny clear morning sky cooperated as I headed north on E Street. Upon reaching the intersection of Highway 101, I waited for a green light.Once it changed, a car heading in the opposite direction proceeded into the intersection, as did I. Yet, instead of going straight, the driver turned on to the highway and directly at me. Unfortunately, the laws of physics say only one object can occupy a space at a time; so when a 2,600-pound car and a 180-pound bicyclist collide at the same point in time, one of them will be moved. Of course, that was me — and in a rather forceful manner.Upon the horrifying realization that there was no way to avoid being hit, time slowed down. As I saw the automobile come into contact with me, I thought, “My life is about to change.” The only unknown was “How much?” As the front bumper impacted my leg, I sent up a quick prayer, “please let this be minor, and if not — please let it be quick.”

My bike fell under the car as I rolled on to its hood, smashing into the windshield. I vaguely recall the vehicle continuing to move forward with me on its hood, whimpering. What I later discovered was that I impacted the windshield with enough force to destroy it and was subsequently hurled 20 feet down the road. I remember crashing headfirst on the asphalt, shattering my bike helmet.

What happened next was nothing short of amazing.

As if guided by an invisible director, people descended on the scene from every bearing. Although conscious, I was — needless to say — confused. I couldn’t tell in which direction I was facing, nor from where the voices came, but I could discern individuals coordinating to direct traffic away from me. I heard cell phones click to life from those calling emergency services. Strangers ran to assist me, and one gentleman — an angel as far as I’m concerned — took my head in his hands to hold me still to prevent further injury, his calm reassuring voice a comfort unlike anything I can remember. With my head cradled in his grip, I knew I could “let go.” Even though there was no major pain, I was moaning, more out of fear. I wanted to sit up to survey what damage had been done to me but this Godsend of a man insisted I be still and he held me firm. He assured me help was coming and he would take care of me until then. The EMTs arrived within seconds, as did the fire department, and police. I felt embarrassed by all the commotion I was causing, and by blocking a major highway, but no one seemed bothered. Everyone was focused on helping me.

Someone asked if I was okay.

I quipped, “You mean aside from the obvious?”

He laughed; I cannot say how much that meant. That was a hint of normalcy and I so needed it. While the EMTs checked me out and loaded me into the ambulance, I couldn’t help but crack wise. It might not have been the traditional platform for a comedian but — what can I say — when the entertainment bug bites, you just gotta go with it.

The doctor who discharged me later called me the “Man of Steel.” He said, “For a 57-year old guy to take the impact you took and be able to walk out of this hospital on your own power means you’re either living right, or someone’s looking after you — or both.” (He also said the helmet saved my life.)

There has been an amazing outpouring of concern for me since the news got out. Everyone asks how I feel. When I woke up today, I realized I had aches in places where I did not even know I had places so my answer is consistent, “Sore and Grateful.” This could have ended with countless other outcomes and with so much more pain and suffering than I am enduring today. As many have pointed out (like I don’t know), I could have died. Yet none of those happened; none; just some abrasions, sprains, and contusions.

I am lucky beyond calculation.

As importantly, if it wasn’t for the kindness of strangers and the professionalism of the first responders, I’m not sure what would be today. All I know for sure is that I am indeed blessed, and I am reminded yet again that none of us exist in isolation. We come together to help each other and from that action, we become our own better angels. We are benevolent, caring, magnificent beings who — when push comes to shove — will do the good thing.

I don’t ever want to go through that again; that probably goes without saying. However in some unlikely manner, the faith it has given me, the hope it has provided me, and the reminder of what really matters has sincerely made yesterday one of the best days in my life. I am grateful to everyone who helped more than I can ever express.

God bless you.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.