How Your Emotions Can Affect Long-Term Change

Between the covers of the business book currently on my nightstand, the author devotes few pages to discussing cash flow or spreadsheets, while much ink is dedicated to changing one’s thoughts about money. It is her premise that our income basically determined more by how we think than by the actions we take. Of course, those considerations then produce behaviors, which lead to results. Therefore, if we “dig down” and adjust them, we will do what we do in an altered manner. This provides fresh results improving our business.

In effect, change your thoughts; change your financial life.

The barricade is our ol’ buddy, Denial.

Thought patterns, much like a river cutting a path through granite, our etched into our psyche over time, with much repetition. To refashion such embedded patterns takes a great deal of effort — and it’s not like we’re not busy already, right? Besides, “there’s always tomorrow.”

The author suggests that such transformation only occurs once “we’re hit by a two-by-four.” Of course, she’s speaking figuratively, not literally. (I hate it when people say “literally” when they mean “figuratively.” Sorry, pet peeve…)

Let me expand: Suppose you’re in a floundering relationship. You didn’t get there overnight; it began subtly, “the small things.” For example, you don’t talk as much. “It’s no big deal,” you think, “We’re just busy right now.” That might be accurate; having said that, “something” still feels off. But, you put it to back burner until you have more evidence — or time.

After awhile, your “couple’s time” becomes more sparse. You are roommates more than partners, on parallel tracks with no intersections. Logically, you can explain it away. “We’ve both got so much on our plates; things will get back to normal soon.” No action taken.

Soon, intimacy, in all its forms, has become a memory. There is now real distance, even a bit of resentment. Nobody brings anything up; you’re not even sure you want to broach the subject. Also, the chasm is now an additional barrier. Oh sure, you’re thinking about “making some changes” when things settle down. For now, it’s “stay the course.”

Then comes the two-by-four: He wants “out.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” he says, in a difficult, unexpected (?), conversation. “We’ve grown apart.”

It’s a pattern experienced by millions of couples. Despite the warnings, and their ever-increasing appearances, we are able to rationalize what’s going on, while denying what we felt. Therefore, for most, it takes getting slammed upside the head with a brick (again, “figuratively”) before we do what must be done. This is in any facet of our lives, from our relationships to diets to finance.

Newton’s first law of motion says that a body in motion will remain in motion unless acted on by an external force. In effect, we will do what we do until, painfully; we can no longer deny the results of our actions. Once at that place, we are so overwhelmed, that it seems an insurmountable problem and we remain stagnant in unhappiness.

First of all, it is not undefeatable if we break it into small steps, and engage in them with regularly and immediacy.

That stated, it’s still healthier to avoid that unhappy condition by understanding the urgency of emotions when it comes to moving forward. Look at it this way; our feelings are the gasoline fueling the engine; logic is then the steering wheel. Without the first, we’re going nowhere. Without the latter, we’re out of control. Developing both is essential to leading a happy, well-adjusted life.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO 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.

Can We Be Social Without Going Out to Eat?

I hadn’t seen him in years even though we live in the same town. You know how it is, I’m busy, so is he. Time got away from us. It’s not like we had a disagreement, or we didn’t want to see each other; it’s just that, well, life kicked in…

I answered the phone, “Hey Scott,” says he, “I just realized that we haven’t gotten together in a long time and we’ve got so much to catch up on. I thought we could schedule a time.”

"Sounds great,” I replied, “I can do lunch next Thursday. If that doesn’t work, we could get coffee in the afternoon, or, on Wednesday, we could meet early and grab a bagel. Where would you like to go?”

He responded, “You know the park with the duck pond?”

“Yes, the one with all the trails?”

“Yeah, that one. What about Thursday at noon?”

“Sure, that works for me. But I’m not familiar with any restaurants there.”

“There aren’t any. I’ve been trying to get in shape, and I know you’re always watching your weight, so I thought we could walk and talk. It would be nice to catch up outside.”

And so we did. But, can I be honest? It felt really weird; kind of like wearing someone else’s clothes. It seems normal enough at first glance, but you just can’t get comfortable.

I mean, think about it, what’s one of the first questions we ask when we decide to meet up with someone: Lunch or coffee? If you really wanted to crash our economy, ban meetings in restaurants or coffee houses.

I’m sure it goes back to primitive times. It’s conceivable (at least to me) that early Australopithecines at day’s end gathered around a half-devoured gazelle and discussed their events on the plains. After all, a leisurely grunting session with some close hominoids after a long period gathering, scavenging, and escaping from carnivores would be welcome.

Although the evolutionary train has pulled out, our habits have not. We celebrate with food. We do business over dinner. Relationships begin — and end — at restaurants. Even our last tribute, the wake, is deeply intertwined with eating.

There’s nothing wrong with these; don’t get me wrong. But one has to admit, that for most of us, it’s hard to picture doing anything else with each other. If we’re looking to adjust our collective waistlines and get in shape, maybe we need to examine some options. After all, there are book clubs, quilting circles, or even video games.

My son was in town; this usually involves copious amounts of food. Under the television lies our unused video console; the wireless type specializing in sporting events, where one creates icons to compete against each other.

Said he to me, “Bet I can take you in a sword fight."

I might be 30 years his senior but I still have testosterone; I couldn’t let that stand.

Our characters faced each other. The battle was joined. After several close rounds, lots of laughter, a great deal of sweat, and exclamations of “You’re toast!” or “Take that,” age indeed triumphed over youth.

More important, I can already tell it will be one of my favorite memories, far more than yet another trip to yet another restaurant. Plus the added bonus is I got to show him he’d still better not mess with his old man. (Of course, I still can’t lift my arms; but I’ll deny it if you tell him.)

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO 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.

Things Are Not As Bad As We Make Them Out To Be

Complain, complain, complain…

My, but we’ve become a grouchy lot, haven’t we? Maybe it’s climate change, or the economy; who knows? It could be the alignment of the stars for all I know, but we’ve got our cranky pants hitched on and we’re wearing ‘em a little too snug around our sensitive parts.

Okay, maybe YOU are not cranky, but many of us are, and if you won’t own it, I will.

I’m at the supermarket loading up on low-calorie, high-fiber, sugar-free, non-fat, no-taste foods that I force down my gullet in order to keep my weight in check. I really want chocolate, french fries, and chips; but that’s not happening, so I’m feeling deprived. Adding insult to injury, I don’t have time for this errand, but since my refrigerator resembles an arctic cave, I’m cooling my jets in the check out line. The lady in front of me waits until after the clerk has totaled all her groceries before she takes out her checkbook, enough of a trigger to kick my internal curmudgeon into overdrive, “Hey lady!” the voice in my head screeches. “You didn’t realize you were going to have to pay for this before hand? Couldn’t you have check ready when you got in line … besides you’ve never heard of debit cards?!!” Since I won’t comment out loud (I’m too “polite”), I roll my eyes, exhale with exasperation (making sure she hears it), shift my feet restlessly, cross my arms, and set my attitude to low burn.

Or have you ever had your cell phone drop a call? Jeeze! That irks me! It wasn’t even a particularly important call, and to be honest, I didn’t want to talk to him anyway, accidentally selecting ACCEPT instead of DECLINE because the layout of the phone is so stupid. Nonetheless, I’m now heavily vested in commiserated about how his 62-inch 3-D TV’s glasses suck. Really? That’s your grievance? There are people who would love simply to witness a sunrise, and you’re grouchy because your nifty cool absolutely amazing invention doesn’t come with rechargeable batteries? I mean, come on! Yet, I’m empathizing — at least until his call explodes in a burst of static and I detonate a blast of curse words at my phone, cellular carrier, and even the government for allowing such inferior systems to get to market.

Time for a chill pill; on the grand scale of life, most of what rankles us is not even a blip on the radar screen of “real” problems; it’s microscopic. Half the time, we don’t even remember it long enough for it to survive the ride home, let alone why we got so upset in the first place; yet we’re singing “ain’t it awful” with the volume on full.

I’ve got a phone in my pocket that connects me to anyone on the planet, lets me watch family movies, listen to music, and take photographs. It’s got more power than the entire computer system on the Apollo space crafts; and I have the gall to launch a hissy fit because I have to push REDIAL? Or I complain about having to drop a few pounds — while half the planet would beg for what I throw away? Spoiled, you’re table’s waiting.

We don’t live in a golly-gosh-gee-willikers fog of happy thoughts and pink ponies; I’m not saying that either. Sometimes, life is tough, sure. But equally true is that most of our “problems” are better than what most of the people on most of the planet face most of the time.

For that I need to be mostly grateful.

About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO 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.

Why wait?

When I was a pup, a coveted “grown up treat” was staying up with my father to watch “Gunsmoke,” (the longest running weekly TV show in history; 655 episodes from 1955-1975 for trivia buffs).

The character of Festus Haggen, performed by Ken Curtis, was an unusual fellow, whose entire family may have possessed “fewer than 32 teeth among them,” as described by one reviewer. He was Illiterate, habitually incoherent, and fiercely loyal to Marshall Dillon, whom he considered one of his two best friends (the other was his mule). During one particularly grueling episode Festus exclaimed, “I wish it was Sunday so I could take a bath!”

Confused, I questioned my father, “Why can’t he take a bath today?”

“He only bathes on Sundays.”

“What if he gets dirty on Monday or Thursday?”

Replied my impatient father, “Do you want to watch the show or go to bed?” (Which was his not-so-subtle way of saying, “Be quiet.”)

As the world turns (no TV reference implied but I admit I’m pleased with utilizing the phrase), we arrive at yet another January, providing many an opportunity to put into action long delayed changes; saying, in effect, “I’m glad it’s the New Year so I can finally lose weight.”

I admire anyone beginning the punishing pathway to personal reconstruction; however, why the preoccupation with repeating a pattern every January first, only to give up like a nervous TV executive canceling a sitcom two weeks into its schedule? Yes, January makes sense; a new year is an excellent time to reaffirm direction for life’s coming chapter. Yet, it is merely another earthly revolution around its axis. Choose any of 365.

For example, Korean New Year, Hangul, is the first day of their lunar calendar, and the most important of the traditional Korean holidays, lasting three days. It usually occurs in February, providing a refreshed opportunity for resolve just as motivation and the hectic pace of the American holidays begin to wane. Why not start early February?

Or, what about Gudi Padwa, one of the most auspicious days of the Hindu year, believed to be the day that Lord Brahma created the world? In that culture, it is viewed as a time to wipe the slate clean and make a new start, arriving this year in April. Whether that allows us to delay our personal promises three months beyond January or have yet another opportunity to set them in motion is a function of one’s determination.

Should April slip past, Rosh Hashanah the beginning of Jewish New Year, is usually celebrated in September. The Chinese use a different time of year also. By setting one’s vows in the fall or spring, he or she could have a jump start on next year’s January rush. It might also be argued that since those two cultures have a combined 10,475 years on their calendars, compared to a little over 2000 for us, maybe autumn, rather than winter, is more apropos for change?

Selecting specific dates does not ensure the motivation for change will arrive per schedule. To rightly conquer one’s demons, experience the enthusiasm of new beginnings, and put to bed the regret of lost days, there is no time like this moment, right now. Should it pass, another opportunity immediately follows; no need to wait.

Watch what you say

It never fails to astonish me what difference a few words can make. By the language we use, we can inspire others to feats of heroic sacrifice, create joyful laughter, or change the direction of our own lives. Words matter.

With that as backdrop, Alexander Kuzmin, the 33-year-old mayor of Megion, a Siberian oil town with a population of 54,000, has ordered his bureaucrats to stop using expressions such as "I don't know" and "I can't." If they refuse, they will be hearing a different phrase: “Find another job.” In a world of customer service representatives who would rather point fingers than solve problems, you’ve just got to love this guy!

Kuzmin has banned these and 25 other expressions as a way to make his administration more efficient. Some of the other prohibited phrases are "It's not my job," "It's impossible," "I'm having lunch," and "There is no money." To reinforce the prohibition, a framed list of the banned expressions hangs on the wall next to his office.

"Before,” says one staff member, “It was so easy to say ‘I don't know.’ Now before reporting to the mayor we prepare several proposals on how the problem can be solved."

Isn’t that something? By being forced to avoid certain words, people accomplish more — or at least come up with alternatives.

When you analyze it, it makes great sense. After all, we think in words. Sure, we’re creative sorts; but the process by which we translate those flashes of intuitive brilliance into action is via the internal conversation ever present in our minds. The repetition of that exchange, over years, shapes our view of ourselves, how we react to outside events, and therefore the actions that become our lives. If one wants to permanently change the construction of his life, he must start with the building blocks: those internal words, thoughts.

Take for example the common belief, “I can’t lose weight.” If you, like, are forever fighting gaining weight, try this: Instead of saying “I can’t lose weight,” say out loud with conviction, “I can lose weight. I just don’t want to go through all the work it will take.” You will notice — virtually immediately — an uncomfortable feeling welling up inside you. Why? Words, thoughts, feelings, and beliefs are bound together tighter than a psychological Gordian knot. Disconnecting them is impossible.

I create my beliefs; I do so to make my life run smoother. If I repeat, “I can’t” enough times, I am absolved of the responsibility of trying, leaving time for other “more realistic” pursuits. If I change “I can’t” to, “I won’t,” I am forced — at least in my internal dialogue — to justify my motives, which can sometimes feel rather “messy.” It’s much easier to sidestep the responsibility; after all I’m already very busy.

When I say something different, I feel something different. Different emotions elicit different thoughts. New actions come from such untried thoughts. Life is the result of actions.

Say something different. Repeat often. Watch for new results.

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

By any other name...

Words matter.

What we say to ourselves in our quiet spaces gives birth to actions. Life is the consequences of those events. If we wish to alter the course of our existence, to change its path, or to enjoy more the process, we must begin with the thoughts that steer it.

For example, let us take the overused, beaten down, threadbare expression: "I'm going on a diet." At the point when the peoples of all nations unite in solidarity and appoint me Head Honcho in charge of Global Linguistics, I shall ban the expression; I find its limited options lead to broken promises, loss of joy, low self esteem, and eventual failure.

In the stark and barren world where one "goes on a diet," it automatically implies one must - at some time - go off a diet. All is black and white; there is no gray; only "on" or "off," "good" or "bad," "following the diet" or "cheating." The gradations of in-between, which fill most of life, do not exist as, in that thought process, one cannot be "a little off" anymore than one can be "a little pregnant."

This perfect/awful thinking supposedly drives us to be perfect, which is an impossibility, so we inevitably label ourselves as "failures." Those of us who are recovering perfectionists know well the mantra of the dieter who has crossed to the dark side: "As long as I blew it, I might as well really blow it! I can start again tomorrow." (or "Monday," or "next year"...) Once I have failed, I might as well get all of the "failing" out of my system, cleaning myself so I will be ready for to be perfect next time (ignoring the fact that it too will end up the same way).

Success in anything is rarely cut and dried. Rather the definition varies from one person to the next; sometimes even within oneself, depending on circumstances. Success is fluid; it requires parsing and nuance. More times than not, it is a two-step forward, one-step backward progression. In the sphere of success, one does not have it one day, lose it the next, regain it the third. She is more successful than she is not, learns from mistakes, makes adjustments - and therefore moves in a generally successful direction. Successful people have setbacks; the difference is they don't see them as the end of the line.

Only in mathematics and science, can lines can be clearly drawn. Two plus two will always equal four. In matters related of the heart and mind, crystal clear, straight-line delineation is not possible. We are not rigid robotroids fitting precision machined, pre-ordained molds. One cannot apply a formula to us and expect an exact result. We are too complex - and too human - for that.

The nice thing about that is if we accept that we will make mistakes, and can find a way to label them not as "failures," but rather "feedback," we can adjust, change, and even excel.

Words do matter; choose them wisely.

Point of View

Due to a recent bout of unexpected sunshine, I was persuaded to abandon the comfort of our couch to work in our yard. Although my wife's and my relationship is quite balanced, she has deemed lawn upkeep as "Scott's job." I know not why, as I have not requested this high honor, and, to be quite frank, am not particularly skilled in this arena. Nonetheless, being her loving pawn, I march duly forth with lawnmower and weed eater to engage the high grass.

Our lot is not particularly large, unless one is faced with the prospect of mowing it... and the grass is long - and wet; three intertwined dynamics of last weekend. This permutation of factors means I cannot simply drag the mower over my property once; rather I must set the cutter to maximum height, labor to and fro, back and forth across the bumpy lawn (periodically grinding to a stop on uneven clumps of mud), shake the bulky, heavy, dismally designed bag with the ridiculously narrow opening numerous times, then repeat, repeat, repeat. After this preliminary trimming, I lower the cutter and engage in this funfest yet again.

While attempting to stuff the gooey, wet, stinky, clippings into the lawn bag, it rips and falls, spilling a mess along the sidewalk. I now grab the push broom (a tool close to useless for sweeping wet, sticky grass from asphalt) and proceed to sweep (such as it is) and scoop the grass back into the sack, only to have it yet again tumble (this time to the other side), spilling even more of its contents, changing my routine from sweep and scoop, to sweep, scoop, and swear.

Whether triggered by the pain in my back, the sun in my eyes, or the sweat soaking my brow, I do not know; yet a random thought skipped across my mind as I bent down to lift the green waste, "At least I'm not shoveling show in freezing temperatures. THAT would be a major drag."

And in that instant, lifting wet grass in overfull, black, heavy lawn bags seemed a lot better. How can I complain about maintaining my very own front yard, in a good neighborhood, on a mild day - and being healthy enough to do it - when so many cannot even afford a mortgage? And what about those who simply wish for a roof over their head? In that light, I'm blessedly fortunate.

With that thought as a launch-off point, I realized again that point of view is essential. Many go to bed with distended stomachs and hunger pains, and I so quickly lament that my double Grande extra hot latte has to have non-fat instead of whole milk, or that I must bypass ordering a chocolate muffin to accompany it.

Funny, huh? Look one way; life stinks; look another's it's mighty fine. (I will still admit however that it would a gardener would make it even a little better.)

History

Purchased from the Thomas Page company for "$100 in gold coin" on "lot 7 of block 7", and constructed of redwood in 1907, the Church of the Oaks in Cotati, California, has been in the same location on the corner of Page and West Sierra since its construction. The one room, unimposing, white building has watched over this town from its grassy lot for 100 years.

Prior to the service where I would speak to the small congregation, I sat noiselessly in the modest, tranquil sanctuary, infused with the presence of a century of people who sat where I was now. Some lives began here; others heard their final tribute; now the life-energy of each was as much a part of this building as its stained glass windows or bell tower.

Within these hardy, dark, handcrafted, timber walls, I imagined Edna Meriwether given in holy matrimony to William Johnson, encircled by the local gathering of family and friends. The church bell chimed a joyous noise that echoed through the small burg; while outside, next to the magnificent oak, the sound of fiddles, dancing, and carefree conversation drifted through the trees.

Sarah Williamson listened to the minister as he eulogized the premature passing of her husband, Jonah, when his tractor rolled on him while he plowed the fields one foggy morning during the 1930s. He had tilled the same patch of earth since he was a boy. This spot where Emmanuel, their son, had been baptized, was Jonah's last stop before he was lowered into the Earth.

The flock sought solace in this place during times of urgency. Sermons of spiritual import were delivered from its pulpit as it listened intently with somber understanding. It rejoiced to banjo music on weekend dances; and was uplifted by hymns of praise at Sunday service.

The church stood witness to it all. Although constructed of redwood and bound together by nails and screws, these walls reflected the heart of a community. If one listened, one could hear the beating, rhythmic, pulsing, formed over decades.

Each of us is a sanctuary of our own past. We are not simply what we our present; but we carry within all that has come before, from unlimited voices and countless decisions. We each hold dear a rich history, some of it unfortunate, some truly glorious. Yet it is all came together to where we stand now. Every past choice, whether correct or in error, set us upon a path to today. Whether good or bad or in between, we cannot return.

Yet, we are not locked at this time. Each and every choice we make today will become our history tomorrow.

Keep a Good Thought

My wife and I tried breaking our nightly routine. To alleviate muscle aches, we deduced that if we each slept on side of the bed where the other person usually lies, we might arise pain free. (It made sense in the moment.)

I make no claim that swapping pillows is a valiant act of bravado. That does nothing to diminish the reality that it, in fact, was awkward. Not simply "I-normally-don't-wear-this-color-so-I-feel-like-everyone's-staring-at-me" unpleasant; it was more akin to "Did-I-forgot-to-zip-something?" anxiety. We tossed, turned, bumped into each other multiple times, and waited twitchily for the arrival of Hypnos, the God of Slumber, only to be jilted on the mattress. After several fidgety hours, reverting to positions of yore, we obtained at last a modicum of shut-eye.

It's not as if my bride and I, while writing our vows, discussed who would lay claim to which side of the bed. "Do you, Scott, promise to love, cherish, and support Mary Ann until the end of your days - while swearing to snooze faithfully on the section of bed furthest from the nightstand?"

No, that's not how it happens. Customs emerge. One moment, it's an arbitrary behavior, next instant: Habit. Isn't that how it is?

We set up repetitive behaviors for our ease; then, something alters them. We are naked, abandoned, and lonely. Without habit's landmarks, direction is lost; uneasiness swamps us. So, we rush back as quickly as possible, reassured finally by the embrace of the familiar.

This morning, as I left our home, I mentioned to my wife, "Keep a good thought." Neither a particularly sage nor unique turn of phrase, its sentiment is kind, and I meant it sincerely. Yet, it's another of those expressions that rolls off the tongue without thought: another habit.

And as I routinely walked 17 minutes down E Street and 11 minutes back on F Street (stopping at the regular time at "my" coffee house so I could sit at "my" table with a daily cup of coffee and read the morning newspaper), I realized how much of life is ordered on preset molds.

Awakening and sleeping are based on the clock. Workday functions are a matter of rote. Even my attitude is usually balanced. When events go awry - just as habitually - I eat to handle stress, then walk to handle the eating. Habits, patterns, routines everywhere.

I'm not complaining (mostly). I am fortunate; my challenges are less than those faced by many others. But that does not preclude me from wondering what I would see if I more often "shook it up" and did something off my beaten path, experiencing life with atypical eyes?

A good thought; one I must remember.

Stop that right now!

What are you looking around for? You know I'm talking to you. Yes, you - no, not the guy behind you. I'm speaking to YOU. Look at me; quit pretending you think I'm referring to someone else.

Now, just stop; it's for your own good. We both know it.

Yes, I know you're busy. You have so many responsibilities and commitments. But that's not going to fly this time. We're all busy. We're all overloaded. It's a matter of priorities, plain and simple. This time, make it work, OK?

Oh, more excuses? Well, welcome to Excuse Central pal; know 'em all. Got 'em all right here. "Just a little bit won't hurt." "I deserve it; it's been a tough week." How about this one: "When things settle down, I'll do it." I don't mean to be rude or crude, but the only time things will totally settle down is when six friends are carrying you away in a box.

Of course, there's always my favorite: "I can stop whenever I want." Yeah, right. If you can stop anytime, why did you let it get so out of control?

Do you enjoy unending aches and pains? Isn't it just oodles of amusement avoiding the dark side of the closet because you're afraid those unused clothes "shrunk" since you last wore them? Are we having fun now?

And finally, the ultimate kick in the pants: that undisguised glance in someone's eyes when she can't cloak how surprised she is by how large you've become since she last saw you. Just makes you feel warm all over doesn't it? Sure, sure, she covers it quickly; after all, she's not trying to be rude. But for that moment - that one, brief, instantaneous, short-lived, horrifyingly candid, flash - your sole desire is to drop through a hole in the floor. Honestly, do you really want to deal with that again? How many times will you avoid friends to prevent that from happening?

What's that? You DON'T like those feelings? Oh, good, we're making progress. But you don't have the energy to change?

I hear you! But, how much energy does it take for the 24-hour discomfort in your own skin? Or missing out on your kid's lives because you're too tired to play? How much of your precious life-force do you waste feeling bad about yourself every thinking moment of each and every day? Makes the effort more worthwhile, doesn't it?

Ready to stop now? Good. I'm pleased for you.

Step one is stop talking to this mirror; get out there, and take a walk.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus lost 70 pounds in 1994 and is a professional speaker. He is available for speeches, workshops, or comments at 707.442.6243 or scottq@THINspiration.com. His new book, "Striving for Imperfection, 52 Motivational, Playful Columns on Weight Loss, Habit Change, and Other Acts of Faith," is available at amazon.com or, by contacting him, or visiting www.TheEatingCycle.com

End of the Rat Race

In younger days, everything was equally urgent and all things were critical. Was she adorned in the latest fashions? Did he have the hottest car? Were they vacationing at the fanciest locales? Missing one step would devastate an entire month's image.

Something unreachable, invisible, just out of grasp, was always required to complete their happiness, leaving an unfilled void at all times. Someday, they might find "It" and then, suddenly, like the sun breaking through a stormy sky, everything would be perfect. Until then, additions kept coming, agendas overflowed, and dollars kept draining. Constantly striving for perfection, most times they overlooked what was good.

Their schedule was no longer their own. Fighting traffic for hours in late model autos serving as communication central, entertainment centers, and even mobile kitchens, they would text message "I love you" to each other a few times a day so they would have at least have some connection. Over time, even that became a preprogrammed memo stored in speed dial - intimacy with an efficient edge.

As the future became the past, the bills mounted, the pressures piled - the treadmill snapped.

"I'm not happy anymore," he said. He wasn't looking at her; instead his eyes were fixed on the almost-consumed cake with "Happy 45th" on the top. The guests had departed and his words bounced off blank walls and echoed as they fell heavy to the floor between them.

She was neither angry nor surprised. He was merely the first to say out loud what they both felt.

Marriage counseling, frustration, and crying (by both of them): a long road back but they made it. They had tried so hard to do everything perfectly, to lead a fantasy life; it almost cost them their own.

Now - tonight - she watched him cut through "75 Years Young" on the white frosting as the crowd sang "Happy Birthday," no one more enthusiastically than she.

When the guests left, as they lay in bed, he reached out and squeezed her hand gently.

"I love you more than I knew I could," he said as he was drifting off to sleep, "You're as beautiful as ever. I'm so lucky."

His eyes closed, a smile fixed on his lips.

Staring into the mirror across the bed, she saw deep lines etched in her face, white in her hair, spots on her skin, and a lovely, sleeping elderly man beside her. She put the book in her lap down, shut off the light, slipped under the blankets behind him, putting her head on his back and as she closed her eyes.

Funny how things turn out, everything now was as close to perfect as she ever imagined.

Note: this is a sequel to an earlier post. It was requested that I complete the story by a reader.

Theoretical versus actual

Today (as planned):

1. Arise early smiling and refreshed; greet world with 45-minute brisk walk while listening to singing birds under sunny blue skies. Stop at coffee shop and read the paper; joyously greeting each person. Eat a healthy, balanced, nutritious breakfast while connecting with my wife. Drink three glasses of filtered water as a treat.
2. Answer all e-mail. Write my column; infused with wit and insight. Send materials to three potential speaking opportunities, confident they'll hire me for twice asking price. Complete assignments for all clients prior to promised deadlines.
3. Reconcile credit card statements, set up automatic banking to pay each and every bill for next three years. Buy groceries. Straighten office.
4. Have lunch with a friend. Sit in the sun on a swing, singing. Watch entertaining, uplifting video. Have a wine cooler. Relax. Count blessings.

Today (actual):

1. Got up late after throwing alarm with annoying buzzer at wall. Dragged my panting, sweaty, dreary, flabby body around the block for 10 minutes. Gagged down chalky instant breakfast while watching exercise infomercial. Waved to wife as she went to work. Decided extra caffeinated coffee is a "need," not a "want."
2. Spent 45 minutes sifting through email about sexual potency, mortgages, and African expatriates offering me money. Stared at blank page while occasionally pounding head on desk to alleviate writer's block. (Took several aspirin.) Made one phone call where I was relegated to "voice mail hell" for 24 minutes. Cursed at automated voice. Slammed down phone; breaking mouthpiece.
3. Shoved bills from one messy pile to another. Decided to scrape green fuzz off last week's leftovers for dinner. Came to terms with the fact that my office will always look like it was designed by tornado.
4. Had three-hour chocolate binge fest; felt guilty (and fat) so I blamed my wife for having snacks in the house. (Learned new definition to "unwise decision.") Weather was cloudy so I zoned out with two martinis in front of TV while watching imbecilic sitcoms (which, in my mood, actually seemed appealing). Fell into restless sleep on couch, with face in drool stain on pillow.

Someone said happy people simply accept life on its own terms. As my Yiddish grandmother Zlate said (in addition to countless repetitions of "Oy Vay"), "Mann plant Gott lach;" translated, "Man plans, God laughs."

I must remember it's not about getting it done. It's about how I feel about what was done. It's not how far I have to travel, it's how far I have come.

Today: not so good. I was frustrated. But tomorrow, I try again. That's excellent.

Think about it

"What are you thinking about?"

"Huh?"

"You look so deep in thought. I was just wondering what you're thinking about."

"Oh, um, well... nothing really. Just thinking."

"How can you think about 'nothing?' Do you imagine 'everything' covered by a big red circle with a diagonal slash over it?"

"Don't be cute. You know I hate that. Since you need to know more, I was just thinking about 'stuff.' Is that better?"

"'Stuff.' Hmmm. That covers a wide range. Is it philosophical 'stuff' like the sound of one hand clapping? Is it practical 'stuff?' Paying the bills, cleaning the house? Or do you allow your 'stuff' to fly on flights of fancy and think of tropical islands with open-air huts and warm breezes? 'Stuff' encompasses a lot you know."

"Jeeze, you're nosy. If you must know I was thinking about food."

"Ahh. Now we're getting somewhere. Can you be more specific? You seem to drift toward the vague."

"Sorry, I didn't know I had to run everything by you to make sure the details were hashed out."

"Hashed out? Food again?"

"Fifty thousand comedians are out of work and you're cracking wise! No, that comment was not food related."

"Sounds like we're making progress. So tell me about food. Do you think about food all the time?"

"No, just when I'm awake. When I'm sleeping, I dream about it."

"Now who's being cute?"

"OK, but they're my thoughts, not yours. I can be cute with them if I want to. Seriously, when I'm eating breakfast, I'm thinking about what to have for lunch. At lunch, it's dinner. After dinner, I think about eating anything that's slow enough to stick a fork into it."

"Sleeping cats better be nervous, huh?"

"It's not funny. Food sometimes feels like an obsession. It's hard to stay on my diet when I'm always thinking about what to eat."

"I was wondering -"

"Oh, I hate it when you start sentences like that. You're really trying to put another thought in my head and you think I won't notice it if you start with 'I was wondering.'"

"As I said, I was wondering... How would it feel if instead of saying 'Dieting is hard,' you said, 'Eating healthy is exciting. I feel great when I do it.' That's true too, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah. I just don't know if I can."

"Tell you what. Put me in touch with the guy who controls your thoughts and we'll fix you up and get back to you."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, I can be snarky sometimes. But if you change the way you look at it, you might do better, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's worth a thought."

What choices put him there?

It was a most unlikely sight.

He - late thirties, looking older - supported a worn, faded, red backpack over his denim jacket as he trudged down our street. What drew my attention however was the bright yellow blanket with large blue stars and comets draped over his right shoulder; obviously a child's. The apparent reason for this colorful cloth was the small boy holding his father's hand as they headed down the street.

Earlier, on my morning walk, our paths crossed a few miles from here. At that time, he carried the sleeping boy over his shoulder, wrapped in the cosmically decorated fabric. It is curious to witness a man transporting a small blanket-wrapped youngster through the morning streets, so I offered assistance.

"Nah," was his reply. "I just need a ride. But thanks."

He continued walking; hoisting the child, while his free hand - with thumb outstretched - sought to hitch a ride.

Since then, an hour had passed and the boy was walking - tiredly - with his father carrying the blanket. Each time a car whizzed by, dad extended his thumb. Each time, the driver paid no heed and the duo trudged on. Together, one unit, repeating the pattern, they continued down the sidewalk and I watched them shrink and disappear into the distance.

The uniqueness of their plight caused me wonder. What choices had he made to put them here today? Were they poor decisions and now he was paying a price? If he had known the future, would he have acted differently? What circumstances put a father and son together, walking miles, seeking transportation, adorned in a bright yellow blanket on a cloudy, misty morning? It is so surprising the decisions others make. Why don't they think it out? Don't they see?

I entered my house to change my clothes and faced the mirror. Five decades leaves its calling card: what was firm is soft, what was flat now sags. Was this my doing? It is simple to dissect others' actions, complacently directing their lives. But when the reflection looking back is one's own, smugness quickly evaporates.

What choices had I made to put me here today? Was I now paying a price? If I had known my future, would I have acted differently? Did I think it out? Didn't I see?

He did what he did, and is where he is - as am I. Resentment, judgment, and regret serve no purpose. Yet tomorrow remains wide open with all things possible. Decisions do matter; I must choose wisely.

What's Hunger Got To Do With It?

As I mindlessly consume my bag of 94% fat-free, 100% taste-free popcorn, my TV-remote surfing pauses at a late-night infomercial touting the latest secret cure in fighting obesity. Were I not so tired, I might question what cruel individual kept it concealed, and why. However, I confess my logic centers were closed for the evening.

I can tell the over-excited announcer is skinny; so much energy at midnight must be a function of high metabolism. He pitches with uncontained enthusiasm: Eat everything you want, no exercise. Change nothing. Swallow this supplement. Lose something like 300 pounds the first fifteen minutes and 25 pounds an hour thereafter!

Yeah, right - and I could flap my arms and fly, if it were not for the buttery salt all over them.

Explaining the apparent contradiction with nutritional science advanced by the pill’s miraculous assertions, the voiceover continues, “New LIE-TO-YOUR-FACE FAT-B-GON suppresses your hunger gene so you don’t eat. Weight falls off like magic!”

OK, you caught me. I did alter the name of the product for truth-in-advertising purposes. That however misses my point.

Those of us who are overweight consume mass quantities of food even when NOT hungry. I can tell by your now ashen complexion that you are shocked. Alas, ‘tis true. When I am unbuttoning my pants at Thanksgiving dinner to thrust another pound of mashed potatoes into my expanding, aching gullet, I left hunger in the rear-view mirror long ago. You would think decent diet researchers might have noticed this.

Hunger is not the issue; my eating is rarely associated with lack of food. So fancy schmancy diet company - suppress my “hunger gene”. If I even had such a thing, I think doctors removed it with my tonsils years ago, right before feeding me three day’s worth of ice cream.

Should your researchers be truly interested in assisting, I have requests. Suppress my appetite gene; that will help. Or what about my gee-I’m-bored-so-I’ll-eat-anything-I-can-stick-a-fork-in gene? Better yet, get rid of that pesky I-had-a-rough-day-so-I-will-consume-a-pound-of-chocolate-and-six pack-of-beer gene.
Come up with one of those puppies and I’ll pay $19.95 plus shipping. You won’t even have to throw in the Ginsu knives.