And You Thought You Were Healthy...

Why do flags flap on a windy day?

Believe it or not, this is just one of many questions science cannot surely resolve. There are others: What is gravity? Why do we dream? How many species inhabit our planet? Why is it that the freeway lane I choose is always the slowest? (Okay, in all fairness, I really doubt if scientists spend much time on the last question.)
Each of us has unanswered questions.

Since my field is health, I’ve often wondered why is it that we determine someone’s correct weight based on the Quetelet Index of Obesity, a formula dating back to nineteenth-century Europe? Granted, about a century later we shifted to Body Mass Index (BMI), which is weight divided by height squared. Yet the main premise remained in tact: how tall you are is virtually the sole factor to determine how much you should weigh.

That has never made sense to me. Why would a 5’ 6” forty-four year old vegan woman who enjoys yoga and jogs with regularity; and a sedentary man of equal stature who scarfs red meat, French fries, and drives his car 100 yards to the corner store; be considered healthy at the same weight? I have always thought something’s messed up.
It appears I’m correct – but I take no comfort in what I found out.

A recent study found that the BMI misclassified 39 percent of Americans. Instead of being “overweight,” it turns out they were more accurately “obese.” This is because BMI doesn’t distinguish between fat and muscle, and some folks with “normal BMIs” may harbor dangerously high amounts of fat in their bodies. Without an accurate measurement of how much body fat, the researchers say, millions of people don’t know they are at high risk for a number of obesity-related diseases such as heart disease and cancer, among others.

Dr. Eric Braverman, co-author of the study, points out

“Without knowing how much fat you have, you can't really save people from illness. It is the number one predictor of who's going to live or die.”

This new method of determining who is healthy is revealing some frightening stats. Of the almost fourteen hundred people studied, 26 percent were classified as obese using their BMI. That number almost tripled to 64 percent when measured with a Dual Energy X-ray Absorptiometry (DXA) scan, which is commonly used to check for osteoporosis, measure percentage of body fat, muscle mass, and bone density.

The study discovered that misclassifications were more common in women then men and also increased with age. For example, among women in their fifties, 48 percent more were classified as obese using the DXA instead of their BMI. For women over 70, it climbed to 59 percent. This is because as women age, they lose more muscle to fat than do men. Since BMI does not distinguish between muscle and fat, their classification of “obese” instead of “overweight” — or “even healthy” — would go unnoticed.

Braverman and his co-author Dr. Nirav Shah, are suggesting that we lower the definition of obesity to include more people. Currently, “obese” means a BMI of 30 or above. They recommend dropping that to 24 for women and 28 for men. To put that in perspective, under present standards, a 5’ 6” woman is considered healthy at 150. Under these new guidelines, she would be considered obese. (Ouch!)

Just when we thought we were starting to turn the corner on the fight against obesity, it looks like we have a lot farther to go.

If I Was King of the World

Should I be anointed Grand Poobah of all things earthly, I would make significant changes.

As a benevolent leader, I wouldn’t be “mean;” but be confident I’d wield my power to appropriately mete out consequences to society’s ne'er-do-wells.

My first task would be to create a “discomfort pistol.”

Whenever someone did something rude, totally self-absorbed, or incredibly inconsiderate, they would be tagged with an invisible beam by this gun. It wouldn’t cause any damage — but for the next 24 hours, they wouldn’t be able to get physically comfortable, no matter what they did. A good analogy would be a stiff neck or a Charlie Horse. It’s not enough to incapacitate you, certainly not enough of an issue to go to the doctor. Yet, all day, it nags at you and the ache doesn’t quit until you get a night’s sleep.

We would use it on people who talk on cell phones or text in theaters, or aim it at the jerk tail-gating us on the freeway. It would exceptionally appropriate for ignoramuses who park in handicapped parking spaces and don’t need to. Give them — on an extremely minor level — a bit of poetic justice.

Anyone shot with the beam would be all right the next day, but at least for 24 hours, there would be justice. Maybe, eventually, they’d learn.

Of course, since fitness is such an issue for all of us, I’d make getting fit more fun.

Stationary bicycles would actually transport you to your favorite places — only as long as you were exercising.

Keeping Track: Using a Journal or Diary to Lose Wegith

When my children were young, I registered their growth on the hallway doorjamb with pencil marks and knife notches.Next to each was inscribed a date and name. Since those statistics are most likely meaningless to the latter owners, I assume sandpaper and lacquer have removed that chronicle; yet I wonder if they left those markings intact, pondering periodically where went “Daniel, January 28, 1988” or “Brandon, April 7, 1989.”

Numbers are the language by which lives are recorded; history is kept; and even how the universe communicates. This does not denigrate the clout of intuition, emotion, nor hunches; yet, the bottom line — quite literally — is what the numbers say. Whether checking the weight of a newborn; success of a business; leadership of a country; or the future of our planet; it’s “in the numbers.”

Our language is strewn with numeric references. We hope no one “does a number on us,” or that our “number is up.” We “dress to the nines” for elegant receptions, but refrain from becoming “three sheets to the wind.” There are “no two ways about it;” numbers count (um, pardon the pun).

It therefore stands to reason that that which we monitor expands our awareness, affording concern or confidence. So logically, if we want to change something about us, we must establish a baseline and “keep score.”

This process starts before we can count, as illustrated by how the amount of gold stars on a refrigerator can be extremely effective in fine-tuning a child’s behavior. As adults, step one in altering our lifestyles might involve tracking our accumulation of wealth (or lack thereof), or when we anticipate joyful occasions, “counting the days.”

Of course, that means should better health be the objective, we must track the behaviors associated with those goals. A smoker can become an ex-smoker by paying attention to how often he lights up and setting targets to lower that count over time. If physical fitness is the desired outcome, we can write down how often — or how far — we walk or run. We record our blood pressure. We check our weight. We can even monitor our attitude.

All this has been a preamble to one question: “If we agree that keeping track can make our lives better, why don’t we do it more often?” What’s the resistance?

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?

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

Dieting Stupidity in the Quest of Becoming Skinny

In the sixties, the main diet methodology was a purple collection of mimeographed pages covered with a lengthy list of foods and their calorie counts. Dieters were instructed to eat only 1,000 calories. Not knowing how to manage our eating (or we would not have been fat), we’d scarf down our daily allotments before lunch and were then faced with two most unhappy options: a) starve the remainder of the day, or; b) quit. Either way, the process was unsuccessful. Frustrated, many opted for easier fad diets; “The Grapefruit Diet,” “Egg Diet,” and “Watermelon Diet,” to name a few. Same results.

Time marches on but stupidity is eternal; so many continue to engage in diet foolishness. Let’s take a tour of some of today’s more bizarre diets. (I did not make these up.) As they say, “Do not try these at home.”

We’ll begin with the Vision Diet, based on the logic that if something looks bad, we’re disinclined to eat it. So, don a pear of blue-tinted glasses all day and everything you plan to eat will look disgusting.

The flaw? Well, aside from the fact that you could hurt your eyes from wearing tinted spectacles too long, the hole is that — for those of us who overeat — we aren’t overly concerned with food’s appearance. Let’s be honest. When you’re gobbling down handfuls of three-day-old leftovers at midnight while standing in front of the refrigerator in your boxers, food presentation isn’t the main criterion by which you’re making culinary decisions.

Next is ear stapling, whereby surgical staples are placed in the inner cartilage of the ear, supposedly stimulating pressure points that control appetite. (One might assume the constant stress of having sharp objects in your ear would actually cause you to eat.) In actuality, the body shortly gets used to it, so one reverts to old habits — or amplifies the process by adding more, developing an abnormal attraction to office products.

While on the subject of body altering, make some noise for the Tongue Patch, whereby a one-inch square of mesh is sewn onto your tongue. Unlike medical patches, it contains no medicine. Instead, it merely makes it difficult — even painful — to eat solid food, so the dieter literally starves herself. But wait! There’s more! For $1,500 or more, you get the further benefits of possible choking and nerve damage. Of course, once the patch is removed, old habits return, albeit with a strong craving to chew on your pants.

Other examples of dietary dumbness include the Cigarette Diet; you smoke instead of eat. Total weight loss is determined by how much your lungs weigh upon removal. The Cotton Ball Diet involves swallowing cotton balls to fill up before eating. One could accomplish the same objective by consuming paper — while having the added benefit of helping to recycle trash. Feed your sweet tooth with The Twinkie Diet. Twinkies, day and night, night and day. Since there is insignificant nutritional value in these not-found-in-nature foodstuffs, you might as well engage in an all-chocolate or all-vodka diet for the same results.

Finally, winning the “most disgusting award” is The Tapeworm Diet, illegal in the U.S., but still offered elsewhere. One ingests beef tapeworm cysts, which eventually interfere with digestion and absorption of nutrients, generating significant weight loss. Once goal weight is reached, an antibiotic is given, which kills the tapeworm so it can be expelled. Aside from the “yick factor,” other side effects can include cysts in the liver, eyes, brain, and spinal cord with potentially lethal consequences.

However, just thinking about that is enough to squelch one’s appetite causing a drop of a few pounds — so maybe it does work after all.

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.

A primer on how to change habits

Most of life is done by rote.

For most of us, alarm clocks buzz the same time every morning. The average grocery store stocks over 38,000 items; yet the standard shopper goes to the same store every week, usually on the same day, and chooses from the same few dozen items every outing. We become brand loyal, eating our meals at approximately the same period every day, leave for work at a uniform time, drive a standard route, and return home at a consistent hour every night. Evenings consist of consuming one of a few “favorite” dinners. Entertainment consists of books or magazines from a few select genres and a stable of favorite authors; or maybe a regular line-up of TV shows, which we watch while sitting in “our usual place,” and snacking — or not — on the same foods we had yesterday at the same time. At day’s end, we retire at the same time, even sleeping with the same person (hopefully), only to repeat these patterns come dawn.

This is not to suggest we are unimaginative, bland, nor boring; rather to illustrate that we are creatures of habit; no if’s, and’s, or butt’s about it.

Reality is these habits make life easier. Picture the above scenario where every single day consisted of an entirely new routine. Exciting? Sure — for a little while. After that, just plain exhausting.

The downside of a life assembled on a foundation of habits are the “side effects;” those unexpected results of our patterns. Make no mistake however; they are every bit as much a part of the habit as are the results we seek. For example, if I’m bored, I eat. If I’m angry, I eat. If I’m sad, I eat. It’s a common routine. It allows me to feel better fast. After all, chips or ice cream not only alleviate boredom, but also go a long way toward holding negative feelings at bay — for the short term. The side effect is a weight gain. I get to feel good quickly, for the simple price of obesity long term.

Conversely, some people read a book when bored; when sad, call a friend; and when angry, take a brisk walk. (There is a clinical term for such folks: “Skinny.”) Whereby their habits also provide comfort, the side effects are healthier. Should I long for such results, I must also develop similar habits.

The thing is that it’s extremely difficult to “drop” habits. Since their sole purpose is to fill voids, simply abolishing them make those holes more painful. This in turn, triggers the very behavior we were trying to banish — which puts our actions at odds with our feelings. In a case like that, emotions almost always win out and the habit — and its side effects — strengthens.

To break this cycle, one must replace the offending behavior with a counterproductive one. So, rather than saying, “I won’t eat when stressed,” develop a plan, such as, “I’ll take a walk when stressed.” Providing you don’t also grab a candy bar on the way out the door, the anxiety is still diminished — without the pesky side effect. Yes, feels awkward at first (because it’s not yet a habit), but given a few repetitions, it eventually forms a new, healthier, habit.

We never really get rid of habits. We put them in cold storage; we can thaw them out whenever we choose. Unfortunately we do that more times than we consciously choose, which is yet one more habit we can change.

Trying Times

I am trying to lose a few pounds (again).

I'd put odds on the fact that I'm not the only person in our sleepy burg with such a stated goal. Others are trying things too: stop smoking, be more active, spend more time with their families. As a whole, we TRY many things. The more important question is, "Are we DOING them?"

I wish I could remember which wise sage pointed out "trying" is "saying 'no' with grace."

A friend lost into your past surprises you by reappearing while you are squeezing cantaloupes at the grocery store. Pre-ordained ceremonial niceties commence, "How are your kids? What's your husband doing these days? Are you still working at the same place?" It's a pleasurable oasis of exchange with someone who used to be close. Yet, after the first few paragraphs, what remains to be said? An awkward silence slithers between you until finally you utter, "Let's get together and catch up. It's been too long."

She replies warmly, "I'll try and call you next week, OK?"

"Sounds great," you say before exchanging air kisses, and continuing on your mission of securing the finest produce. You know she won't call. You know you won't either.

She could have said, "No, I'm too busy," or "No, I'm not interested." Rather than such bluntness, she replies with the socially approved, milquetoast, "I'll try."

Underlying her intentions was, "No" - delivered with grace.

In those situations, "I'll try" is caring; it diffuses rough, confrontational, unkind exchanges. However, in so many other circumstances, we use "try" as a justification for our own unwillingness to change. After all, what if we give up or decide later that the objective takes too much effort? It hurts to boldly state, "I AM losing a few pounds," only to face questions at a later time when well-meaning friends inquire, "How's the diet going?" It saves face to be able to reply, "I tried, It didn't work," rather than, "I wasn't willing to do it," or "I changed my mind."

In reality, what is there to "try?" Am I actually eating less? Am I really more active? Select one: "yes" or "no." If I choose to not act on my own words, I am not "trying," I am simply "not doing."

Of late, I find myself stating proudly to anyone within earshot what I am "trying" to do. In actuality, I am setting the stage for the excuses I might use at another time.

"I am trying to lose weight," I say.

My friends nod in agreement, commiserating. "It's tough, isn't it?"

"Yes. But I'm really trying hard."

"Good for you," they say, "I admire you."

Yet, my scale has not moved; my waistline has not shrunk. The glaring unavoidable reality is I am not "trying," I am stagnating. The moment has arrived; it is time to stop "trying" and begin "doing."

The use of the word "try" is so addictive; it's tough to ratchet up the commitment to "I'm doing." But I'm trying.

Difficult Until it Isn't

Despite contrary opinion, losing weight is not hard to do; it's amazingly simple:

1. Eat a little less than you want
2. Wait five minutes before you start
3. Walk a little more than you would
4. Focus on today (tomorrow will take care of itself)
5. Repeat process until desired results are obtained

Voila! No pills. No bizarre food concoctions. No expensive plans. Simple. To the point. Successful.

As stated, it's not difficult.

Why then do Americans spend $33 billion a year on a process that can be outlined in fewer than 50 words? Here's the thing: Losing weight is not hard; changing one's mind to accept reality can be another issue.

I offer my own experience as case in point. I am no Johnny-Come-Lately to the rigors of dieting; having been on weight loss programs since before my memories were formed. As an overweight child who wore "husky" pants and XXL shirts, my mother served skim milk in (non-sugary) cereal and fruit for dessert. Doctors tried to shame me into losing weight; again and again forcing upon me those purple mimeographed pages overloaded with food lists, calorie counts, and dieting "secrets" (which never worked). Upon reaching adulthood, well-intentioned friends pointed out the health risks of obesity: heart disease, diabetes, and stroke; attempting to nudge me toward change. My life has been forged and melded in the furnace of dieting. I know this stuff better than the back of my slightly chubby hand.

So, why do I STILL have trouble sticking with it?

The answer? We make the process more difficult than necessary, gunking it up with all manner of artificial mental barriers and obstacles. Instead of accepting what must be done, I lament the process of change; stubbornly hanging on to the ineffective, seeking to finagle my way around what is required. I devise excuses for not waking in time to exercise. I tell myself, "just this once won't hurt" while nibbling leftovers from the refrigerator. I protest the higher price of healthier foods, opting instead for the long-term cost of greasy, crunchy, fried bags of chips.

Our thoughts are the problem, not the diets. We put ourselves at odds with our own best interest. At day's end, it is usual to want to "shut down," and unwind. Close the curtains. Turn off your mind. "Relax," coos the seductive call of well-worn behaviors, "You can start tomorrow."

"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance," said our third president. To obtain independence from the tyranny of destructive habits requires ongoing diligent effort, as anything of value does. Yet, it is equally accurate - and too often forgotten - that when we pursue our passion, treat our bodies with respect, engage our better selves, and witness the results of those actions, there is no comparison to the elation, joyfulness, and euphoria that floods our soul.

At that point, the whole thing almost seems too easy.

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.