Scott "Q" Marcus - Striving for Imprefection

When it comes to food prep, no one would mistake me for a gourmet chef. I mean I can find my way around a kitchen, even prepare a nice meal or two if needed; but if my life hung in the balance, I still couldn’t tell you the difference between broccoli and Gai-lohn nor when to use a Dutch oven instead of a stock pot. Most times, if a recipe involves more than a quarter turn in a microwave oven, I’m on to something else.

That said, when I do take the time to prepare a meal, I am conscious of how it looks and of course, how healthy it is. So, I was knocked flat-footed by a relatively new phenomenon sweeping across the good ol’ U.S. of A. called the “Gross Food Movement.”

This trend, supported by websites such as ThisIsWhyYoureFat.com, sports foods such as the Monster Sandwich Pie, which includes half a roast ham and half a roast turkey, a tub of sour cream, a tub of cream cheese, and a full pound of cheddar and Swiss cheeses, all stuffed inside a King’s Hawaiian round bread loaf. As near as I can calculate, this “sandwich” tops the scales at around 12,000 calories — enough to fuel the average body for the better part of a week. No need to wait all those days to get your energy needs; in our rush-rush, gotta-have-it-quickly society; you can carb-load to a brand new level and consume everything you need (and a lot of what you don’t) in one meal. (Antacids available separately.)

Looking for something to help wind down at the end of a hard day clogging your arteries with Monster Pies? How about the McNuggetini? This festive drink (?) consists of a chocolate milkshake mixed with vodka, rimmed with barbeque sauce, and garnished with half a chicken nugget. “Hey bar-keep! Gimme a double will ya?”

Finally, for dessert, how ‘bout a Hot Beef Sundae? Yep, mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy and cheddar cheese, with a cherry tomato on top. Please, no whipped cream, I’m on a diet.

Some might say the Gross Food Movement (if one can even move after eating such foods) is a playful, fun, fat-laden, extremely greasy, hyper-caloric backlash to the “obsession” we have with healthy eating. They might be right.

Others might say that it’s just, well, gross.

I know I am about to come across to some as a stick in the mud. That said, maybe it’s my upbringing; maybe it’s years of watching my weight (or maybe it’s just looking at the photos of the concoctions I described); but I find the whole thing to be extremely wasteful and somewhat sad. Don’t get me wrong, I am not advocating food police be established or that new laws and regulations be enacted to restrict such culinary catastrophes; I am just expressing an opinion. In a world where half the population is desperately trying to scrape together enough food to make it through the night, our society is so affluent that we have competitive eating contests and recipe books containing Bacon-Wrapped Pigs In A Blanket Wrapped In Bacon.

If someone wants to cook up an Upside Down Mac & Cheese Pizza (a layer of macaroni and cheese sandwiched between two cheese pizzas), I won’t stand in the way. But at the same time, especially this time of year, it would be nice to stop by a shelter and help feed those who would be thankful for what we throw away.

Said a rather dark-sided friend of mine, “Why do you spend so much time writing about health? We all end up the same way in the end. Why fight the inevitable, might as well just enjoy the time we have.”

Said I, adjusting rose-colored glasses, “I disagree. None of us know how much time we have, but good health allows us to enjoy it as long as possible.”

Came the reply, “Personally, I think good health is merely the state of dying at the slowest possible pace.”

Clunk. Ouch. End of bizarre conversation.

That said, in light of all the discussion lately, I’ve got a thing or two to say about a thing or two about health care. Since my column is not political in nature, I’ll attempt to steer clear of that sticky widget. Yet, I’m assuming, no matter one’s political leanings, we agree that something is unwell within our health care system.

They say, “Figures don’t lie, liars figure.” So knowing I could be stepping into an ugly morass, I still wish share a few statistics that I find particularly noteworthy.  

According to the 2006 revision of the United Nations World Population Prospects report, for the period 2005-2010, our country ranks 33 when it comes to infant mortality. We are sandwiched between New Caledonia and Croatia.

On the other end of life, from our own CIA’s World Factbook, last updated April 2009, our life expectancy is 50th. A child born in the U.S. today will likely be around for 78.1 years.  Combine those statistics with the staggering fact that the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (a group representing 30 wealthier, industrialized countries) computed that the United States spent $7,290 per capita on health care, ranking it first among the countries studied.

Might just be me, but I don’t think we’re getting our money’s worth.

Whether the solution is public option or private health insurance is not the issue I’m trying to address. Yes, what our government does might indeed affect us for generations far beyond our (hopefully extending) lifespans. Yes, there is much to be corrected.

But, quoting Cassius, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves…” It’s easy to pronounce and pontificate about what “they” should do, it’s quite another little something to step to the platform, roll up our sleeves, and actually take action. Irrespective of legislation regarding “single payer” or “pre-existing conditions,” we must each make a difference in our own lives by establishing good health as a higher priority in day-to-day decisions.

This does not mean uproot and rebuild your entire routine, throwing every habit into the waste bin.  Make a small stand if that’s all you can do but make it now. Opt for less processed food. Lower your sugar intake. Park your car at the far end of the lot. Small steps done regularly have more impact than big steps done intermittently. In other words, it’s better to get out and walk around the block — and really do it — than it is to promise to run a mile someday soon but never get around to it.

Find an excuse to act in a healthier fashion. It feels good; it’s even patriotic.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

The most common Thanksgiving holiday traditions are:

• Giving Thanks
• Thanksgiving Day Parade
• Football
• Breaking the wishbone
• Turkey and Trimmings

I am unclear how the genealogy section of About.com determined this; yet intuitively it appears correct. Ever curious (and always looking for content for my column), I wondered how these came to be; so I did some research. I share.

According to historians, the Pilgrims never observed an annual Thanksgiving banquet in autumn. In the year 1621, they did celebrate a feast following their first harvest, but this ceremony was never repeated. (Oddly, most devoutly religious pilgrims of that time did observe a day of thanksgiving, but they did so by fasting.) George Washington was the first president to declare the holiday, in 1789.

In the mid–1800s, many states — but not all — observed a Thanksgiving holiday. During the Civil War, President Lincoln, looking for ways to unite the nation, discussed the subject with poet and editor Sarah J. Hale, who had been lobbying for Thanksgiving to become a national holiday. In 1863 he gave his Thanksgiving Proclamation and declared the last Thursday in November a day of thanksgiving.

Seeking to lengthen the Christmas shopping season, Franklin D. Roosevelt, in 1939, 1940, and 1941, changed Thanksgiving to the third Thursday in November. Finally, amid controversy, Congress passed a joint resolution in 1941 and since that time, Thanksgiving remains on the fourth Thursday of November.

Of course, giving thanks remains the bedrock of the celebration and our country is not alone in that tradition. Other countries with an official Thanksgiving holiday include Argentina, Brazil, Canada, Japan, Korea, Liberia, and Switzerland.

As for football, the first intercollegiate football championship was held on Thanksgiving Day in 1876. Parades started almost a half-century later when, in 1920, Gimbel's Department Store in Philadelphia organized the first one. Many erroneously credit the first parade to Macy's, which actually began in 1924, and of course, continues to this day.

I did not realize that the wishbone had such a long history. Getting the larger section of the wishbone and making a wish upon it dates back to the Etruscans  (who lived in northwestern Italy in the first millennium BC). The Romans brought the tradition with them when they conquered England and the English colonists carried the tradition on to America. For those of us who appreciate the derivation of phrases, the term “lucky break,” comes from getting the larger piece.

With regards to the choice of turkey for the main course of the meal, blame or credit that to the evolution of our language. In the 1600s, “turkey” was the generic name to describe all fowl. Actually, many historical accounts of that first feast include references to venison, boiled pumpkin, berries, and, maybe even shellfish.

Although food is definitely a means by which we celebrate good fortune, I must note that nowhere is “stuffing oneself until sick” listed as a tradition. Quite the contrary, I would go so far as to say that uncomfortable, pained, hyper-expanded feeling that follows so many Thanksgiving celebrations actually detracts from the appreciative sense of gratitude one would hope to experience. Maybe, that’s one tradition we can drop this year.

Therefore, amid friends and family, let us resolve this year to find more reasons to give thanks, more occasions to help those less fortunate than us, and more ways to take better care of ourselves, starting with a wonderful Thanksgiving.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country.  He will be giving thanks for the fact that you read this and can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

At the very first session I had with my therapist oh so many years ago, the opening question out of my mouth was, “How long will this take?”

Being ever the smart aleck, he replied, “About 50 minutes.”

“No,” I responded. “How long will it take until I am fixed; you know, healed; normal?”

I am not alone when it comes to asking that question. One of the first items we want checked off our “to do list of change” is a date specific that we can mark on our calendar alerting us to the face that — voila — goal achieved! Like a prisoner sentenced to hard labor, we want to know how long until we are free.

From a logical point of view, the process of getting from “here” to “there” is actually pretty exhilarating. We find out about ourselves. We discover what we’re capable of doing. Others compliment and admire us. Life is new; every sunrise provides the option for multiple new adventures, unwrapping more of whom we really are. It would seem that with so much to gain, we would rather linger luxuriously in the progression instead of charge hell-bent for leather to the other side.

So, what’s with the big rush?

I’m not naïve, I am more than aware that it takes work and is, at times, prickly; yet most of our goal-driven society touts reflexively, “anything worth having is worth working for.” If I want a good marriage, I will work for it. Raising healthy, happy children is certainly an effort at times. Advancing my career and maintaining my house require expending resources. Certainly the best ME possible is a worthy objective, and therefore stands to reason that it also is worth the elbow grease necessary to achieve it.

We might not always be keen on it, but we are not a people afraid of hard work. So that cannot be the reason why the sprint to the finish line. I believe we are in such a hurry to “get there” because we are terrified of waking up with the realization that we have “lost our motivation.”

Like the despondent lover, we plead, “Don’t go; please stay. I’ll be good. What will happen to me if you leave?” If we can arrive at the altar before being jilted by our fickle paramour, everything will be OK.

Being a student of change (aren’t we all?), I am enthralled by our choice of words. After all, words reflect our thoughts. Thoughts determine actions. Watch what you say, it could become your life. Therefore, when we say, “I’ve lost my motivation,” it presupposes that motivation is some foreign entity residing in a distant land. Yet, we are the source of our motivation. We gin it up, and we turn it off. We control it; no one else does. Others can inspire us, coerce us, or force us — but motivate? Not so much. (Ever try and “motivate” a lazy teen? Get my point?)

The premier adjustment on the road to stable, long-term change, is to accept that the locus of control — where decisions are made — is internal, not external. Sure, “stuff” happens, and luck (or fate) can be players. Yet, they are bit parts. I own my spotlight. Once I accept that, the only thing in my way is me.

A column in a recent issue of Newsweek magazine has prompted me to think — always a dangerous practice.

The piece, penned by Julia Baird, was entitled “Positively Downbeat,” and the basic thesis was that positive thinking was actually making us all more miserable, rather than happier. As evidence, she sites a study from the General Social Survey by economists Betsey Stevenson and Justin Wolfers of Wharton. They found, that despite three decades of economic growth in America (current tumultuous financial climate excepted), men and women are no happier now than they were in the seventies. To further hit home the point, the study found that women in 1972 were, on the average, actually more content than they are now.

Being a devotee of “positive thinking,” I was perplexed. How could it be that lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness would make us more miserable? Intuitively, it made no more sense to me than a study that came out a few years ago, finding that low-calorie foods caused obesity. As in that report, something was obviously askew.

Ms. Baird references another author, Barbara Ehrenreich, who in her book, “Bright-Sided: How Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America,” calls positive thinking a “mass delusion.” Among other ideas, Ms. Ehrenreich argues that the foundation of positive thinking is the belief that you can will anything you like into happening: recovering from cancer, getting a promotion, becoming a millionaire.

It is in that statement that I found a foothold; believe as you wish, one must also accept that the universe will not change its rules to accommodate our whims, fantasies, or desires.

Positive thinking is not blind, naive, magical wishing. I cannot rub a crystal ball, site solemnly my affirmations, and assume that all will go exactly as I foresee. After all, I might fancy Sandra Bullock and myself alone on a tropical, romantic, desert island, while at the same time, her thoughts are, “not in my lifetime buster.” I can posit positive until the furrows in my brow are canals, and still move no closer to Ms. Bullock than the DVD I rent from the video store.

Positive thinking does not materialize nirvana for me. What it does is gives me a stake in my own outcomes; so my life becomes mine, for better or worse. Once I accept that I have the wherewithal to direct my actions, I am empowered, not anointed. With the assumption that I am a (mostly) capable sentient being with talents, ideas, and skills; also comes the responsibility of utilizing those gifts to the best of my ability.

An optimistic outlook will not guarantee a life of luxury or ease, it is simply a tool that allows us to deal with events better when they appear difficult and allow us to further enjoy them when they do not. Positive thinking transfers the impetus of action from “out there” to “in here.” But if “in here” continually seeks its happiness “out there,” it is a void that will never be filled.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

While drinking my morning coffee and reading the newspaper at the local bakery, I watched as the young parents entered the establishment, a small blond girl with huge, round blue eyes, bundled snuggly against the cold wind, was in tow. While her parents stamped their feet on the doormat to restart the circulation in their legs, the lass was pulled, as if by an unseen magnet, to the pink, green, and purple cut-out cookies in the glass case.

She pointed to the pastries on the bottom shelf, secured safely behind the transparent barrier, and looked upwards to mom. “Cookie?” She was few in words but her eyes expressed a dictionary.

“No,” said her mom, “Not now. You can have milk if you’d like, but not a cookie.”

Undeterred, she continued to stare down her mom, pointer finger pressed tightly against the glass.

“No,” her mom repeated. “It’s too early.”

No change; defiance; a principle was at stake.

Mom squatted, lowering herself to eye level of the toddler. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re good today, Daddy will bring you back this afternoon and you can get a cookie then. How about that?”

The young girl considered her option, decided it was acceptable and walked away from the glass.

“Interesting how early it starts,” I thought. She can barely use words, but already her rewards are provided in the form of sugary goodness. It reminded me of the joke where Johnny, being the rambunctious young lad that he is, is riding his bike full tilt down the driveway, utilizing all the energy and enthusiasm appropriate to a six year old. Approaching a bump too quickly, he loses control of his two-wheeler and tumbles onto the cement.

Strong, but in pain, he picks up the bicycle and hobbles back to the porch, limping slightly from the accident. Mom inspects his damaged knee, assures him that it’s minor, and says, “You know what will make it better?”

“No,” answers Johnny. “What?”

“A cookie.”

Mom reaches into the bear-shaped ceramic jar on the counter and pulls out a large chocolate chip round reward. She hands it to Johnny, who immediately holds it against his bruised knee.

“When will it make stop hurting?” he asks.

Personally, I think it’s fine to take pleasure in the taste of food; it’s a sense to enjoy. Yet an overhanging question is “Why are we doing it so much?” I do not believe that the only reason to eat is for sustenance or nutrition; but we also must keep that in the forefront. When we look at the shape of our society today (pun loosely intended), it seems to be apparent that we forgot that we eat to live, not the other way around.

When I’m bored, I want to eat. When I’m sad, I eat. When I’m angry — you got it. You know, there are people who, when they’re bored, they read a book? When they’re sad, they call a friend; and when they’re angry, they take a walk. There’s a clinical term for that kind of personality: it’s called “skinny.”

Those habits didn’t develop themselves overnight. Somewhere down the line, they learned something different and their actions took a different path, leading to a healthier life. Maybe, — who knows — as a small child, they were told,  “If you’re really good, Daddy will take you on a bike ride later today.”

We might not be children but a bicycle won’t care.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

To say a continental breakfast is simple, is tantamount to saying fire is hot. No duh. Depending on where you spend the night, this mainstay of hotels and motels might present you with coffee, tea, assorted juices, rolls, yogurt, bagels, pastries, and cereal. Periodically, its menu might include sausage, pancakes, or pre-portioned cups of waffle batter and a waffle maker in which to cook it. (Point of interest: They are called "continental breakfasts" because they are the  breakfast of choice on The Continent, also known as Europe.)

If it's going to be a while before your next meal however, be wary of the ubiquitous continental breakfast because the primary foodstuffs served in these breakfasts contain a whole lot of empty calories. Count on a rumbling, empty belly and low energy a few hours hence.

So, with that in mind, ever-conscious (some might say "obsessed") with taking care of myself and watching my weight, I walk the aisle of offerings before making my decision, taking a casual glance at what is available. Too many calories and too much fat in sausage; too much sugar in the waffles; not in the mood for a mushy apple; what to do?

At the end of the line up, the inn has two dispensing machines that provide two different types of cold cereal. In the front of each dispenser, there is a picture of the box from which they come. I presume they do this so you can tell which cereal is which. However, at first blush, the decision to the health-conscious appears obvious. Note use of the word, "appears."

The same company manufactures both products; yet the similarity ends there. One bin is full of red, yellow, blue, and purple loops caked in sugar. Its container, emblazoned with a loud, cartoonish font, is decked out with a caricature of a varicolored, large-billed bird from Central America, who with gleeful abandon is devouring a bowl of the fruity rings.

The other container, I presume is opting to appeal to the "more mature" morning diner as it consists of a multi-grain granola with chunks of assorted nuts and raisins. Its package cover is more demure, adorned with a wholesome, unrefined, typeface; and instead of a cartoon character, there is an enlarged photograph of a spoonful of the salubrious mixture, showing detail of its nourishing goodness. Across the top of the box, above the brand, it boldly proclaims, "Low Fat."

With credit to the manufacture, nutritional information is clearly printed on the top of each box, and that's what caught my eye. The low fat cereal, had three grams of fat and the sugary cereal had only one.

"Odd," I thought, and inspected further.

In addition to more fat, it had 230 calories compared to 110. It had 150 grams of sodium versus 135, and it had 18 grams of sugar instead of only 12 for the happy bird.

At first blush, the sugary cereal appears to be the healthier alternative. However, years of learning to avoid such items could not be overcome. I opted for a hard-boiled egg.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds 15 years ago this week, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

Let me jump to the point: I am concerned that we, as a people, are drowning in an epidemic of outrage. Maybe it's not as apparently dangerous as the swine flu, but it is far more virulent and certainly more contagious. It seems that virtually everyone is "outraged" about something or another. We appear to seek out reasons to feel offended, flipping it on as effortlessly as we turn on the hallway light. I am saddened that we are becoming humorless and without joy.

I was prompted into this observation because recently I wrote what I thought was a playful look at fried foods available to me on a trip to New Orleans. I admit to taking license with the details; yet overall, the premise was true: due to the preponderance of deep fried options, I find it harder to stick to my diet in the South. One might even consider it a compliment to southern cuisine. One might, yet, that is not how it was taken. I recently made the mistake of wading into the cesspool of on-line comments posted by some readers. "Outraged" was the main entrée on the menu of insults.

One person pronounced, "The South won't miss your rude and snotty little yankee-on-a-diet attitude," wondering if I was "raised by salad eating wolves," (Huh?) and concluding, "You're real lucky none of those Good Ole Southern Boys heard your pansy **** complaining ... or they would have schooled you on proper etiquette in the Deep South." Ouch. "Bitter, table for one please."

Someone else was enraged I was bringing my "ugly American" attitude where it didn't belong. Isn't New Orleans part of America? I don't know whether to be insulted or confused.

Sussing out a new column, I searched the internet for, "I am outraged." Presented with over one million listings; I entered a virtual culture of enraged, upset, venomous folk; ready to jump onto the seeing red bandwagon at the drop of a hat. Outrage boiled over because of the approval of an artificial sweetener by the FDA. Indignation was rampant because a baseball player opted for elbow surgery.  There was high dudgeon because Queen Frostine, a character in the game Candyland, had been demoted to Princess. So distressed was he by such discrimination, that he made a solemn pledge to never again buy another game from the manufacturer, and was arranging a boycott.  All is far from sweet in Candyland.

People, please, can we take a breath? Let's slow down long enough to step back from the brink and move distant from the precipice of righteous anger. Let's put the "go-ahead-cross-this-line" bravado on the back burner long enough to hear what someone has to say before we puff up, poke our finger in his chest, and give him the piece of mind we think he deserves?

Sure, there are concerns a plenty; enough to last for generations. We face a heating environment, a teetering economic platform, and a divided political system. There are injustices galore on which we can focus. And maybe that's the reason we're so easily thrown into a tizzy at the slightest affront. However, do we have to react like moths to light with "outrage?" How helpful or pleasant is it to live in a 24-hour state of hyper-tension, tight jaws, and clenched fists?

Maybe - just a thought here - we could try smiling quicker, listening longer, and thinking deeper. It might not help, but it sure couldn't hurt. Of course, if you disagree, I'm sure I'll get outraged letters.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds almost 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be outraged at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips

My email spam blocking system informs me that I have received 128,747 email messages of which 68.05 percent were spam. Why I would want to know those particular factoids eludes me. Yet there they reside, utilizing several of my already overworked synapses.

However, what my spam-catching system cannot tell me is how many of my 41,134 approved messages were forwarded, usually commencing, "I normally don't forward things like this but..."

Upon opening said missive, I am informed that Bill Gates will send me $5,000 if I pass this along; or am reminded of the navy ship telling the lighthouse to move; or - more likely - a friend is warning me that if I don't forward this, I shall suffer severe tragedies. (Point of interest: What kind of "friend" would send me something as horrific as that? Just wondering...)

And as long as I got me started, two notes about e-forwarding "etiquette."

One: If you absolutely INSIST on doing it, do not - repeat DO NOT - include all the other comments from everyone and their brother. No one wants to scroll through 67 pages of ">>You gotta see this..." or ">>Send to everyone you know." Delete others' comments; send what matters - but only if necessary, please.

Number Two: If you wish to respond, use REPLY, not REPLY ALL. Jeeze! They oughta take that button away from people who don't know how to use it. The only thing worse than 67 pages of comments is 67 emails replying with, "COOL" or "BITCHEN, THANKS!"

Oops, excuse the tirade; pet peeve; I got sidetracked. Now, where was I?

Oh yes, once in a while, something great does cross my computer screen, and it's worth telling others about. The RULES FOR BEING HUMAN, by Cherie Carter-Scott, fits that bill, consisting of ten brilliant lessons on how to manage your time on Planet Earth.

They start simply: "You will receive one body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the entire time you're here." I mean, how much time do we spend glaring at our profile in any passing shiny surface, bemoaning the fact that we don't look like Anglina Jolie or Jennifer Aniston? (Personally, I don't waste a lot of time doing that, but I have unfavorably compared myself to Brad Pitt.) It's not conceit to accept your strong points. Sure, work on our weaknesses. But shame is not attractive so you might as well get rid of it.

The Rules also remind us, "There are no mistakes, only lessons. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you learn it. When you have learned it, you can then go on to the next lesson."

How many times have I done the same thing over and over, fooling myself by the preface, "This time it will be different." Sorry, this time will be like the last 17 times, unless I actually do something different.

"Don't you think you might try something else?" asks the Universe.

"I don't want to," whines my cranky inner kid.

Ultimately, I begrudgingly accept that the Universe will not change it rules to accommodate my whims fantasies or desires and proceed forward. Stomp fee. Kick loudly. Next lesson please.

Altogether, there are ten rules, covering all phases and aspects of existence. Each is simple. All are brilliant. And they end with, "You will forget all these."

You'd think, after all these years in this body, I might understand how things work. You'd think that - but you'd be wrong.

P.S. Please forward this article to everyone on your email list.

From the moment she entered the jet, I could tell she did not want to be there. In addition to apologizing each time her overloaded "Big Brown Bag" banged someone in an aisle seat, she was having difficulty navigating her excessive size down the skeletal-sized aisle.

I knew the other passengers were thinking, "I hope she doesn't sit next to me." Plane seats are not known for roominess, and having someone else's bulk overspill into one's limited area was not something for which anyone eagerly plunked down a few hundred dollars.

My overweight past flooded to my forethought and I remembered being the recipient of "that look" in the other passengers' eyes when I used to enter an airplane. I avoided eye contact; my method of signaling to each traveler, "Don't worry. You're safe. I'm not sitting next to you."

Finally, I would locate my seat (God forbid it was a center seat). I'd smile and meekly point to the location into which I was supposed to compress. My neighbor would smile weakly, rise, and let me pass. After I settled in, he would reclaim his territory and - although he would usually try to hide it - I would notice a subtle, but definite, slight tilt in the opposite direction from me; trying to retain as much space as possible for himself.

All of those memories swamped my consciousness now and I knew what this woman walking the aisle was experiencing in this moment.

As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I felt ashamed because - despite my empathy - I too was hoping her seat assignment would not be next to mine. Realizing with horror what I was thinking, I wanted to spare her "the look" coming from one who had been there, so I pulled up the airline magazine and pretended to be engrossed with two Smiling Solar Tiki Garden Torches that will "light up my corner of paradise."

Eventually she dropped her heft into the seat across the aisle, and shyly lifted her hand to signal the attendant. I also understood that motion; it was code for "I need a seatbelt extension," one more humiliation in an already degrading experience.

"Uncomfortable" would not be a word that even came close to describing the pained expression etched on her face after she was finally able to lift her midsection and insert the tab into the buckle. She was sweating from the exertion of what, to most, is a simple task. Her efforts to normalize her breathing were complicated by the tightness of the belt, the metal stabbing arms of the seat on either side, and, of course, the infamous lack of legroom - made even worse by the baggage she could barely insert under the seat in front of her. It was beyond obvious that she would rather be anywhere but in that spot at that time in this moment.

I really know nothing about the lady on the plane; possibly she was already down several pounds on a diet - or she wasn't. I cannot know; more importantly, it is not my job to judge.  But, what I cannot deny is watching her made my heart hurt because it brought back my own experiences. That's an important reminder.

Sometimes, in the effort to improve, I think we get sidetracked, complaining about the effort. "It's too hard." "It'll take too long." We lament the process instead of celebrate our growing freedoms.

Watching her try to relax on a noisy, overcrowded, restrictive airplane in a cramped seat with an overstretched seat belt strangling her midsection reminded me how much better I feel when I take care of myself. Sure, it takes work. Yes, it can be uncomfortable. But, it's a heck of a lot less uncomfortable than doing nothing.

About the author: Scott "Q" Marcus is a THINspirational speaker and author. Since losing 70 pounds almost 15 years ago, he conducts speeches, workshops, and presentations throughout the country. He can be reached at scottq@scottqmarcus.com or you can follow him on twitter at twitter.com/bestdietingtips