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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday September 29, 2003 Volume V Number 45 |
FOCUS - Carbs and Pie á la Mode
Every year about this time, I reflect back on that moment in time when the idea of LeaderFOCUS (note the unique spelling – it doesn’t pass muster with spell-check) first came to me. It was a flash of inspiration – a genuine “Ah-hah” experience. I’ve been posting personal stuff on the Internet for a long time (well before LeaderFOCUS), and even then there was a section on my site called “Musings of a Wannabe Writer;” a sampling of some of my prose. This revealing little title became the subject of no small amount of teasing and jesting among the family; it embarrassed some of them, I think. For good cause. But that’s a part of me. Like John Boy Walton and David Copperfield, I aspired someday to be a writer.
The cover of TIME this week brings us a charming portrait of President Reagan on the occasion of the published collection of his letters – some five thousand of them, filling nine-hundred pages. Apparently I share with the former President the need to get words on paper, and put ideas and observations and perspectives in some semblance of verbal order on a blank page. Not everyone was kind about Mr. Reagan’s ability to live up to his nickname – “The Great Communicator.” They referred to his penchant for sleeping through boring presentations, and his tendency to confuse storytelling with policy-making and his reliance on someone else’s script. But his public effectiveness was in the delivery. One observer, the Democrat power broker, Clark Clifford, called him an “amiable dunce.” Rather unkind, don’t you think? Add to unkind perfectly inaccurate. And unfair. And pompous. It’s the kind of ad-hominem we’ve come to expect from politicians.
But now there is a new window into the man’s soul – personal letters written to a wide range of readers – from unknown admirers who simply took time to pen some lines to him all the way to world leaders, who rarely receive personal notes from their counterparts, until Ronald Reagan came along.
Reagan wrote often, and well. He used a fountain pen and a yellow pad. He sometimes misspelled words. His lines were passionate, and he painted word pictures in broad strokes. He often argued his political point of view. He sometimes fought for religious principles, like the time he took on a clergyman for his flimsy view on the divinity of Jesus. He surprised Gorbachev with a highly personal, hand written appeal to build a coalition around disarmament. The Department of State was horrified – and over the objections of several high ranking officials, the letter went out. And the bond strengthened.
He also wrote to Nancy. Often. At length. She, too, has shared some of those letters with the world. She wants others to understand why their relationship had such depth. She stiffens at the suggestion that theirs was some sort of political alliance, feeding both of their appetites for power and prestige and influence. Theirs is a love story, she says, evidenced by passions that transcend titles and position and status. As I write, his capacity for memory is about extinguished . Parkinson’s robbed them both of it. He remains stable, bedridden, conscious, but barely aware. Now. But the words on the page are permanent. They speak of his state of being back then, and deliver a message that will speak to future generations with a simple persuasion that will never pass away.
So, LeaderFOCUS became a banner under which I could write regularly, and freely and at length. It’s a step beyond “musings,” though oftentimes LF is just that. Some of my readers have made the true confession that the sheer volume of the weekly essay is a little more than one can digest on a demanding Monday morning. The e-mail box is filled with other appeals for your attention, some of them worthy, most of them not. The simple daily task of deleting the junk consumes more time that you have anyway – and reading for ten or fifteen minutes of LF is asking a great deal. (If Sean Hannity can ask for three hours a day, is it too much to ask for ten minutes a week?)
But bullet points and checklist and how-to’s have never really inspired me. It’s the story, the narrative, if written with some measure of freshness and passion and good humor - that’s what engages me and in the end, I trust, brings a satisfying sense that it was worth the time and effort for us both.
It’s that sort of writer I really want to be.
And as of this month, I am entering into my fifth year, without missing a week.*
* * * * * * *
So this installment of LeaderFOCUS, I want to tell you about yet another little milestone in my life. It has to do with a project I started the first week in June.
It may well be pre-mature. And I want you to keep it here – just between you and me.
People pretty much say something now. When I see them. Some even ask privately if this little program of mine is intentional, or if perhaps I’m suffering from some terrible, withering malady. (“Are you sure you’re OK, Ken?”)
I’m a bit more agile these days. Climbing the hills out on our morning hike is a little less demanding. My racquetball game has picked up some; I’m quicker on my feet, and hauling considerably less mass around the court. Changing directions from left to right going after a hot shot has become somewhat more doable.
Picture a backpack fully loaded, ever strapped to your shoulders, holding you back, weighing you down, and imagine the relief pulling if off and laying it down.
That’s what’s happened.
As I write, there’s less of me. Three and a half months later, well, let’s just say that it’s been many, many years since the scale returned such a low number on the dial. I broke through the lowest benchmark in memory two weeks ago, and the number continues to decline.
The Dockers that back in the spring cut painfully into my midsection like tightened up bundling twine (I absolutely refused to buy the next larger size) now hang loosely around my waist, and feel like they just might slip off. The belt is cinched up to the last and final notch. My shirts hang off my shoulders the way the designer intended, and there’s no more pull on the buttons around my midsection. Even my watch hangs loose around my wrist, and my wedding band slips off my finger easily, as though it really is the proper sizing.
When I take that glance in the large window pane across the sidewalk out there in public, there’s a new slimmer image reflecting back at me. The inflated version that I cringed at, wincing, wondering what in the world had happened to me, well, that was four months ago. Not that I gaze at the new me. You don’t want people to catch you looking at yourself. But I think we all get away with that quick look now and then, the momentary peek; anything more would betray a kind of self-absorption most of us at the very least attempt to disguise.
Occasionally, I go back to the Inaugural Issue of LeaderFOCUS and read my first e-published essay (considerably shorter that today’s version). It was there I announced that my buddy Steve and I launched an accountability session, early in the morning each week, over coffee. There we would take measure of our disciplines – disciplines that covered the basic foundational aspects of our lives: physical, relational, professional and spiritual. I revealed to you then that we launched a fitness plan which included a weight-loss regimen.
We still meet – to this very day. In the four years that have passed, we lost some of that weight, and then gained some of it back; my variance considerably more apparent than Steve’s. This summer, we shared in attacking the problem, again, this time with a more sensible program, and for us both, it’s worked.
Dr. Phil is hawking a new book on the subject of weight loss. He’s popping up everywhere, and claims that his new best-seller contains insights never before revealed in the history of humankind’s efforts to hold excess in check. (The biblical concept of moderation may well be one of the toughest commandments of all to obey.) It’s a rather ambitious claim the popular talk-show host makes. But there’s lots of truth in it. The so-called epidemic of obesity certainly infected me, like the rest of the world, with all its dangers and risks.
Maybe it’s the giggle in our grandson’s voice that makes me aim at greater longevity. Maybe it was that awful, puffy reflection in the glass window staring back at me. Certainly, it was the photograph last May at our son’s graduation, in which I plumped out like a hot air balloon, filling the frame with flesh. Had Dr. Phil written his book in May, I would have snatched it off Amazon.com in a clogged up heartbeat.
But losing weight, while it has certainly been a considerable improvement in my life in general, has not ushered me into a state of perpetual nirvana, either.
I would really rather not talk about diets during dinner. It curbs the appetite, and we generally spout these theories about what’s killing off America, what foods are harmful, the social and economic pressures, not to mention the emotional dynamics. And which of the current trends are really most effective, and of course the horror story about the miserable failure of someone we know who tried and ended up in the hospital, or passed out or fell into depression or general crabbiness. Our dinner speeches are filled with shoulds and oughts that betray the vast gulf separating what we know from what we do. I’d rather talk about the weather or the political winds of change or the children or the latest book you read or movie you watched or trip you took than dwell on the state of our body’s intake habits, thank you.
But when you’ve lost weight, it’s the subject of dieting that moves to front and center.
“How’d ya do it?” is generally the first question.
“Nothing much, really. I cut out the sugar. The breads. The pasta. You know, eliminating the high quantity of carbs I was eating before…” That is my general opener these days.
“OHhhh (two syllables)… you’re on ATKINS!” they say, nodding like they’ve had their own little ah-hah experience right there on the sidewalk. And then, they go on to tell you about someone who TRIED that diet and GAINED it ALL back again as soon as they ate their first DONUT - or the one who MESSED UP her whole DIGESTIVE SYSTEM and was never the same again – or the one WENT DIZZY, and was EXHAUSTED all day long and HAD TO stop before she slipped into a COMA - and aren’t you CLOGGING UP your ARTERIES with all that FAT and don’t you MISS something SWEET?!
So, mostly, at this juncture, I change the subject.
Why is it that the mere suggestion of change so quickly leads us to the FEAR of DOOMSDAY?
I want to tell them that I feel better than ever. That I enjoy real food again. That my body is getting what it wants, and sending me thank you notes every day, and that I’m glad to see the veins reappear on the back-side of my hands (not long ago they were buried, lost in the fatty tissue). And there’s a bounce back in my step on the hiking trail, and that sometimes I do enjoy something with a little sugar on it, but the craving’s not even there, in fact the thought of a plate piled high with Marie Callender apple pie with a giant glob of vanilla ice cream, well I don’t think I could even get it down anymore. A couple bites would be nice to savor, maybe – but the WHOLE thing?
I don’t think so.
I’m not trying to sell you on this thing. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not smart enough or thorough enough or disciplined enough to be an Adkin’s groupie, much less fanatic. I’m no zealot for the cause. (Though I must say, were Dr. Adkins still alive, I’d write him a thank you note.)
But if I tried to explain all this in conversation, I’d lose ‘em.
So, with a smile and a nod I’ll say, “Yep, I feel good. Thanks for noticing, it makes my day.” And then, without missing a beat, I’ll ask,
“How are those kids doin’?” or
“Seen any good movies this week?” or
“How ‘bout that California recall?”
* * * * * * * *
I don’t think of myself as a wannabe writer anymore. I’m a writer. Waiting to be published. I’m hooked on the habit of putting words to page.
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
And as a leader, you are thinking about the health of your business, the health of your family, the health of your career, and maybe even the health of your body.
All of these are important. I’ve wanted to tell you something of my progress in that body-health thing for some time now.
I want you to know that weight loss is good. But it doesn’t solve all the problems. I may be back at the same weight as in my youth, but the youth didn’t come back. The skin’s a bit baggier; the wrinkles a bit deeper; there’s a hint of “turkey neck” taking shape under my chin, the jowls are drooping beneath my cheeks into the unmistakable look of age. The same demands remain over at the office as before I took off the pounds. The same challenges all around, as a matter of fact.
I’m just feeling a little more confident these days when I walk into the room. I’m a little better rested in the morning. I’m shopping for clothes again. And like Ronald Reagan, I’m able to write about it – early in the morning on the weekend. For me, it’s the word processor, not Reagan’s fountain pen and yellow pad.
Perhaps you’ve never been called upon to engage in this highly personal battle, the battle between you and the message delivered by the bathroom scale and the clothes squeezing you so tight it hurts. It comes along with life in an affluent nation for many of us.
If you are fighting the good fight, carry on. If you’ve been putting it off, perhaps it’s time for you to start.
Make it today.
Imagine a grandson giggling and grinning and saying through the look in his eyes,
“I want you around for a very long time.”
He really does, you know.
*NOTE: With the exception of one week (8/18/2003) - there was a repeat of a prior LF
Musings | Inaugural LeaderFOCUS | TOP
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2003
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
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