I was in Ontario last week facilitating the staff at a large women’s shelter and sexual assault centre.  We are working together to design the direction the organization will take in the next three to five years.  This organization has gone through some major organizational changes in the past three years, merging two distinct organizations, with very different foci, into one.  The work of each of the original organizations is critical.  In the vast majority of cases of the women they work with, they provide life changing refuge. 

No mergers are seamless; this one is no exception.  As each group struggles to maintain their identity and to do their important work, they’ve found themselves feeling like bystanders, standing on the sidelines, waiting to fully participate in  whatever the new ‘normal’ is.

Bystanders are people just off to the edge of the action.  They are present at events or incidents but do not take part.  Sometimes they are bystanders by choice.  Sometimes by necessity of the system.  Sometimes out of fear.  Often, it doesn’t take much to turn a bystander into one who feels empowered to take part.  In recent years, bystander, has come to be used to describe a person on the edge of a very specific event; a bullying or violent event.  However, a bystander refers to anyone present at any event who does not take part.

When I landed at Pearson International Airport in Toronto on Sunday, it was, like most days at Pearson, bustling.  Like most days there, and at all airports around the country, there were plenty of bystanders.  There were those just standing and sitting on the edges watching the people, and there were those with the official titles; those on stand-by.  The bystanders.  These people are, in the most literal way, standing on the edge, but not yet taking part.

People who fly stand-by, the bystanders, most often do so for one of two reasons.  Either they, having been unable to commit to a particular flight earlier, need to fly at the last minute, or they want to fly at a cheaper price.  Either way, they find themselves standing at the side of the action, not taking part.  Once they are assigned a seat on a given flight, they cease to be bystanders.  They are no longer not taking part.

When we behave like bystanders outside of an airport setting, I think we may have the same two considerations.  Either we haven’t, or haven’t been able, to plan ahead to figure out where we can jump into the action, or we think the cost of jumping in might be too high.

As I observed bystanders both in the merged women’s organization I worked with, and at the airport, I began to think of the other places I have noticed bystanders.  And I recognized that I too, have played the part of bystander many times in my life.   

This weekend we will turn our calendars over to December.  December.  It hardly seems possible.  At our house this signals the ‘legalization’ of all things Christmas.  Our outside lights will be turned on, gifts will be purchased, plans will be made to see friends, Christmas music will accompany me in my car, and smells of baking will fill the house. 

This year, as a new Christmas focus, I’m going to commit to a season where I do less standing by, and more jumping in.  And no, I’m not anticipating a sudden outbreak of violence.  Instead, I’m going to be on the lookout for places where I can get involved.  When it might be just as easy to stand off to the side and not make an effort, I’m going to be a participant.  I’m going to find places to offer kindness.  I’m going to initiate simple conversations with all sorts of people, rather than sit quietly on the sidelines.  I’m guessing store cashiers and clerks could use a kind word during this busy season.  I may find myself smiling at the people manning the Salvation Army donation sites.  Perhaps I’ll throw in a loonie or two.  I’m going to say yes to knitting scarves for the homeless.  I’m going to dance at seniors’ centres.  I’m going to join in singing.  I’m going to fit in a walk with a friend.  I’m going to stay longer visiting at the dinner table and hope the dishes wait for me 😊

I’m going to assume that the present is the present.

While many bystanders worry that the cost will be too high if they jump in, I’m going to assume I simply can’t afford to stand by.  My little effort may make all the difference to someone’s season.  I’m guessing it will make all difference to mine too.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Bystander or participant?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to participate fully.

In a lot of ways, this has been exactly the kind of week I love/hate.  I think I love it.  It’s the kind of week where I’ve had a very busy calendar, but more noteworthy, the things I’ve had on the calendar have spanned from meeting with some women friends to quilt, to writing a Strategic Plan document.  In between there have been client appointments, my yearly physical exam, written proposals, workshop planning, yoga, book club and a day with little Ben.   There haven’t been many free minutes!  I also stopped in at Greg and Cara’s under-renovation house to catch up on their progress.

When most people hear they purchased a house and are doing some renovations, their minds go to paint and perhaps some new flooring.  This would not be the case for this house.  Most of the main floor has been taken right down to the studs, one upper room has been removed to allow the full height of the twenty-foot ceiling to be showcased and the kitchen and dining rooms have switched positions.  This is not a renovation for the feint of heart!

To add to the challenge, a massive beam needed to be inserted to support the ceiling, once one of the demolished walls was removed.  Clearly, this is not a renovation that is dreamt up on a Monday, and finished by Saturday.  They have a fantastic project manager working with them, and of course, they have a blueprint.

A blueprint is a very specific, technical architectural or construction drawing.  In the case of houses and other buildings, once a blueprint design is approved, it must be followed.   Each of the tradespeople involved in the project must use the blueprint as their instructions.  If someone wants to make a change, the blueprint must be changed and approved.  There isn’t room given for personal preference.  The blueprint is the rule book.  It is assumed that following the blueprint will lead to the safe, successful completion of the project.

I just LOVE a blueprint.  Now, truth be told, I’ve never really built a house.  And in full disclosure, I’ve don’t really know how to read a blue print.  But there is something about the certainty of it, the idea that there is a defined right way, that sets my mind at ease.  Yet, although this feels so right to me, I recognize that this is also a weak spot for me.  Clearly I have a high value around security, or control, or responsibility, or correctness or whatever it is called, and obviously it serves me well in many places, but I also understand this comforting feeling I have when things are in order is not a good blueprint for every part of my life.

Clearly there are places where blueprints are not the answer.  For all those other places, this week I have discovered Moo Prints. 

On Wednesday morning I was invited to join a small quilting group.  The idea was that four women would get together; each bringing their own project and spend as many hours as they wanted on their own quilting venture.  When Brenda first called to invite me, I immediately said yes.  I knew that although I didn’t have a project on the go, I had seen a quilt a couple of years ago that I wanted an excuse to try.  It is a fairly large project.  Of a cow.  A beautiful, colourful cow, made of strips of material.  What I didn’t realize was that my beautiful cow did not come with a beautiful blueprint.

Instead she came with some steps to follow that seemed rather loose to me.  For instance, step three talks about cutting the black fabric into strips.  Then cutting the strips into a variety of lengths and widths.  Pardon me?!  In every quilt I’m made in the past, the cutting forms the most precise and perhaps the most important part of the project.  It is what sets up the design to fit together.  I read the instructions myself twice.  Then I looked at the picture.  Then at the instructions.  Then I asked Jim see if he could see what I had clearly missed.  Then I took the pattern to Brenda’s to have the ‘girls’ help me out.  Sure enough, I was to cut it into a variety of lengths and widths, of no specified dimensions!

As the morning wore on, I gained my confidence and having cut the fabric, I started to lay it out onto the traced pattern.  The more I placed the black fabric, the outline, on the pattern, the more I realized that the less precise I was, the better it looked.  This cow is not meant to look like a perfect ‘log cabin’.  She is meant to look like a cow. 

It dawns on me that while I love blueprints for many parts of my life, some of my most treasured memories and some of my most proud accomplishments have come from times when I’ve only had a mooprint, not a blueprint.

I had no blueprint when raising my family.

I had no blueprint for dealing with each individual student in my care when I was teaching.

I had no blueprint for establishing my coaching practice.

This weekend there will be no blueprint for how to be when we attend the funeral of the husband of our dear friend.

There is no blueprint for how I love little Benjamin.

In each of these, the only blueprint I’ve had was in knowing how I want to show up; who I want to be.

For all the rest, for the details of how things will turn out, I’ll trust myself to cut and arrange irregular shapes with perfect and not so perfect placement, and stand back to enjoy the beauty.

My inquiry for you this week is. ‘Do I need a blueprint or a mooprint?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create mooprints.

I’ve been thinking about a little encounter I had last week when I was in Ontario.  It was a non-event, really.  But is has been rattling around in my mind.

Part of the trip was business and the other part was pleasure – all pleasure.  Being able to be present for Greg to defend his PhD was a highlight of my life.  Greg’s defense was on Friday.  On Saturday, I had been invited to Cara’s family’s home, situated about forty-five minutes outside of London to join in a celebration for Greg.   While I’d been to ‘the farm’ several times previously, I had always driven there with Jim, or with Greg and Cara.  Being a typical passenger, I had mostly simply enjoyed the beauty of the southwestern Ontario countryside and hadn’t paid much attention to road names or signs.  I knew the general direction, but on every other trip I’d made to the farm, we had left from Greg and Cara’s place.  This time I would be leaving from London.

Before heading off, I make a stop at a beautiful greenhouse and gift shop, situated right at the edge of the city.  I had been there before and loved it.  This time I was hoping to find a little something I could take for Sharon and Dan, Cara’s parents, to thank them for hosting me and for hosting our celebratory dinner.

My trustworthy GPS led me to the greenhouse and I found what I was looking for.  As I was paying, I thought it might be a good idea to ask the girls at the cash register, what might be the quickest way for me to get to Highway 402.    I figured the girls might know a better route than the one the GPS was showing.  I was also thinking that there was a little town, Komoka, that I had been through many times before and since it was on the way to the highway, once I got there, I’d have my bearings.  So, as they were looking on their computer for the highway, I suggested they just tell me how to get to Komoka and I could find my way from there.

Komoka?

They each looked at me with a blank expression.  I was a bit confused.  I was pretty sure I had the name of the town correct.  And I was also pretty sure it wasn’t much more than about a five-kilometre drive from where we were.  (Full disclosure:  It turns out the distance is closer to 9km than 5km)

I’ve never heard of it, was the honest reply of one.  The others agreed.  Between us, we found Komoka on their map and they were able to steer me out the door with ‘good enough’ simple instructions to Komoka, which hopefully would lead me to the highway and then to the farm.

This entire interaction was short, really pleasant, and ultimately helpful.  I arrived at the farm in one piece and relatively unflustered!

Over the past week, I’ve been thinking about that interaction.  Komoka was so nearby to the greenhouse and yet the three people I spoke to there had never heard of it. 

I was raised on a farm so my circle of community was larger than it might have been had I been raised in an inner city.  Even so, it stopped me in my tracks to realize even though I might know more about the geography of my five-kilometre circle, in many, many parts of my life, I’m sorry to admit I live in a bubble that is much smaller than five-kilometre bubble.
So many of us surround ourselves with familiar people, places and things.  We’ve created a small circle around ourselves, stretching oh, about five kilometres in any direction, that contains not only our family and friends, but also our familiar go-to spots, our hobbies, our thoughts, our opinions, our beliefs, and our worldviews. 

When we stay inside our little five-kilometre circle, we never have to challenge ourselves.  Since we carefully, over time, create our circle ourselves, we don’t even notice that we have selectively eliminated many, many discomforts from it.  We’ve eliminated the need to hear opinions that may challenge our own.  We’ve eliminated experiences that have the potential to grow us as people.  We’ve eliminated opportunities to not be ‘right’, but to just be. 

Back in Calgary this week, Jim and I were returning home one evening and exited a main road to stop at our grocery store (yes, the one I’m most familiar and comfortable with).  Once we were on the off ramp, we could see flashing police lights ahead.  We assumed we would be detained due to motor vehicle incident. We drew up alongside a police cruiser, and stopped at the red light.  To our amazement, there was no accident.  The young police officer was out of his car and he was walking toward what appeared to be a homeless person.  We could not hear or see the exchange.  What we did witness, was after a few words, the two men shook hands.  The Calgary police officer returned to his cruiser and turned off the flashing lights.  The other man, eating the homemade sandwich the officer had given him, crossed the street in front of us, head held just a bit higher than I suspect it had been when the officer first arrived.

The life of living on the streets is far, far out of my five-kilometre circle of comfort.  It may have been out of the circle of comfort of the officer too.  But he chose to go there.  He chose, not because he had to, to take the time to create an interaction neither of those men may ever otherwise have had.  The twenty or so metres he walked was not even close to getting out of his geographical five-kilometre circle, but he bridged an infinite distance of connection.  It was humbling to watch.

I’ve been thinking of ways to stretch my circle.  Driving alone to the farm was a miniscule beginning.  I’m thinking it’s time to make some sandwiches.  Mine will not look like those of the officer, but hopefully they will be just as open-minded, as nourishing, as connecting and as kind.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How big is this circle?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to grow your circle.
 

We had a big moment in the Critchley family this past week.  Our son, Greg, successfully defended his PhD thesis.   In February, he will convocated from the University of Western ON, with his doctorate in Management Science. 

This has been quite a journey for Greg.  As we talked about his milestone this week, we calculated (no fancy formula, just some mental arithmetic😊) that he has spent 22 years (13 + 4 + 1 + 4) as a student.  When he left the banking world to pursue his MBA in 2012, little did any of us have any idea that upon its completion, and then the completion of a few years instructing at the university, he would be defending his thesis for his PhD this week.

To say we are proud, is an understatement.  To say what we are proud of is the actual degree would be less than truthful.  What I am most proud of, what I have always been most proud of, is the way Greg has handled himself throughout this gruelling process.  As with everything he does, he decides who he will be to make himself proud at the end, then he just gets to work with the doing.

Greg’s final exam came in two parts.  He first gave a public presentation of the research he’s done over the past four years.  I was able to fly to Ontario to witness this.  Following the public presentation, Greg entered another room alone, to face a three-hour oral exam.  Three examiners, none of whom had worked with him, from different parts of the country, had previously read his almost three-hundred-page dissertation.  They, monitored by a chairperson, and observed by his advisors, used the three-hour oral exam to question him about every part of his detailed mathematical research.

Greg’s wife, Cara, and I, left campus for a while during the examination. Upon our return, we waited in the hallway for the final hour of the interminable exam.  Finally, finally, the doors were opened and we were invited into the room to meet the examiners, his advisors and to hear the wonderful news.  A champagne cork popped; one of his advisors had clearly anticipated this positive result.

As we chatted in the room, suspended in that state of knowing the result but not yet having it sink in, one of the examiners shook Greg’s hand in congratulations.  He said, ‘Greg, your work is excellent.  We don’t often get work of this calibre.  Your paper was so enjoyable to consume.’

Enjoyable to consume.

This is not an expression I have ever used, or even heard used.  Furthermore, I haven’t really considered the idea of consuming in much other context than consuming food.  But of course, we consume non-food items every day.  Since then, I keep thinking about this interesting way of considering the things we take into our minds, our hearts and our bodies.

This examiner was making the point, as did each of the others, that the material in the paper was presented in such a way as to be easy to follow and understand.  More than just forcing himself to concentrate and try to connect dots, he had been able to enjoy the process and absorb the content.  I suspect he also thought it was substantive.  That he should say it was enjoyable to consume, could lead me to believe it nourished him in some way. 

How often do we consume things that do not have this effect on us?  More importantly, how often do we ‘feed’ things to others that are not at all enjoyable to consume. 

I began to consider the number of interactions each of us might have in a typical week.  I wondered, during how many of those interchanges was I providing the person I was interacting with, something enjoyable to consume?

Recognizing that each of our interactions either adds positively or negatively to our relationship and to how we think and feel about ourselves, it might be worth considering exactly what it is we are offering for consumption.

Sometimes we are so determined to have our point of view known, we fail to notice the indigestion it causes in others.  I hate to think that carelessness with my words has given others things not so enjoyable to consume.

When Greg wrote his thesis, he spent months considering and reworking how to take complex, perhaps not particularly enthralling material for most of us, and turn it into something easily consumed.  Then, as he created his accompanying visual presentation, like any good chef, he considered presentation, delivery and flavour.  He added a pinch of levity (really, this is possible even in mathematics!) and examples to make it relatable and even enjoyable to consume.

I’m not expecting to enrol in a PhD program any time soon.  I am however, expecting to have many interactions with family, friends, colleagues, and clients.  I am going to spend some time working on my recipes for delivery.  I have a feeling there is some room for improvement in the ‘enjoyable to consume’ category.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What would make this easy to consume?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create interactions that are easy to consume.
  

Last week we were reminiscing about our trip to Scotland.  We took this trip last Fall.  It was a cycling trip where we spent leisurely days pedalling through the beautiful Highlands of Scotland.  As I type this, I realize that time does soften all things.  This was, after all, the trip that came to be because my sister-in-law’s father had suddenly passed away while cycling this very route a few years before.  The initial purpose of the trip was for us to finish the trip for Bob, and to see the exact places he had been and the place where he had taken his last breath.  It was also the trip where, on Day Two of our trip, I broke my foot in three places, and kept going so as not to spoil it for the others.  And it was the same trip during which a ‘gale’ (think ‘hurricane’) blew in, sidelining us for a day, and leaving in its wake trees downed across all roads and power out across the moors.

And despite all of this, as we reminisced, none of these details were what we talked about.  What we remembered instead was the absolute magic of seeing the beauty of Scotland, together, from the seats of our bicycles.   We are in complete agreement that the speed achieved while pedalling is just about as perfect a speed as there can be for sightseeing.  We felt like we were moving all the time, and yet going slow enough to really take in the details.  We could stop whenever we felt the need to take a picture or just to take in a view.

Rhonda and I felt the same about our trip this past summer when we cycled from Canmore to Jasper.  We were so lucky to have 3 ½ days to spend cycling along the Icefield Parkway, seeing the breathtaking Rocky Mountains at just the perfect pace.  We had time to look around and breathe in the experience, and at the same time we felt like we covered some good ground each day.

Jim and I have talked about walking trips we have heard that others have done.  Other than one like the Camino, I think the pace would be too slow for me.  I really don’t need to see every single rock and hedge; I’m good with the general notion that we are passing by rocks and hedges. 

I’ve long thought about running across Canada.  Really.  I am pretty sure the window for that has passed me by but it’s still in my deep pile of ‘things I secretly long to do’.  The truth is, just like walking would bore me to tears and I’d feel like I hadn’t really seen anything, running would likely give me the same result. I wouldn’t be bored.  But I would be puffing and panting so hard, I would forget to stop and take in the sights.  What a shame it would be to run across our country and not see a thing!

I’m lucky I have the choices I do about which activities I participate in.  More and more, the articles I read about good health, and aging well, tell us to keep moving.  They say that sitting is the new smoking.  And even though I am a ‘mover’ I am going to respectfully disagree with the latest research on sitting.  We are not doing too much sitting.  In fact, we are not doing nearly enough. 

I contend that more sitting would add much more life to some of our years.

This past week, I went for a coffee with my daughter, Kaitlyn, and our friend Donna.  Donna’s family has recently suffered a heartbreaking loss.  Heartbreaking.  When I knew Donna was back home, we arranged to get together.  Driving over to see her I had no idea what to say.  I also knew that there was nothing I could say that would help.  And that there were likely things I could say that might hurt.  And that most likely the very best thing we could do was to simply sit with her.

And so, on Monday, in the late afternoon, we sat.  And we talked.  And we cried.  And we laughed.  And we hoped.  And we prayed.  But mostly, we sat.

Life moves at an incredible speed.  Busy is the new status symbol.  We are encouraged to keep moving.  Most days we have to keep moving, just to keep up.  Sometimes we are walking through our lives, so focused on every tiny detail of our own that we miss the bigger picture.  Sometimes we are running so fast we can barely breathe, let alone focus on what we are passing by.  Other times we are cycling, just enjoying the scenery so much, we forget to notice the struggles of our fellow riders.

It is only when we stop completely, when we sit together, that we really understand the importance of simply being with each other.  This rare, rare gift, costs us not one cent, yet is priceless.

In some of the most difficult moments of my life, the absolute most precious gift I have received is that of someone sitting with me.  It has not been their words.  Nor the treats they brought.  Nor the advice they gave. It has been the simple gift of sitting together.  Of knowing someone was willing to be by my side when I wasn’t sure I knew what my next step should be.

My work schedule has me running these days.  I’m ok with that, and in many ways, I love it.  I love having full days and feeling accomplished at the end of them.  In the midst of it all, I am reminding myself to notice places where I can sit.  I am reminding myself to seize those fleeting moments when I can either offer a comment or advice as I go about my busyness, or stop and sit for a minute, silently saying, ‘I am with you.’

Yes, our hearts need the kind of exercise that comes with moving our bodies and pumping our blood.  But they also need the kind of exercise they get when we fill them to capacity as we sit together.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where can I sit?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth, she’d love to sit with you as you examine your or your organizations next steps.

Last night I had a dream.  I cannot, for the life of me, remember it.  I woke up either during it or just after.  I guess it must have been after, during makes no sense.  At the time, it was crystal clear, as are many of my wonderful middle-of-the-night thoughts!  At the time I thought for sure I would remember it come morning.  Alas, I have not one single hint of what it was about.

I don’t often have dreams.  And when I do, it is only on rare occasion that I remember them. 

As I’ve went about my business today, writing the content for an upcoming workshop, driving to a dance performance, doing yoga, I keep thinking it will pop back into my head.  Sort of like what happens when I can’t think of a name or a word, and then suddenly, when I least expect it, there it is.  But no, this dream seems to have vanished.

As I spent time, off and on, today thinking about dreams, I began to consider the concept of dreams.  Not just the sleeping kind, but also the real-life kind of dreams; the kind where I hear people say, “This is just like I dreamed it would be” or “I always dreamed I’d have this job”.  The more thought I gave to dreams, the more concerned I became with myself. 

Am I simply not a dreamer?

I didn’t want to think this could possibly be true. It’s a bit sad to think I don’t have dreams.  But I know I don’t have many night time dreams, and I know I don’t spend a lot of time in the light of day dreaming about what ‘could be’.  When I hear someone say, ‘I’ve dreamed about how my wedding would be since I was a little girl’, I cannot relate. I never spent time dreaming about this.  
 
These thoughts flitted in and out of my head and I assumed they would either simply end, or I would eventually make some sense out of them.   This seems to be how my mind works.  I let the ideas find their own way around.  The more I try to ‘be the boss of them’, the more they resist.  Once I let them have free roam, they sort themselves out.

Today, the sorting happened during the dance performance at a senior’s centre. 

We danced in a lovely facility today.  It was fresh and clean and very new, and the residents were happy to have a mid-week Oktoberfest performance to watch.  All our performances at the senior’s centres are themed, so today found us in our lederhosen, black knee socks and suspenders.  While the crowd was happy to have us, they were quiet, as is sometimes the case.  When this happens, it takes more effort on our part to keep the energy alive.  Luckily, we usually have such a good time among ourselves this isn’t really a problem!

In the front row, sat a very lovely, regal-looking woman.  She had snow white hair, and a clean new-looking outfit.  She sat up straight and I could imagine she had seen some elegant events in her life.  I couldn’t tell if she was enjoying the show; her face wasn’t smiling, and yet she didn’t appear to be unsettled either.  She had a blue blanket draped over her legs and she held a light cane in her hand.  As we are taught to do, I smiled as I danced, catching her eye whenever I’d twirl past.  She did not return the smile, but she also did not take her eyes off the dancers.

One of my favourite parts of our Oktoberfest performances is dancing to the song Edelweiss.  When our theme is Oktoberfest, all of our music is Bavarian styled, but we throw in this one beautiful Austrian waltz, as it always seems to be a crowd favourite.  It is gentle and familiar, without the high energy of the rest of the music.  We ask the crowd to sing along with us as we dance.  This day was no exception.  The residents loved it and so did we.

As we performed Edelweiss close to the end of the performance, we only had a couple of dances left before we were finished.  Just before our final song, a woman asked if we would be able to do Edelweiss again at the end.  An encore, I thought!  This is a first!  Of course we could!

As we gently waltzed and sang our way through the song, I noticed our white-haired lady, in the front row proudly singing along with us.  She had tears in her eyes and a most lovely smile on her face.  It made my day.  Clearly, she was content, and pleased, and happy and peaceful.  There was something about watching her feel whatever it was she was feeling with this song, to help my put my thoughts about dreams into order.

I don’t believe this woman ever dreamt  about living in senior’s home, watching other women, dressed up in lederhosen, dance for her.  I can’t imagine this would be anyone’s dream.  But I do think, that something about the feeling of the particular moment of the performance, something about the gentleness of Edelweiss, spoke to a feeling she had, a familiar, comfortable, deeply at-home feeling, that allowed her to feel something she had been longing for.

This, I can relate to.  This is what I feel in place of what others may call dreams.  I am a better feeler than thinker.  When a situation feels just right, it is as though I am satisfying a longing.  While others are thinking about their dreams, I am feeling my longings.

Longings are inside each one of us.  Sometimes they are buried deeply.  Sometimes they are but an ember.  We do not often speak about them, but they are as much a part of us as our beating hearts.  We know we are satisfying longings when we feel peace and contentment.   Dancing satisfies one of my longings.  Watching our performance satisfied a longing of at least one of our audience members.  Based on the joy on the faces of the other residents, and on the request of the repeat of Edelwiess, I suspect it did the same for many others.

I’m now ok with not having many dreams.  But I never, ever want to stop seeking the feelings I have when I satisfy my longings.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘What am I longing?’
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Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to honour your and your organizations longings.

When Jim and I were in Ontario, our travels took us on a driving trip from London to Ottawa and then back again.  Other than having to navigate the maze of freeways on our way past Toronto, the vast majority of the trip led us through beautiful countryside and farmland.  This is where I feel most at home.  I love the openness.  I love the trees, shamelessly showing off their colours.  I love the idea of peacefulness I find here.  And I love seeing the old barns that adorn the landscape.

Things in Ontario are older than they are here in Alberta, including the barns.  Many of them have been restored over the years, allowing them to continue to function as valuable parts of the farms they stand on.  I’m guessing people often identified the owners of farms based on the barn that was on the property.  These unique buildings serve as landmarks to the locals.

I’m not sure where my fascination with barns started but I’m guessing it goes back to spending our summer holidays in New Brunswick, on Uncle Roy and Aunt Muriel’s farm, where the dairy barn was a central feature.  We had a lot of adventures and made a lot of memories in that barn.  We ‘helped’ milk the cows in the days when my Grampy still milked by hand, sitting on his sturdy, little milking stool.  We helped put hay into the hayloft.  We found new batches of kittens.  We watched new calves enter the world.  And every summer, at least once, we attempted a sleep-out in the barn. 

I remember hearing stories from my Grammie about events in the barn.  She told me about the time she was raising her family and one day went into the barn.  As she entered the big door to the hayloft, she spotted one of her boys (either my dad or one of my uncles) walking across a beam, high above the barn floor.  She explained how, although she felt panicked and terrified, she knew that if she called out to them to tell them to get down, they might lose their balance and fall.   She stepped back outside the door and held her breath as they finished their dare-devil feat.  I’m guessing there may have been some words exchanged once the danger had passed but I loved hearing this story and having the feeling that the barn was like one of the characters in my family.
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As we passed some of the beautiful barns last week, I could just imagine some of the stories that could have been told by them if they could talk.  Once in a while, especially in places when we turned off Hwy 401 into a smaller community, we would see an abandoned barn.  Often, finding itself empty, the barn would have begun to sag and even fall.
I mentioned this to my brother and he said, ‘Yes, barns don’t do well when they are empty’.
I wondered why this was so.  The barn is, after all, a non-living thing.  It is an object.  And yet, it serves a vital purpose on a farm.  It is used to give shelter to animals.  It is a place to store hay and straw, both needed for those animals’ livelihood.  It provides a space for machinery to be stored and repaired.  It is a birthplace for so much new life.  I think if barns could talk, they could reveal some of the most secret thoughts and dreams of farmers and their visiting nieces; they are wonderful keepers of secrets.
It is as if when it is being used, when it feels needed, a barn takes on almost a human quality.  It stands proud. It wants to hold up its part of the relationship.  It is as if the barn might say, as long as you continue to fill me up, I will support you too.  There is a beautiful tension between the barn and the life it holds; each supporting the other. 
There is a similar tension in other parts of our lives too; in the more visibly human parts.  Every single one of our relationships holds up best when there is an equal giving and taking from each partner.  When one partner counts on the other for support, the support is almost always available.  And when the roles are reversed, the same is true.  But as soon as one partner stops ‘filling the barn’, when the relationship becomes empty, the barn becomes less stable.  And as time goes on, and the barn recognizes it is no longer needed, it ceases to stand strong.
So too it is with promises.  When we say we will do something and we carry through with our commitment, we strengthen the trust between us and others.  When we regularly stop fulfilling our promises, when they become empty, so too do the relationships they once supported.
And whatever the word is for the part of us that gives or helps others, when that part of us is busy giving and helping, it somehow keeps us upright and strong and proud.  When we cease to believe we have anything left to give, when our barn feels empty, it is much harder to believe we have an important role in this world.
I stand most upright, strong and proud when I recognize my value in my little world.  I am at my best when I stand in integrity, when I participate fully in relationships, when I give to others and when I accept from others. I feel best when I know I can be of support to others who might need support.  And I feel great comfort when I know I can count on the support of others.  This farm girls understands that people, like barns, do best when the tension is perfect; when the give and take dance in perfect unison.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the state of my barn?’
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to keep your barn standing proudly.
 

I was working in Ontario last week in a pretty little town in Middlesex County.  My work there this time spanned a few days.  A quaint boutique hotel, The Clock Tower Inn, had been recommended to me and, hoping to support the local economy and community, I made my reservation.

The hotel did not disappoint.  Once home to the Federal Postal Office, the historic, 1889 building has been restored to its former glory.  Currently it is a perfect blend of modern luxury and history.  Each of the eight rooms has an individual character.  Each is named for a member of royalty.  I found myself residing on the third and top floor in the Prince of Wales room. 

Following one of the days of work, I decided to take a drive around town to pick up a few things I needed for the following days’ workshops.  My motives were threefold;  I needed the items, the sky was quickly darkening with threatening storm clouds making the prospect of a later run unappealing, and by making the stops on the way back to the hotel, I could avoid too many trips up and down the fifty stairs that led to my room!

My timing was not perfect and I ended up dodging the rain as I ran from the car to the inn, but for the most part, I managed to stay fairly dry.  Later in the evening, warm and dry in my room, all preparations made for the following day, I tucked in to bed.  The rain had stopped but there was a steady drip, drip, drip that I could hear outside.  When I exited the building in the morning, I could see that the dripping had eventually filled up one of the downspouts that eventually overflowed creating quite a lake in the parking lot. 

It dawned on me that while one drip doesn’t pack much of a punch, a steady drip, drip, drip can have significant results.

When the business part of my trip was complete, Jim joined me and we headed to Ottawa to visit with my brother who has recently made that city his home.  Our weekend was filled with touring some of the incredible museums and seeing the sights our Capital city has to offer.  One highlight for all of us was a surprise my brother had planned.  His current office is situated on grounds shared by the stables and training facility for the famous RCMP Musical Ride.  Little had we known, that one of the jobs assigned to the magnificent horses of the musical ride, is to pull the carriage used when members of the Royal Family visit Canada.  My brother arranged for us to be passengers in the carriage on one of the training rides.  The horses need to be disciplined to not only manage crowds of people, but to remain perfectly still as people board and disembark from the carriage.  As the driver of the carriage told us, ‘It wouldn’t do for the horses to startle as the queen was climbing aboard’! 

As we were driven through the incredible winding streets of Rockcliffe Park, gazing at magnificent homes occupied by ambassadors from around the world, I observed our driver’s interactions with everyone he met.  Each time we met a vehicle, whether it was simply passing us or it had pulled to the side of the road to give the horses a wide berth, (and also to snap a picture) the driver raised his crop, waved, smiled and said thank you.  Drip, drip, drip.  With every single encounter, our driver added a drop of goodwill to the reputation of the RCMP.  With each encounter I witnessed the smiles and I could feel the approval of everyone we met; approval for the beautiful sight of the black horses and the carriage, but also the approval of this well-known symbol of Canadian ambassadorship.  

As we drove along for close to an hour and a half, we chit chatted to the driver about many things.  Jim asked him if he ever experienced any drivers who were frustrated with the presence of the horses.  In his response, I’m sure the driver could have told us of several less than polite encounters.  Yet, his response continued to give evidence of the conscious way he chose to represent his organization, the RCMP.  “Most people just love to see us”, he replied.  Not once did he ever hint that his job was less than rewarding. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Each of us is steadily dripping.  We are dripping messages about how we value ourselves, how we like to be treated, how we react to the unexpected, how we feel about issues.  We drip with our faces, with our body language, with our words, with our integrity, with our behaviour and with our values.  When we drip a ‘no’ often enough, others will assume that we most often drip no’s.  When we give and give and give and are never willing to receive, most people will stop trying to give back to us.  When we show up on time, when we say we will, most people will assume we drip reliability.  Most people, upon observing us, won’t jump to a conclusion about us after only one drip.  But once they observe a stream of drip, drip, drip, they will quickly jump to their own conclusions. 

Teenagers are famous for dripping eye rolls and heavy sighs.  For the most part, these are forgivable; they are, after all, still trying to figure out who they want to be when they grow up.  For the rest of us, those who are already grown up, the luxury of being careless with our drips is not one most of us can afford.  It’s hard to convince someone we really are not dripping after the lake has suddenly formed.

The parking lot lake at the Inn, formed by the drip, drip, drips, did not create a permanent geological formation in the ground.  On the other hand, the driver of the carriage, Scott, likely did create some permanent impressions in the people he met.  He certainly left a wonderful impression on us.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I dripping?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to locate and maximize your drips!

I always miss living in the country, but at this time of year in particular, I long for the sights, sounds, smells, and most of all, the feel of the harvest season.

I love the warm afternoons and the cold crisp nights.  I love the colours of the morning sunrises and the splendor of the sunsets over the mountains.

I love the trees as they change from their summer wardrobe of green to their fall colours of yellows, oranges and reds.  I love the fall foods and the familiar smells of apples baking in pies, and soups simmering on stovetops.  Some years, when I am really on my game, I can transport myself back to my childhood, to my Grammie’s kitchen to the scent of beets being pickled and corn being made into relish. 

Even though the pace of this season can be hectic with activities and schools all celebrating their own New Year, there is still a sense of gentleness about us.  Cozy sweaters and jackets remind us to care for ourselves and to take time to examine our crops and our harvest.

When I was biking through the foothills last week, we crested a hill and were treated to a most spectacular vista; a rolling field, dotted with hundreds and hundreds of large round bales of hay.  There were three green tractors working together to finish off the fall job of baling hay.

This might be my most favourite sight of all; farmers, most likely neighbours and friends too, working together to reap what one of them had sown early in the spring.  No doubt when this field was finished, they’d have a little chat, maybe go up to the house for some lunch and then move on to the next field.  This picture of the tractors, bales of hay and fields, represents the best of what it means to be a friend, a co-worker a neighbour, a support and a fellow-traveller. 

I don’t know the word for this feeling.  Contentment comes to mind.  As do peace, community and kindness.

Farmers don’t have a lot of choice about when they will harvest their crop.  The weather of the seasons dictates the planting, the watering, the tending and the reaping.  During the Fall season farmers take the final tally of their year’s work.  Some years, despite every effort on their part, despite proper planting and watering, despite loving care, the crop does not fulfill all of its potential.  Other years, the farmer may not be as attentive and yet still yield an abundant crop.  Always, the farmer harvests what she can, considers possible changes and has gratitude for the fruits of her labour.

What a most valuable lesson for the rest of us.

We often get so busy with the quick pace of life we have created for ourselves, we forget to stop and notice the little seasons of our lives, and to give thanks for our abundant harvest.  Some of our seasons are obvious, like those in which we raise our families.  During these, there are some natural harvesting moments when we stop to look back; before a child enters school for the first time, when we hand over the keys to the family car to a sixteen year old, when a seven year old loses teeth, or when we accompany a daughter or son on their walk up the aisle.

However, many of the seasons we have are less obvious and it’s easy to let them pass us by without ever even getting on our tractors, taking a trip around the field and noticing the fruits of our labours.

When a friend unexpectedly drops by or gives us a call, it is easy to think about the interruption this is to our carefully planned day, instead of noticing that it is really the reaping of the seeds of friendship we have sown.

When a co-worker stops by our office to ask our advice, it is easy to let our minds wander to the idea of how we will have to work late to make up the time, rather than enjoy the harvest of trust we have planted. 

When we are invited to a social event, it is easy to imagine it as a command performance, one that is cutting into our precious personal time, rather than noticing that the connections we planted long ago, are only now bearing their fruit.
This past month, our son Greg put the finishing touches on his final thesis for his PhD.  He and Cara have moved back to Calgary. It has been a long, long time since Greg lived in our city.  Cara has never lived here.  As I was thinking about their arrival, and the wonderful change it will bring to our family, I ‘hopped on my tractor’ to take a little evening drive to look over my crops and appreciate our harvest. 

I am so grateful to have our whole little family nearby.  The seeds of this family were planted in many corners of our country, from Nova Scotia to Alberta.  For now, they have taken root and are growing here.  I am most grateful to be able to enjoy every part of this, both the parts I had a hand in watering, and the parts that have been most graciously shared with me.

Both of our children have married partners who are supportive, kind, loving and present.  Both come from families who have welcomed our children into their families. I will never have the words to express my gratitude to Cara’s mom and dad, Sharon and Dan, for becoming Greg’s family and for providing him with endless family moments to be part of while he lived close to them in Ontario.  This is a harvest I can take no credit for.   I did not plant the seeds of their kindness, but I am very, very blessed to get to share in the harvest of their love.

Sometimes we have an abundant harvest we can share with others; sometimes we cannot possibly harvest our whole crop by ourselves and we need help; sometimes we can help others get their crop in before the weather changes; sometimes we are lucky enough to allow others to share their harvest with us.

May you take the time to appreciate the yield of your crop this harvest season.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I harvesting?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to appreciate the harvest season.
 

 

This week I took a little tumble off my bike.  I know.  It’s almost exactly one year since I broke my foot while on a biking trip, and this week, while innocently, and not spectacularly, biking the final few kilometres home from a ride, I found myself on the ground doing a quick body scan to assess the damage.  Luckily for me, the damage is almost all superficial.  The ego will take some time to mend.  And my confidence is shaken a bit.  But really, the impact was minimal.

Then on Sunday, when we were out at a walk to raise awareness about Bladder Cancer, supporting our good friend Bryan, Jim and I ran into Ed, an old colleague of ours.  The impact was huge.

Ed taught with Jim, early in Jim’s career.  He was the only bread winner in his family, and to make ends meet he had a little side job of selling and installing built-in vacuum cleaning systems. Early in our marriage, when our kids were really little, we hired Ed to install one of those systems in our tiny, new-to-us, home. 

Ed and his wife Lorraine, have an adoptive daughter, Jennifer.  I don’t recall how, on that evening thirty some years ago, the conversation turned to adoption, but I do recall this exact part of it:

Ed:  If Jennifer ever wants to find her birth mother, I will help her.  I have something I want to say to that woman.

Me: (Silence.  Maybe even a bit of breath holding.)

Ed:  I’ll tell you what I’d tell her.  I’d tell her, “Thank you, for giving me the most precious gift in the world”

I have to say, I had tears in my eyes.  I was speechless.  This was likely the first time I had realized that a person could choose their perspective.  Those few seconds of conversation had an enormous impact on me.

When I saw Ed last weekend, I reminded him of that conversation from over thirty years ago.  I told him what an impact it has had on my life.  Ed thanked me for reminding him and we had a most wonderful conversation about our lives and how we impact one another. 

Each of us impacts our world many times each day.   It is easy to pretend this is not so.  It is easy to imagine that sometimes we just operate in a bubble, and that if we mind our own business, we will have no impact on others.  This is simply not the truth.  We each have impact.  Each thing we do has impact.  The secret is to be aware of our impact on others and on situations.  We become more confident, and more humble, when we recognize that each thing we do, or do not do, has an impact.

When I first became aware of this, I found myself feeling a bit paralyzed.  Knowing everything I might do has an impact, caused me to assess each of my actions.  When I thought about going to any event, I realized that whether I arrived early or late, gently or loudly, stressed or calm, thoughtful or spontaneous, bearing gifts or just a smile, right on time or not at all, I would have some impact. 

The choices we make matter.  How we live matters.  How we show up, matters.

It’s overwhelming stuff.

Some relief comes with noticing that having impact does not mean we have to judge our impact.  We do not have to figure out if it will be positive or negative.  We do not even have to be fully responsible for our impact.  We simply need to acknowledge that no matter how we act, we will create an impact. 

I can think back to many times when I have disagreed with someone, sometimes in a professional setting, sometimes at home, and I have become silent.  I have not offered my opinion.  I always assumed that by doing this, I was not having an impact on the situation.  I thought I was being Switzerland.  In some cases, I even thought I was really good at this.  I thought I was hiding my feelings with great skill.  I now recognize that even my silence, my Swiss-like behaviour, had an impact.  My feelings were likely leaking out of me as easily as air moves through the holes of Swiss cheese.  I’m trying not to judge or assume what that impact might have been.  It could have caused the other person to create a story in their head to explain my withdrawal.  It could have been a relief to them that I was not talking.  It could have given someone else a chance to speak.  There are endless things it could have been.  But the one thing I know for sure it was not, was nothing.

On Sunday, as Ed and I continued to talk, he told me that even though he was grateful to Jennifer’s birth mother for allowing he and Lorraine the joy of adopting their baby, as the years went on he began to understand the impact it must have had on her, a young woman who had just surrendered her child.  He said, ‘We were so wrapped up in our own delight at finally having a baby, I never once stopped to think about the toll it had on her.’ 

Ed then shocked me when he told me, ‘I did get to thank her, you know.  In fact, Lorraine and I became very good friends with her.  Did you know she spoke at Lorraine’s Celebration of Life this past year?’

No, I had not known.  But somehow, I was not surprised.

Ed understands impact.

When Jim and I chose to support Bryan by participating in the walk for Bladder Cancer Awareness we had an impact.  When Greg and Cara joined us, they had an impact.  When Bryan and Lynda were delighted to see us, it had an impact.  When Bryan’s oncologist showed up at the event, that had an impact.  

I’m beginning to recognize that while I may not always know the impact of my actions, I can at least always be aware that each of my actions will certainly have one. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What impact am I having?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice your impact.