TheI’ve been ticked off this week.  Not enough to ruin the week or change any of my plans, but ticked off none the less.  Early in the week, I heard that the New York Times social media team tweeted that having Harry and Meghan move to Canada would provide some much-needed razzle dazzle to ‘a sprawling bone-chilling country’ that’s lacking in ‘razzle dazzle’. 
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I nearly drove off the road when I heard it.  And I was ticked. 

First of all, I was trying to get a mental image of the person who had written the post. I couldn’t imagine that they had ever even been to this ‘bone-chilling’ country.  I wasn’t amused they were so quick to judge a place they didn’t know. 
Then of course I realized, last week was bone-chilling. In Calgary, we set several temperature records for cold.  We hunkered down and avoided going out as much as possible.  And that simply added to my insult from our American cousins.  I had to concede that the ‘bone-chilling’ part had some merit.  But no razzle dazzle?  I could not agree with this.
So, I’ve spent my week trying to find some razzle dazzle.  Real razzle dazzle. 

Canadians have continued to mourn the loss of 57 of our citizens in the horrific plane crash that occurred the week before last.  The outpouring of support to the victims and their families was exactly what we have come to know in this country.  Our Prime Minister brought forth a motion to give $25 000 to each family affected to help them with immediate expenses they might incur as they navigate their overwhelming sorrow.  It wasn’t flashy, but it felt like the right thing to do.

On our west coast this week, Meghan arrived with their infant son, Archie, to start what will be the new ‘normal’ life of Harry and Meghan.  Harry joined her later in the week.  I noticed it didn’t take long for the paparazzi to arrive and attempt to provide exactly the atmosphere they’ve been trying escape.  One operator of a water taxi, a middle-aged man who looked like he had spent years on the water, said he was offered one hundred and fifty dollars to transport a photographer closer to their rental home so he could snap a picture.  He refused.  He said, ‘It’s not that I don’t need the money.  I do.  But I have to live with my decisions’.

That’s Canadian razzle dazzle.

While our west coast was pummeled with paparazzi, our most easterly province, Newfoundland, was also getting pummelled in her own way.  A blizzard, the likes of which none of us has ever seen, slammed into the province on Friday.  By early this week, residents were trying to peer out over literal mountains of snow.  The military was brought in to help shovel and clear roads.  Businesses were closed and residents only allowed to venture into stores for essentials; prescription drugs and the like.  Airports were closed.  By Tuesday, grocery stores were allowed to open and lineups snaked around parking lots and up sidewalks.  No one seemed upset.  Hundreds and hundreds of stories emerged about people checking in on one another and helping each other out.  People shared food and took care of each other as essential workers often worked for 50 hours in a row.  One little seven-year old boy, Matthew, wanted desperately to go outside and help the military men and women shovel snow.  But with Matthew’s cerebral palsy limiting his mobility, he was only able to watch.  The military heard about his wish, and decided if Matthew couldn’t come to help them, they could go to him. The tears in the eyes of the soldier who was interviewed about the meeting told the whole tale. 
Not only was the snow dazzling in Newfoundland this week, on every street in every little town, the people showed up with their own form of razzle dazzle too.

In my own little world, I’ve not had a fancy week, but it has certainly been full.  The weather cleared and we managed to get out for a walk, where Jim taught Ben to feed the birds.   Both were dazzled.  Our dance troupe performed at a senior’s centre on Monday.  We were celebrating Robbie Burns day a bit early.  We wore our kilts and danced to Scottish music.  Part way through our show, one of the residents of the centre, Kathleen, came to the front, flanked on one side by a health care worker, and on the other by one of the dancers.  Kathleen was originally from Scotland and she had been asked to read a poem, ‘To the Haggis’.  Kathleen had clearly prepared for the occasion.  She was dressed beautifully; she had clearly taken extra time with her hair and outfit.  Prior to the performance she had shown me her typed copy of the poem and had mentioned how frightened she was.  When she came to the front, leaving her walker behind, she started by saying, “I am both honoured and terrified.”  Kathleen did a magnificent job.  There wasn’t anyone in the room who wasn’t dazzled by her.  I don’t know why all the paparazzi were on the west coast.  They missed out on some real razzle dazzle.

In the 1970’s, a gadget, the BeDazzler, came on the market.  It was used to add rhinestones and studs to clothing and accessories.  It was a hit.  We BeDazzled everything.  All the ‘gems’ and glitter were fake of course.  No one ever pretended they were real.  We all seemed to understand that this little gadget could add some sparkle to the outside, but never change the inside of any item it ‘spruced up’.  As I’ve travelled through my week, looking for evidence that Canada is not a ‘sprawling bone-chilling country lacking in razzle dazzle’, I’ve recognized that we have exactly the kind of razzle dazzle we want.

We have the kind that’s on the inside.  The kind that doesn’t fall off.  The kind that may not be flashy, but sure makes an impact.  The kind that shows up in a nursing home and in a blizzard.  The kind that says welcome Harry and Meghan and Archie, we hope you find peace here.  The kind that reminds me of the importance of caring for each other.  Our thermometer may show bone-chilling temperatures at times, but we find ways to be both warm and dazzling.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What’s your razzle dazzle?’

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 develop some real razzle dazzle.
 
 

Jim and I watched the Netflix movie, The Two Popes, this past weekend.  With temperatures here in Calgary in the minus thirties, and Jim battling a bad head cold, we had little motivation to be out and about.  I hadn’t really heard much about this movie; we just happened to see it in the list of ‘Popular on Netflix’ and decided to give it a try.  I’m glad we did.  There were a few lines that really resonated with me.  And it was comforting to watch two leaders of the Catholic Church, two heads of the Church, each having their own unique beliefs about what direction the church should go, trying to at least understand a different point of view.

The movie tells the modern-day story of Popes Benedict and Pope Francis.  Pope Benedict, a traditionalist, resigned his papacy in February of 2013.  The reason is not completely clear, as is often the case with such things.  Although, in fairness, how would we know?  No pope had resigned for almost 600 years before him.  What we do know is that Pope Benedict stands firmly on the ‘old ways’ of the Catholic Church.  No marriage of priests for him.  No women in the priesthood.  He was dedicated, prayerful, and very fixed on his beliefs.

The movie tells us of his successor, Pope Francis, just shortly prior to Pope Benedict resigning, coming to the Vatican to ask for permission to retire.  Of Pope Benedict refusing to sign his papers.  Of the two men, polarized in many of their thoughts, learning to listen to each other.   In the week or so the two men spent together at the Vatican, each wrestling with their own spiritual calling, Pope Benedict confessed that he wished he had a ‘spiritual hearing aid’.

This felt like a humble comment.  The Pope is the head of the Church. It is assumed that his faith is unwavering.  It is assumed that he might have a direct line to God.  I imagine many of his followers believe he has the answers.  The right answers.  And yet, his wish gave insight into a different perspective.   It spoke not only to the idea that life would be easier if there were clear rules and if the rules were spoken directly into our ears, but also to the idea that there might not necessarily be a right answer, and that there are many possibilities. 

I’ve been pondering the idea of hearing aids this week. Both the real kind, and the kind of which Pope Benedict spoke.  I’ve been thinking about why many adults don’t want to even consider that they could benefit from hearing aids.  I’m thinking about how much of life people miss out on because they can’t hear what is going on.  I’m imagining how helpful it would be if each of us could purchase a ‘variety pack’ of hearing aids, tailored specifically for us, to guide us through life. 

I’ve been trying on some hearing aids this week.  I don’t need the real kind.  But I could fill a drawer with hearing aids that would help me in my life.  Some of mine are easy to wear.  On Thursday, it was little Benjamin’s second birthday, and I asked to spend the day with him while his parents were at work.  I always need to have my Benjamin hearing aids in when I am with him.  I need to be completely tuned in to what he is doing.  These days I also need to be completely tuned in to what he is trying to say.  I noticed that when I arrived first thing in the morning, after not seeing him for about a week, my ear was not attuned to his little expressions. It took me a minute to get my ‘Benjamin hearing aid’ adjusted, so I could quickly make the translations from his words to mine.  It didn’t take long before ‘lock lit lips’ made perfect sense.  Chocolate Chips!

I’m trying on other pairs from my personal pack too.  The Benjamin ones are easy and comfortable to wear.  I’m highly motivated to be able to communicate with Ben, and to have a good relationship with him, so I put my hearing aids on without a second thought.  I’ve noticed though, there are some pairs of my hearing aids, I’ve been avoiding.  The hearing aids that would whisper to me, ‘You don’t need to be so firm in your ideas’ haven’t yet got a lot of use.  But they are calling my name.  I know I need them.  I know they would make parts of my life easier. 

I want to experiment with the hearing aids that make me more compassionate.  And with the ones that say, ‘Slow down.  You don’t have to get it all done in a day.’  Those that remind me to hear what is being said behind the words would also come in handy.   I’d love to find my wisdom hearing aids.  With those I could ask myself, ‘What will matter in 20 years?’  I’d love hearing aids to remind me to call a friend.  And those that said, ‘Pay attention, this could be important.’

Each of us really does have a package of these hearing aids.  We simply need to open the drawer, decide which ones will serve us best in the moment, insert them, and turn them up.  Hearing specialists tell us that when hearing starts to fade, if left untreated, it increases the risk of cognitive issues, specifically memory.  I’m imagining that if I don’t turn up my compassion, and my ‘slow down’, and my wisdom, I’ll forget how to use them.   

I’m guessing Pope Benedict did have a spiritual hearing aid even when he was doubting it.  He may have forgotten the batteries, but it likely was there for his use all along.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What hearing aid do I need?’
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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 choose the perfect hearing aid.
 
 

Jim and I spent last weekend helping Greg and Cara, our son and daughter-in-law, install new hardwood flooring in their home.  They took possession of the house in late September and have spent the past three months doing a complete renovation.  By complete, I mean, complete. 

The house was taken down to the studs, the kitchen and dining rooms were relocated, a room was removed from the second story to open up the ceiling, and the master suite was reconfigured.  It looks like a completely different house.  Although they’ve been residing in the basement of the house, this weekend, they are finally ‘moving in’.  They have plumbing and electricity, dishes are in the cupboards and their furniture is in place.  It’s a very exciting time for them, and no doubt, a big relief to finally see the fruits of not only their labours, but of the labours of many people.

We offered to help with the flooring.  Jim has been over helping with odds and ends over the weeks.  My contribution has been to bring them dinners.   They have a hot plate in their basement ‘suite’ but no means of really cooking anything much more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich.  At the end of a long day of construction, sometimes a grilled cheese just doesn’t fill the tank.

This past weekend, when they were doing flooring, we figured this was a place we might be able to lend our help.  Their house has a large footprint and they were laying hardwood throughout the main floor.  I’ve never helped do this particular job before.  I had heard people say they had done it.  It sounded so simple.  I imagined just snapping pieces in place and standing back to admire the result.  I couldn’t really imagine the parts where you opened box after box of different lengths of boards, attempted to place them in a random, but purposeful order, lay a bead of glue, cut the boards to fit, hammer (tap is the ‘official’ term) the boards snuggly together and finally air nail them in place!  We had a pretty efficient assembly line going.  I was on layout, Jim was the cutter, Cara the ‘tapper’ and Greg the nailer.

At first what surprised me was how I was unable to estimate how long each room, or part of the room, would take to complete.  Once we got the first day under our belts, and a few Advil in our bodies, I had polished this skill.  And yet, it still astounds me, that a small closet could possibly take almost as long as a much larger, open space. 

The challenge in a closet is that the confines of the small space means we were trying to fit all of us, our tools, our skills and our ideas into one fixed area.  It didn’t work well.  So, after I chose the pieces for the front hall closet, I stepped aside to let the others work.  I was watching us use the same skills and tools we had used so well in the big spaces, in the smaller ones.  The problem was, the little spaces had walls that kept getting in the way.  I began to think about what happens when we try to fit our life, our ideas and our dreams, into small spaces too.    I think the same result occurs.  We are able to accomplish things, but not nearly as well, or creatively, as when we have more open areas.

When we were working in the larger spaces at Greg and Cara’s I had a chance to lay out many pieces of hardwood, to see how they fit with the previously laid rows of flooring and to make sure I wasn’t repeating a pattern.  I also had a bit of a chance to get ahead of the others, to open new boxes, to make piles of the different sizes of wood and to plan for the next steps.  I was even able to see what pieces might come in handy when we reached one of the smaller spaces.  Every single piece of wood fit somewhere in the large spaces.  There was room for everything.  Nothing had to be discarded.
But in the small spots, the ones with the closed in walls, I wasn’t able to step back to see my work.  I couldn’t notice where I was repeating patterns.  I had to discard plenty of pieces that just could not fit.  I knew that I didn’t have room for a lot of people, nor for a lot of variety, nor for a lot of vison.

The truth is, we miss a lot when we are inside closets. 

We get so focused on the details of them, we fail to see the huge opportunities available to us just on the other side of the wall.  We miss the chance to be something bigger than our small thoughts.

When we have small minds, it means we have rigid walls established.  We have firmly fixed ideas of what is right.  No matter how many new ideas try to float into them, the little walls make it almost impossible.  After all, the space is already filled with our own firm thinking.  So, we take a new idea and see if it can fit into what we already believe. If it cannot, we throw it out and look for an idea that will fit.  It’s hard to incorporate new ideas without moving the walls.  Just like in closets, walls are not easy to move; it’s easier to just fit our old way of working inside them.

I’ve often built up walls for myself.  I don’t usually recognize it when I am doing it.  It is only later, when I look back and notice how many things I missed out on, that I realize what I thought I was doing to keep my world organized and efficient, was actually just keeping my world small and predictable.  I was protecting myself instead of trusting myself to grow.  I was looking inward instead of out, in the mirror instead of out a window.

I’m glad we took care of the details inside of the closets at the new house.  No one will every likely go inside them, get down on their knees and examine the work.  But they will provide a wonderful place where guests can hang their coats before entering the big spaces, where there is enough space for everyone’s ideas, thoughts, beliefs and dreams.

We could have used more of this in our world this past week.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I expand my closet?’
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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 get out of your closet.
 

We’re just a few days into the New Year.  Already I’ve had a ‘time-stopping’ moment.  I spend a lot of time observing people.  I’m just interested in all of the different ways we can occupy this planet of ours.  When something happens to catch my interest, I take note.  Inevitably, later in the same day, or in the few days following, I’ll notice something else that reinforces the initial thing I noticed. 

This happened to me this week.  It’s given me a humbleness with which to walk this year.

I was on the Calgary C-train, heading to a dance performance.  Because we are the focal point for people in our audiences, we each wear not only our red shirt, our black pants or skirt and our signature bandana in our back pocket, but we also each try to wear some kind of brighter-than-usual lipstick to brighten up our faces.  I, who love a natural look, have only this year been brave enough to try a red shade.  When I put it on all I can think of is that I am drawing a lot of unnecessary attention to myself.  I am not comfortable with it yet, but I am determined to give it a fair shake. 

As I was heading to my performance, I wore my red lipstick.   The train was not crowded, I had a seat all to myself.  The seat in front of me was empty, as was the seat in front of that one.  At an early stop, a very nice-looking young woman boarded.  She sat in the seat two ahead of me.  I noticed her turn to the window and smile, pursing her lips.  At first, I thought she was finding the scenery to be so pleasant as to bring a smile to her face.  But as we went along, I realized she was looking at her reflection in the mirror and ‘posing’ for herself.  I was mesmerized.  She was lovely looking; I’m guessing in her mid-thirties.  In my mind, I was debating whether she could really just be admiring herself.  I thought surely she is looking at something else.  But when we went through a couple of dark tunnels, made of bleak cement, and she continued to practice her poses, I realized that in fact, she was fully focused on herself – not on the scenery.  To be clear, she was not show-offy, nor did it appear that she was trying to seek attention from others.  She was simply very focused on her own face.

This continued the entire trip.  As people got on and off, she never once looked at anyone else, or communicated with anyone else.   Eventually, her stop arrived, she rose and stood by the door as the train slowed.  She caught her reflection in the glass and continued her routine.  Something about her behaviour fascinated me.  Despite her beauty, and outward confidence, she had a nervousness about her.  It was as if her fascination with herself, protected her from any possible interaction with others.

I was grateful for her; she took my mind completely off my own red lips!  And she stayed in my mind off and on throughout the day. 

After the performance, once off the train, I got into my car and stopped at Shopper’s Drug Mart on the way home.  As I crossed the parking lot and stepped up on the sidewalk, I found myself behind a teenage girl, walking with her mother.  The mother had her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as they walked.  At first, I thought the mother was simply affectionate.  But as I continued to walk behind, I wondered if the mother had difficulty with her sight.  As I slowed, I could see that it was the mother’s balance that was the issue.  I am not a medical professional, but both the idea of a stroke, and of MS, came to my mind as I observed her. 

The mom had to work hard to walk and her speech was laboured.  The daughter, who I am guessing was sixteen or seventeen, was helping her mom navigate the outing.  The daughter was keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they walked.  She told her mom about the math test result she had just received.  Then she explained that they only had one unit left to finish this semester; probability.  The daughter was sure she would have no trouble with it, after all, she said, it’s just common sense.  The daughter seemed to understand that if she maintained some interesting conversation, it would take her mom’s mind off the challenging task of simply maneuvering through the drug store.  The daughter held a beautiful balance between being completely tuned in to her mom’s needs, and never drawing attention to them.  The roles are reversed, I thought; the young daughter has become the care giver. 

We passed by all kinds of glass windows on our way in, and dusk was falling.  The daughter could have tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the glass.  I never saw her steal a glance.  She remained fully engaged with making the outing easy on her mom.

While the daughter made the relationship and the outing look easy, I couldn’t help but think what a heavy load she was carrying.  Teenagers are supposed to be focused on themselves.  They are supposed to be figuring out how to navigate their own friendships and schoolwork; their appearance and their interests.  They are supposed to be looking into mirrors and window glasses to see how they look.  I don’t think the manual, if there was one, would have a chapter on how to care for, and treat with dignity, a parent with challenging needs.

I wished I could have known what to say to the young girl to let her know how impressive she was.  Or at least to acknowledge her grace as she did her heavy lifting.  As I drove the short trip home after my stop, the young woman on the train came back to my mind.  My first reaction was to judge her; to think how the young teenager really outshone her.  And then it dawned on me; the woman on the train was very likely carrying a heavy load too.  Her seemingly self-absorbed behaviour may well have been born out of some feeling of ‘not-enough’.  I wished I would have known what to say to her too, to acknowledge her load.

I’ll bet if I had continued to drive around and make random stops, I would have had the chance to see more people, each carrying their own version of a heavy load.  Each of us carries them.  Some times our loads are heavier than others.  Sometimes we get a break.  Sometimes we mis-identify our load; what we think is heavy and important, is, in the big picture, not heavy at all.

I arrived home, lipstick still intact. I hadn’t thought about it at all until I glanced in the mirror.  I’ve decided it doesn’t qualify as a heavy load.  And I’ve decided to keep in mind I have no way of knowing what is heavy for another, and that I will look for times and places where I can help carry.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How heavy is that load?’
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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 recognize and ease heavy loads.