It’s been a humbling week.  Not due to politics.  I’m trying to avoid writing about that.  That fire does not need my oxygen right now.  No, my humbling came in the most Canadian of ways.  Ice skating. 

I used to be a very competent skater.  We had a pond on our farm.  It was on the left-hand side of the driveway as you drove in.  It’s still there but over the decades the long cattails, shorter bullrushes, and other marsh loving weeds have found firm footing in it, so skating is out.  When Dad was alive, and we were much younger, he’d take his front-end loader and clean all the weeds out of the pond before the ground froze up, so we’d have a place to skate come winter.  We all had skates.  No doubt most were second hand, and once we outgrew them, they became hand-me-downs for our younger siblings.  We didn’t care, we just loved to skate on the pond.  I remember though, that the girls all had figure skates, girls skates we called them, and the boys all had what we called boys skates.  Hockey skates.

Dad hooked up a spotlight over the pond so we could skate in the evenings.  After supper, and after chores, we could go out in the dark and skate.  Sometimes a neighbour or two would join in.  Depending on the mix of kids, we might have a little hockey game, or we might act out the Winter Olympic Figure Skating championships.  My brother David and I had a winning routine, set to the music of our own singing.  We’d skate toward each other with what seemed like great speed, grab hands and swing around and around.  For extra points sometimes we wouldn’t grab both hands, but rather hook elbows for a really smooth spin.  We could skate backwards and forwards, even with a few crossovers around the curves.  No medals needed to be awarded.  We simply loved to be out there.

A lot of time has passed since then, but in my mind, I could still skate gracefully and speedily across almost any ice surface.  After all, Jim and I had taken our kids skating when they were little. I’d been just fine then.  In the years after the Winter Olympics were held in Calgary, we frequented the Olympic Oval, and I could skate around it with no problem.  When I was teaching, we took the Junior High kids skating every year, on the day before Christmas holidays, and I had no problem keeping up. 
 
However, it has rudely come to my attention, that with the passing of years, and the absence of practice, I am now only a skating legend in my own mind.  This came into clear focus this past week. 

We booked a weekend away in Invermere with our whole family to celebrate the Family Day long weekend.  With busy work and family schedules, it isn’t easy to find time where everyone can be together, and I was very grateful this weekend worked.  I was excited to explore Invermere and the surrounding area.  Downhill and cross-country skiing are both popular there as is skating. The area is famous for it’s skating track, the Lake Windermere Whiteway which is the longest skating trail in the world.  With over 30km of trail, it connects the towns of Invermere and Windermere.  I’d often read about it and dreamed of skating on it.  ‘Bring your skates’, I said.  ‘It will be fun’, I said.  And I really believed it.

Luckily, I decided to try on my skates a couple of weeks before going.  These were new skates, perhaps only five years old, and definitely less than five times used.  I purchased them because my older skates no longer fit.  My foot had widened, and I needed new skates.  So, I had splurged on a really nice pair of figure skates.  Unfortunately, my optimism and my feet were unaligned. Now with arthritis, bursitis and bunions, there was absolutely no way to squeeze my foot into those beautiful skates.  That then, is how on the day before leaving for Invermere, I found myself in Canadian Tire, in the hockey skate aisle looking bewildered.  Luckily for me, a very kind young high school student helped me find a pair of what I used to call boys skates.  And those skates, just in case the arthritis and bursitis and foot widening weren’t humbling enough, were what brought me to my humbling moment of truth in Invermere. 

It turns out, I am an old dog, and my old trick doesn’t work.  I needed to learn a new trick.  I needed to learn to skate on hockey skates.
You’d think this wouldn’t be terribly difficult, given my pond Olympic experience.  But I’ve discovered that my weight is distributed differently in hockey skates than it was in figure skates.  The first time I tried them, on that beautiful Whiteway, I could hardly stand up, let alone get going.  I did eventually get my feet under me, but oh, it was not pretty.  There was no gliding, no skating backward, no elbow locking turns.  I was thrilled to stay upright and to manage a few hundred metres. 

The next day, determined to try again, we went back.  Ben and Andy, who had loved being pulled along on a sled by Uncle Greg and Auntie Cara on the first day, were hopeful I might pull them on day two.  It’s tough to have your hopes dashed when you’re young; luckily their Dad, Matt, did a great job in the pulling department.  On my second try, I got started a bit better and Kaitlyn kindly offered to skate alongside me.  Jim had not yet made it to the ice, but that’s a story for another day.  I don’t think we can classify what I did as gliding, but I felt a bit better.  Matt commented on how beautiful it was, and I asked him to take a picture so I could enjoy it when we were done.  I was too busy watching my feet to appreciate either the beauty of the scenery or the bald eagles overhead!

Back at home this week, our cold-snap finally broke and, having the boys for a few extra days, we took them over to our lake for some toboganning.  I put Ben’s and my skates in the car just in case.  The upper rink looked so beautiful, Ben and I decided to try it.  Again, no Olympic medal, but I did manage a few metres of backward skating, and I felt like I looked less tense.   I may even have glided once or twice.  And then this morning, I asked Jim if he’d like to give it another try and join me over at the lake for a little skate.  We got there just as it opened, knowing we need a clear path.  No pairs medals were awarded but we came home having circled the entire lake.

I am still in a bit of shock that what once felt so good and natural to me, now feels completely foreign. When I put on those hockey skates for the first time in Invermere, I wanted to quit.  I was completely out of my comfort zone.  The truth is, I could have cried. However, I also knew this was something I wanted to continue (or perhaps start again?).  I want to be able to join my family in this kind of activity.  I want to be able to take the boys skating.  I don’t want to shrink my world any more than I have to.  This old dog still wants to learn new tricks. 

In Canada right now, our familiar way of being is feeling unstable.  It’s like the skates we’ve been so comfortable in, no longer fit, and our new ones don’t feel good yet.  However, deep down inside each of us, we do know how to skate.  We do know how navigate the ice surfaces of Canadian lakes and rivers.  We do know how to feel pride.  We do know how to stand up for ourselves.  And we are figuring out how to do it together.  Our Canadian boys set a great example the other night in Boston.  I doubt they’ll be inviting me to join them on the ice in the Olympics next year when they, once again, proudly represent Canada in Milano and Cortina d'Ampezzo in Italy.  But I plan to be ready.  I’ve got my skates sharpened, a helmet on order, and I’ll proudly skate for Canada. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What new trick am I learning?’
​
Elizabeth is a proud Canadian, 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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be brave enough to try a new trick.
 
 
 
 

Although we’re called the Chinook Country Dancers, and although we do love country music, our talented instructor, Reba J, continues to introduce us to new genres and songs of every era and style.  It’s very interesting to watch our reactions when a new song is introduced.  Most often, she skillfully teaches us the first steps before ever telling us what the song will be.  Sometimes when the music comes on, there are exclamations of delight from some, while others try to figure out what the new song is.  Other times, it’s a brand-new song that none of us know, perhaps even a genre none of us listen to with any regularity.  Sometimes there can even be quiet grumbling, after all, embracing the unknown isn’t easy.

I’ve given up passing judgement.  I know that once we learn the choreography, and dance it to the music a few times, I end up loving it.  I love it whether it’s country, blues, pop jazz, pop, or something classic from an old movie.  So does our audience.  They love the variety, and they love that we have such a great time dancing to all of it.  It seems that whatever the music, we find joy in the dance.

This past week, as I was driving, I turned off the news and let Spotify take over.  I gave her a suggestion to get started and then, as she does, Spotify did a great job.  Before long, Alan Jackson’s Remember When was playing, and I was singing along.  I haven’t heard it in years.  The line that caught me was, ‘Remember when, the sound of little feet, was the music, we danced to week to week.’

‘Isn’t it true?’, I thought, ‘We’re all dancing.’  I’ve heard people say they can’t dance, but I don’t believe it.  We each dance our way through life.  We dance through every single stage.  Sometimes we dance with grace, sometimes we stumble, sometimes we step on someone’s feet, but we dance. 

We dance to music that fills us with joy.  When we reach a milestone, when we have time to take a deep breath, when we celebrate someone we love, when we receive good news, when a child is born, when good friends gather, when we walk in nature, when our minds aren’t racing, when we’re doing something we’re good at, when our worries are far away, and our families are healthy, these are times when we know the steps, when we don’t have to count every beat, and instead of worrying about the next steps, we simply bask in the beauty of life’s music and enjoy the dance. 

We also dance through the challenges and sorrows of life.  Sometimes we are presented with music in life that is not our favorite, in fact, if we could switch the station we would.  These are often the times when we are struggling, when life feels hard, when we are confronted with something new and unfamiliar, when we start a new job, when we move, when we lose someone, when we’re too exhausted to learn new steps, and when even the people nearby us aren’t much help.  Still, the music of life continues to play, and though our feet may be heavy and awkward, still we dance.

It's often only when we look back that we really appreciate the music we were dancing to.  When Alan Jackson wrote Remember When, I suspect the little feet he recalled with such love and tenderness had grown into much bigger shoes.  I have a feeling that when the feet were little, he and his partner were too busy figuring out what to make for supper, how to get kids in bed, and how to manage busy jobs alongside teething and colds, to have time to stop and listen to the music made by those tiny feet. When we’re in the midst of things, mostly we’re happy just to get to the end of each song without getting completely turned around.  It takes great intention to notice and deeply appreciate life as it is unfolding.  

Dance class and Reba J have been wonderful teachers for me.  I’ve learned that even when we start to learn a new dance, and even when it’s music we might not have chosen, I understand that if I just start to dance, not complain, or try to sit out, or get in my head, my feet will soon figure out the steps and the minute they do, my head and heart become free to simply dance with joy.  The music will be playing one way or the other, we might as well dance. 

This week in class Reba J reminded us that when we are in performance mode, we need to remember two things.  One is simple.  When the music comes on, we need to be ready to dance.  The second is, when we mess up, keep dancing.  Life is performance mode.  The music is playing and once in a while we’re going to mess up, but we need to keep dancing.

As we get older some of us learn that often the times in life that brought us the most struggle, turned out to give us some incredible memories.  I don’t know one parent who doesn’t long to go back for just one more day with those little feet, yet at the time, we all prayed those long days and nights might end.  We also understand that time is not to be taken for granted.  The years ahead are fewer than those behind.  We might not have the luxury of waiting decades so we can look back to this moment and Remember When.  We know it’s time to dance now. 

This weekend we celebrate Family Day.  We also celebrate the 60th Birthday of our Canadian Flag.  My family and my country are deeply important loves of mine.  I plan to take time to appreciate all the different dances that have brought my family and country to today. While I do so, the music of life will continue to play.  I might as well dance.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What music am I dancing to?’

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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to dance.
 

It’s been a week of adjustments.  Nothing wild, just the little unexpected things that come our way, causing us to go left when we had made plans to go right.

On Monday morning our daughter Kaitlyn texted to tell me that little Andy had been up sick in the night.  It’s awful when a little one is sick.  We’d all been together the day before at Ben’s first ‘Friend’ birthday party, and Andy had been sticking pretty close to my side, but other than being tired out by the end of the party, he seemed fine.  Turns out he had something brewing. 

By Monday evening he seemed much better, and they assumed Tuesday would be back to their regular routine of him going to his day home.  For me, Tuesday is my hiking day.  Everyone who knows me knows this is a ‘protected day’.  I try my best to avoid making any other plans or booking appointments on Tuesdays.  However, whoever controls the weather has not quite figured out how important this day is, because every once in a while, we have weather that just does not cooperate with our hiking plans.  This past Tuesday was one of those days.  With daytime temperatures forecast to be around -25°C and overnight temperatures closer to -30°C, and a wind chill to add to it all, hiking would have been dangerous.  With great disappointment we cancelled our plans.

As I’ve gained in age, I’ve tried to gain in wisdom and patience.  I have more luck with this some days than others.  With our hike cancelled, I proudly patted myself on the back for being able to so deftly pivot.  I appreciated that I’d have a full, unspoken for, day available for me on Tuesday to put the finishing touches on a presentation I am to make on Saturday.  The big part of the presentation was already complete, but the finicky little bits always take much more time than I anticipate, so I found myself being grateful for a wide-open Tuesday schedule.

Until Tuesday morning that is.

While I was riding my bike in the basement, before settling at my desk, my phone rang.  It was Kaitlyn.  It turns out that while Andy had seemed well on Monday night, and Tuesday at breakfast for that matter, the truth was his stomach had other plans.  With both of his parents being teachers, and having been in this position myself, I understand how difficult it is to find a replacement with almost no notice. 

‘Bring him here’, I said.  ‘We’ll have a gentle day together.’

Meanwhile, my brain was in overdrive trying to plan how I’d fit what I’d planned to do on Tuesday, into some other time.  Once I’d known we would not be hiking, I’d booked a very quick appointment mid morning.  With Andy coming, I was pretty sure Jim could cover for me, but I needed to figure it out.
​
I thought of a quote I’d read just days earlier.  I liked it enough to take a snapshot of it.  It popped into my busy mind.

Hmm.

I realized I was on a train headed in a direction I was no longer going, and the quicker I could get off, and get on the right train, the better off I’d be.  This was clearly no longer going to be the day I’d pictured. It was no longer a hiking day, it was no longer a work-day, it was no longer a quick appointment day.  Andy didn't need any of those.  He doesn't know about workshops and Powerpoints.  He knows about Gramma Days.  And he needed one.  I was able to hop off the train I was on, and catch a very inexpensive train back to the place where I could be fully present for Andy.

We all have a tendency to stay on trains longer than we should. We make plans and have trouble letting them go when circumstances change.  We set our sights on a goal, and when the goalposts move, we keep aiming toward our original goal.  We make effort after effort with certain people, coming up disappointed time after time.  We jump on the latest fad, even when we know it really doesn’t work for us at all.  We stay in workplaces, jobs, and relationships that are not longer headed in the direction we want to go.  The longer we stay on the wrong train, the more expensive the return trip is.

I find I can hop off trains that resemble cancelled hikes, and planned work-days, fairly easily.  I can pivot easily when I’m facilitating groups creating strategic plans.  It doesn’t phase me in the least.  But I have more difficulty when it’s my mind that’s on the train, usually trying to will traffic to move, or for time to speed up.  My thoughts are headed in one direction, when the truth is, that direction is not where I need to be.  Ruminating about things beyond my control is useless, but I can’t always get my thoughts to adjust as quickly as I’d like.  This too happened this week, even after I had the Japanese legend in my mind.  I went to my rescheduled ‘short’ appointment from Tuesday.  I was led into a little room to wait to be seen.  Usually, I’m seen within a couple of minutes, then the appointment begins.  I’d set aside the same amount of time I usually do.  But five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen.  I was reminding myself that the quicker I got off the train telling me I should already be done, the better it would be.  Having me fuss about it was not helping.  I sat there some more, still not winning over the thoughts in my head.  I thought about the Japanese saying.  I tried meditating.  Then counting.  And then I got a message on my watch, ‘It looks like you’re running late for your appointment.  Do you need to reschedule?’.   Even I had to laugh.  They had put me in the room, then forgotten about me.  I wandered out to the front desk and gave a little wave. 

I suspect the same person who is responsible for the weather might have something to do with helping me learn life lessons. 

I love this Japanese legend.  I suspect that now that I know it, I’m going to notice plenty of places to practice it.  Life is too short to spend time riding on the wrong train.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How much will my return trip cost?’

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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to get on the right train.
​

Last weekend I was invited to a retirement celebration for my friend, Donna.  Donna and I have become friends in a roundabout way.  Many years ago, both our daughters were in high school together.  Sharing many common interests, they soon became good friends.  I got to know Ashley, Kaitlyn’s friend and Donna’s daughter, but I didn’t know Donna other than through bits of information Kaitlyn shared with me. 

Kaitlyn and Ashley shared a love of journalism, and both applied to and were accepted into the Journalism program at Ryerson University in Toronto.  They were roommates throughout their time there and even spent time abroad together.  Still, while I had met Donna by this point, I did not yet know her well.

Years flew by, the girls graduated, and eventually Jim and I decided to leave our acreage and move to the city, allowing both of us easy access to many opportunities.  This was when I learned about the Chinook Country Dancers, and after only one class I was hooked.  When Kaitlyn heard I had joined she casually mentioned that she thought Ashley’s mom danced with them too.  Sure enough, after all those years, Donna and I finally really met, found ourselves sharing a passion for dance, and in the process, became friends.

In terms of real years, we’ve been friends for less than a decade, but somehow it feels like we’ve been friends much longer.  Our connection runs deep.  Our care and compassion for each others’ families is shared and valued beyond measure by both of us.

And so, it came to be that I’ve been to one retirement celebration for Donna this week, and I’ll attend another next week.  Her retirement is definitely a time for celebration, but for me, also one for loss.  She’ll be moving at the end of this week, to be closer to extended family.  No longer will we have quick catch ups between numbers at dance.  No longer will I be quite as in tune with things in her life nor will she in mine.  No longer will I see the compassion in her face, and tears that easily spring to her eyes when I tell her of some challenge in my life.  And yet, this is the perfect move for her, and for that, we celebrate. 

As I’ve thought about her transition from her job to retirement, about her leaving an entire world of familiarity behind, I know that many new adventures will await her.  Some she can’t yet even imagine, for when we are so busy doing what we’ve always done, we don’t have time to notice what new things might be available to us.  Her career has served her very well, now it is time to appreciate it, and to give that part of her life a rest.

It’s made me think about a different conversation I had about giving things a rest.  I was talking with my friend, Inka and mentioned that my go-to, my long-practiced go-to, is to work harder.  When I used to run, I figured doing more, working harder, was the secret.  With biking I do the same.  I’m not completely wrong, nor am I right.  When things in my life aren’t quite falling into place, my go-to is to work harder.  When I think of aging, and about the things I can do to help keep me fit and mobile, my go-to is to work harder.  To do more.  When I’m injured, I always ask what I can do, what harder work might help me to recover more quickly.  Inka reminded me that working harder has served me well in many areas of my life.  It has helped me get where I am.  But then she gently offered this, “Hard Work has been a faithful soldier to you.  But he must be tired.  Perhaps it is time to give him a rest.”

Perhaps indeed.

Perhaps all of us can consider some of our go-tos; our automatic habits and behaviours.  We develop them young in life, often as a way to cope, and even thrive, within whatever environment we find ourselves.  Many of them exist because we started doing them, they worked, and we simply continued.  We arrive at work twenty minutes early because at one time we needed those minutes to prepare, but now, after many years, perhaps ten would do.  Yet we continue in our old way.  We say yes out of habit, when we sometimes might be better served saying no.  We pass up opportunities because we’re so used to thinking they aren’t meant for us.  We organize all the major friend and  family events because we’ve always done it.  Not because others aren’t willing and able.  We work harder or tell ourselves the same stories in our heads because that is what we always done. 

Some of our go-tos are not things we do, but rather things we are.  Perhaps we are the person who is always there for others.  It is our go-to.  Perhaps we withhold our opinion, for no reason other than we were expected to do it at one time, and it served us well.  Perhaps we fight to have our voice heard, even when no one is preventing us from expressing ourselves. Perhaps we had our walls up for fear of being hurt.  Perhaps we people-please instead of considering what serves us best.  Perhaps we feel we need to always be in control. 

Most often our go-tos are comfortable, and faithful.  We go to them without much thought.  They feel good in the way well-worn slippers might.  We love the feel of them, but they aren’t providing the kind of support we now need. Yet we’re reluctant to replace them even though we know they aren’t working as well as they once did.  We continue to think they are serving us well.  But perhaps they are tired.  Perhaps we should let these faithful soldiers rest.

Donna’s go-to has been to head to work every single day for decades.  She has taken care of others there and served her employer and colleagues well.  She has been diligent, faithful, and hard working.  She’s now ready let that part of her life rest.

So too is it time for us to examine our lives and give rest to those things that once served us so well, but are tired now, and could use a rest.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Which of my soldiers needs rest?’
​
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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to ‘give it a rest’.