I’ve been teetering on the edge of ‘too much’ this week.  When I was teaching, ‘too much’ was a familiar way of being this time of year.  End-of-school-year extras, added to the regular reaching load, added to planning for next year, assignment changes and regular exhaustion all made May and June feel like ‘too much’. 

But I’m not teaching anymore and here it is, the end of May and here I am once again on the edge of too much.  It might just be my normal after all those years of routine. 

No one thing has brought me here.   Day by day my calendar has more and more entries, each requiring my full attention at least for a certain amount of time.  I try not to think about one thing while focusing on another.  Between work, a couple of days with our Grandjoys, keeping in touch with aging parents, preparing for our busy dance performance season and regular everyday life, the feeling of too much is whispering to me.  Not enough for me to change a thing, but the whisper reminds me to take notice.

This week we’ve been mourning the loss of my brother-in-law, Bill.  Bill has struggled and suffered with Alzheimer’s disease for more than a decade.  His gentle, determined spirit served him well and humbled all of us who witnessed his, and my sister, Barb’s journey.  It’s very hard to say goodbye to Bill.  This disease was too much.

There has also been a trip to the cardiologist for Jim and while it’s a ‘regular’ visit, none of it feels all that regular when medications are adjusted, and we remember we are approaching the ten year mark since Jim’s heart attack.

When I lay it all before me, I recognize it could be anyone’s life.  Different details perhaps, but we each have our too muchness.  It’s all just regular life, which of course can feel like too much.

That’s exactly the feeling I had on Thursday.  The weather was beautiful, and we decided to take the boys to the lake to play.  We’d been there the day before and discovered that Andy is going to love the water as much as his big brother does.  On that day we were expecting to play on the playground and then dip our toes into the lake, just to prove it was much too cold to swim yet.  I should have remembered that Ben’s last day of swimming was October 26th, a day when it was about 10°C outside and the water was 9°C.  So that is how we found ourselves at the beach, with no swimsuits or playthings, with Ben right in the water and Andy and I ‘walking’ along the shore in ankle deep ice water!

On Thursday we got smart and prepared fully for a beach day.  Andy’s nap was going longer than normal so Ben and I headed off on foot, him on his strider and me towing the wagon filled with beach paraphernalia.  A couple of hours later Jim and Andy arrived, driving over with the stroller, the dingy and some dry clothes, according to plan.  While we were excellent planners in terms of all the stuff, our timing planning was definitely off.  It was all just too much.  Too much stuff, too much to fit in after a late nap, but also too late to change it once the promise had been made.  Andy wouldn’t have cared, but Ben couldn’t wait to see if two brothers could fit in the dingy.

After a very short time at the beach with Andy and Jim, we knew we had to pack up to get home.  As it was, we would be late, and we had just heard there was a major traffic delay between our house and theirs.  And that is how it came to be that the best solution we could come up with to get all the people and stuff home was for me to push the stroller with Andy, while Ben used his strider to come along.  When I type it, it seems so lovely.  A gramma with her two grandsons coming home from a day at the beach. 

I’ll adjust the focus for you.  Andy was covered in sand and still in his swimsuit.  We hadn’t dared take the few minutes to change him since Ben was finally dressed in dry clothes and ready to leave.  If we’d changed Andy, we’d have had to start all over again convincing Ben this was a good idea.  Andy’s hat was lost so he wore a much too big ball cap of Ben’s, down over his eyes. 

Ben was fully clothed but just about a third of the way home he remembered his bike seat hurt him because it was too low, so he asked me to carry it.  And the walk must have felt like a hundred miles to him.  So, there we were, me pushing a stroller, carrying a bike, and convincing Ben it was just around the curve, knowing we were headed into bad traffic, we were late, and I likely would not make it to my dance class, when an older-than-me man approached.  He had his pickleball racket and was in his gear for a good game.  When he saw us, he gave us a big smile and said in his Italian accent, “Ah, a walk with family.  There is nothing so precious.”

Now.  Precious was not the adjective I might have chosen right then.  Still, I smiled back and agreed with him.  As we continued the truth of his words hit me.  I had been thinking this was too much for that exact moment.  And yet it really was not enough.  I will not have enough time with these little boys.  They will grow so fast and find their own friends and interests.  I will long for another day just like that day.

The same goes for the other things in my life.  Of course, I don’t want Jim to have to go to a cardiologist or for Bill to die, or for us to have to learn life without him.  But it is not too much.  It is the price of admission for a life filled with wonderful relationships, worthwhile and fulfilling work, interesting and rewarding hobbies, and precious family to enjoy.  I think of some families in Texas this week who would give a lot to have ‘too much’ to carry for their kids.  I think of so many friends who long for a chance for one more conversation with an aging parent, and others who wish for meaningful work.  I remember how lucky we are to have such a difficult time saying goodbye to Bill; not everyone is blessed with such a brother-in-law.

I will remember the words of that man, likely a neighbour of mine, for a long time.  Perhaps forever.  I suspect I’ll use them (sometimes perhaps with sarcasm) when I do feel overwhelmed, to remind myself to be where I am, not ahead of myself in traffic or at a dance class that hasn’t yet begun. These moments in life are precious. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Precious time or too much?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to turn too much into precious time.

The Calgary Flames have made the playoffs!  Not only that, as of Thursday night, we are in standing squarely in the middle of the legendary Battle of Alberta.  There is no middle ground here.  Loyal fans and playoff-only fans alike have resurrected their jerseys.   From board rooms to restaurants, there is a sea of loyalty showing up all around this province.  On Thursday I had a bit of a runaround afternoon.  I stopped at the grocery store, the license registry, the physiotherapist, and the jeweler.  It was all hockey, all the time.

It’s wonderful really.  Daryl Sutter, head coach of the Flames, and man of very few, often only one or two, words, reminded us before game one of the series that it didn’t really matter who people cheered for, but that the most important thing was this series was bringing people together.

I watched Game One on Thursday.  Jim and I cheered as loudly as those at the game in person.  Besides the incredible talent on the ice, two other things struck me.  One was the sea of red jerseys in the Saddledome.  Of course, there were plenty of orange jerseys too, but somehow in the panned-out version of the crowd, they all blended together to look the same; as they should have, for everyone there was cheering for their favourite.  The second thing was the number of people in the crowd singing our National Anthem along with George Canyon.  This makes my heart sing.

Earlier that day, half-way across our country in our nation’s capital, Prince Charles and Camilla, along with an appreciative crowd of spectators watched as the men and women of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police performed the Musical Ride in honour of their visit to Canada.  According to a personal account from a couple of my family members, it was a spectacular afternoon.  I can believe this.

Watching these officers, dressed in their beautiful red serge uniforms, atop spectacularly talented horses, weave together and perform their precision maneuvers, as majestic music accompanies their every move, is rather indescribable.  It brings such pride to those in the audience.  Even more, it has a way of bringing people together. 

I’ve been lucky enough to see this musical ride a few times; several times on the Stampede grounds, only metres away from the Saddledome, and also at Spruce Meadows equestrian facility where on Thursday evening, just hours after the musical ride had finished, and just an hour before the first puck dropped at the Saddledome, the premier of our province, having shown poorly in a leadership review, announced he would resign.  On a newscast later that evening a reporter mused, ‘It will be very interesting to watch how Jason Kenney wears this loss going forward’.  What a brilliant way to frame this.

Each of us wear the stories of our lives.  The question of how we wear them struck a chord with me, perhaps because of the obvious signs of wearing I saw on Thursday – the jerseys and the Mounted Police uniforms.  We often focus so much on what we are wearing, we forget to ponder how we wear it.  It’s easy when it’s a uniform or a prescribed outfit.  I wear my Flames jersey with pride, and honestly also just for some fun.   When RCMP officers put on their uniforms, there is a code of conduct put in place at the same time.  We have a code of conduct for wearing our dancing outfits, and yet I also wear mine with some extra emotions; there is pride, but there is something more too.  There is a statement of stepping into bravery with this uniform, of embracing a willingness to take risks and of continuing to grow. 

It's more difficult for us to wear the other things in life.  How do we wear our losses, our victories, our sorrows, our pride, our dreams, our disappointments, our fears, our love, our insecurity, our bravery?   When we fail, how do we wear this?  Some choose anger, using it to push others away or to blame them for their part in the failure.  Others, in the same situation may retreat, disappearing for some time.  Others gather support and figure out how to proceed with grace.
When we feel pride how do we wear this?  Do we boast to those we meet, skipping over the hurt feelings we may cause, or do we keep it to ourselves, never letting others share in our accomplishments?

How do we wear our dreams?  Do we say them aloud so others might see whether we accomplish them or not? Do we wrap them up and keep them secretly inside ourselves so no one else knows? Do we ask for help in accomplishing them?  Do we use them to help others accomplish theirs?

These things are not made of cloth.  They don’t have logos on them advertising our commitments and our code of conduct.  We can’t slip them over our heads and use them as a protection, or as a buffer or substitute for our own personal actions, beliefs or integrity.  To make it more difficult, our upbringing and culture have informed us about ‘acceptable’ ways of managing many of our emotions.  We have to wade through all the messaging we’ve received to arrive at the way we choose to wear our lives.

When I shop for clothing, I look for two things.  I want the item to look nice on me of course.  But much more importantly, it has to feel right. When I put it on, I need to feel like myself, the best version of myself.  I’m trying to do this with the less tangible parts of my wardrobe too; my victories, my failures, my hopes, my dreams, my health, my aging, my competence, my weaknesses.  I want to wear them all, and feel like I’m wearing my best self.

In the meantime, over the next week, I’ll slip on my Flames jersey and cheer with abandon.   Go Flames Go!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How are you wearing that?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how wear your best life.
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We had a most incredible hike this week.  As is often the case in our province at this time of year, we experienced sunshine, bare paths, snow covered trails, cloud, warm sun, cool breezes, frozen creeks and babbling brooks all within a few hours.  It’s never boring! 

This week, due to the variable weather we experienced, we chose to stay away from routes taking us to the peaks of mountains, or to exposed ridges.  Instead, we opted for a beautiful, moderate route, in between two mountain ranges.  We followed a creek up the lower west range, then took a connecting trail to the eastern mountain, and followed its creek back.  It was a great choice.  While I most often yearn for the views from up high, this week I was completely content with the beauty of the valley. 

The trail linking the two creek beds gave us a bit of a hill to climb, and to the surprise of absolutely no one, the snow we’d received the day before still lingered here, protected by the huge forest trees.  From the look of the footprints we could see, only three other people had travelled this way since the storm.  One set of larger footprints had traveled both directions across the link, and two other sets appeared to have walked together.  While I’d be happy to not see anymore snow for this season, I do love hiking in it.  There are so many tracks and footprints, each telling their own story.

As we chatted about some animal tracks we couldn’t readily identify until we got back and set them before our expert, Don, who immediately knew they belonged to a cougar, Lynne stepped in one of the large human tracks and immediately slipped a bit. 

“Those aren’t the tracks for me”, she said.  “Sometimes the footprints in front of us are perfect and sometimes it’s best to stay as far away from them as possible.” 

Just like in life, I thought.

With the deep snow having fallen about forty-eight hours earlier, followed by a warm day, then a cool night, the impression made by the hiker who had come before us had been clear to see and to step into.  However, the base of the print, the part Lynne put her foot in, was a solid sheet of ice.  Lynne knew immediately this was no place for her feet.

Sometimes in life it’s best to follow the tracks someone else has made.  We don’t all need to figure out new ways to solve a formula or make chocolate chip cookies if there is a perfectly good recipe before us.  I often love to follow an existing set of footprints when I’m trying something new.  If someone else has laid a path for me, I don’t need to break the trail for myself.  I don’t need to expend energy thinking about every single step.  If we’re starting a new company, or working on our first project, or raising our first child, having a guide with footprints to walk in is so helpful. 

On the other hand, sometimes following in someone else’s footsteps makes our journey more difficult.  Sometimes the actual prints have turned to ice, making each step slippery at best, and unsafe at worst.  Those steps that were once perfect for someone, have become old and outdated.  Sometimes others’ footprints are too far apart, or too close together to be comfortable for us.  They throw our gait off, and we spend our energy trying to stay upright rather than on where we are going.  We find ourselves out of synch with ourselves; even our bodies can respond by getting out of alignment.  We have no creativity in this place.

Brenda and I, having hiked many times in the snow, have occasionally found ourselves grateful to follow footprints when the snow has been knee deep and higher. It greatly cuts down on our effort.  Yet, we’ve also discovered that even when these footprints are invaluable to propel us forward, sometimes after following them for a time, we’ve looked up only to discover they have not led us to where we had hoped to go!

We all have good instincts when we give ourselves the gift of trust.  I’ve found when I trust myself and use all the tools I’ve acquired on my own journey, I can find my perfect rhythm.   Sometimes it involves gratefully walking along in the footsteps of others.  Sometimes I need to break my own trail.  Sometimes I just need to walk beside footsteps that have come before me, or sometimes along side those being created at the same time as mine.

I also know this.  Looking back gives me great feedback.  It helps me notice my path, see my missteps and offers advice for my next journey.  So too, I’ve learned that whether I’m following someone else’s steps or making brand new ones of my own, I need to glance up occasionally to make sure that when I’m finished, I’ve arrived where I’d imagined I’d be.
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I also try to remember that someday, these footsteps of mine, might be followed by someone else as they are journeying.  I hope to leave some steps worth following.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What footprints am I following?’
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create footprints worth following.
 

Sorry.  I couldn’t resist the title.  Sometimes a girl’s just got to have some fun!

A few weeks ago, Ben asked Jim to show him how he could juggle.  Kaitlyn had been telling Ben Grampa could juggle, after they had seen a picture of it in a book they were reading together.  When Ben came over for a visit, he was curious as to what juggling looked like in real life.  Don’t be so quick to want to learn, I thought to myself.  Someday you too will have many things to juggle.  Ben of course, was delighted with what he watched.  Jim made a fine production of tossing the three balls in the air in a manner fitting a Vegas act.  Or at least a driveway performance.

I can’t remember exactly what prompted Jim to learn to juggle many years ago, but I do remember him having a book, and a set of juggling balls.  I remember him learning the first very basic juggling trick, and then day by day, expanding his repertoire until he had a good number of tricks in his pocket.

Juggling can be broadly defined as the ability to manipulate more objects than you have hands for.  Juggling three balls is considered to be the entry point for juggling.  With a bit of practice, four, five and even more balls can be added.  The surprising thing about juggling is this, it’s not dependent on being ‘smart’.  It’s one hundred percent a motor skill activity.  In fact, thinking gets in the way of good juggling.  The trick is to let your body memorize the feel and pattern.  The body does all the work.  You can simply enjoy being an observer of yourself and your skill, rather than a critic or worrier.

As you are learning to juggle, the actual item you juggle is important.  Using bouncy balls, for instance, simply leads to endless frustration.   After all, there is going to be some ball dropping in the early stages, and if you have to run around trying to grab your precious balls as they bounce away, the fun soon runs out.  Jim began with squarish-shaped balls.  They had the same feel as bean bags and they landed right at his feet if they fell.

As I relived this memory about juggling and thought about Ben’s fascination with it, I couldn’t help but think about how each of us is a juggler.    Mothers especially, are fine jugglers.  Almost every Mom in the world has said, or thought, ‘I feel like I’m trying to juggle too many things.’  Often this thought is followed by, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to drop something.’

Here’s the thing.

We do try to juggle a lot of things.  Lots of times, we carefully think out exactly what we can manage, and then life happens, and we find ourselves with more balls in the air than we feel confident with.  In keeping them all moving, which is the only way to prevent them from falling, we have not one second to consider which ones are the most important.

Some of the balls we juggle are pretty durable.  These ones might land at our feet, but they don’t shatter.  Most often, we can leave them where they lie, or we can pick them up once we have a free hand, or we can let someone else pick them up and add them to their cascade.  But some of the balls we juggle are made of the finest crystal.  These ones are irreplicable.  If we should drop one of these, there is no turning back.

When we think about our life-juggling, the trick is not to pick all the balls out of the bag and try to keep them in the air, but to identify the most precious ones and make sure we keep those ones from ever hitting the floor. 

For me, the most precious balls are my relationships with Jim, our children and grandchildren.  I also treasure my relationships with my siblings, and friends and other family members.  My health has been a precious part of my life, and I try hard not to drop this ball.  At times my work commitments are precious, and in the years since I left teaching, dancing and hiking and singing have joined my precious-list.  Once in a while, I have to set one of these balls down, but I pick them right back up once I have the others under control.  Chores and doing things to please others have a lower priority, sometimes these balls not only drop, but roll away. I don’t chase them.  An important thing I’ve learned about precious balls is it isn’t the amount of time they are in the air that is important, rather it is the way in which I handle them.  When I toss and catch them gently and with care, they don’t seem to mind that they are not always part of my juggling act.  On the other hand, when they feel like they are just lumped in with every other commitment and activity I do, they lose their feeling of preciousness.

This weekend is Mother’s Day.  I’m planning to only juggle my most precious balls this weekend.  I know I’m lucky to have so many of these in my bag.  My wish for you is that you recognize and make time to treasure your most precious balls too.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mamas!  Grab your precious balls.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What balls are most precious?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to identify precious balls.