I’m almost afraid if I write this it might not happen.  The Chinook Country Dancers are rehearsing brand new dances for the upcoming Stampede Parade!  This year, the parade, along with almost every other social function has been in limbo as we watch to see what the pandemic numbers will allow.  Recently, it was announced that the parade will ‘go ahead’, but with some major changes.  This year it will have no live spectators.  It will be a short, closed route, televised and broadcast nationwide.  Each group must have no more than twenty-five performers, and there are strict safety protocols in place.  After months and months of not being able to dance together in person, last Friday night, a small part of our dancing troupe met outdoors to dance together in preparation for the parade, for the first time since the pandemic began.

Oh my goodness!

We’ve continued with our lessons throughout the past sixteen months through the wonderful world of Zoom.  But no matter how wonderful the world of Zoom is, it’s nothing like dancing together in person.  In our dance group, we perform all genres of dance, always in lines.  When we are alone in our homes, we don’t have the pleasure of these lines.  In person, we almost always have someone in front of us, behind us, and to our sides.  When we face a new direction, we still have someone in front of us, on each side, and behind us.  This makes an incredible difference to our dancing.  We can dance with more confidence, knowing we can pick up cues from the others if we need them.  We can also count on each other to notice if we are out of step; often one of the girls will quietly speak the steps until we fall back in place.  When I dance with these women, I am a better dancer.  They provide the support I need to be my best.  It’s a gift.

This past week, on Father’s Day, one of my coaching friends, Kerry Woodcock, created a post on Facebook about her father.  She shared many wonderful memories of him but the one line that has really stuck with me is this:

“As I got older, he used to say, “I don’t need to speak a lot to your friends - and boyfriends - to know who they are. I can know something of who they are, by who you are with them.”

It’s one of those comments that brings me up short.  It’s a conversation stopper.  And starter.  It’s simple.  And profound.  And so true.

We behave differently around different people.  Some people allow us to show our intellectual side, some our witty side, some our compassionate side, some our confident side, some our open-hearted side, some our vulnerable side.  Some let us show all of our sides.  Others bring out our guarded side, our show-off side, our critical side, our insecure side, or our less-than-best side.  Kerry’s dad could likely tell us a lot about our friends by observing how we are with them.

I’ve been thinking about this comment, and I’ve been trying to observe myself, noticing how I am with different people with whom I ‘hang out’.  

I am lucky to have many people in my life who, by their very presence, encourage me to bring forth my best version of myself.  By best version, I do not mean my ‘stage version’.  I mean my authentic self.  With these people I can let down my guard and show up as myself.  I do not have to worry that a little mis-step or a small comment, will oust me from the group.  I am enough.  They do not need me to look a certain way, have certain opinions, or behave in any way other than how I would naturally behave.  With these people, I am free to become even more of the best parts of myself.  I always know when a group I am doing leadership work with is a good fit with me – I am relaxed and free to bring my whole self.
I also acknowledge I have others in my life, some on the periphery, some in a professional context, some closer, with whom I find myself thinking very hard when I am around them.  I think about what they might be thinking, I wonder how my words will be taken.  I’m not sure quite where I stand.

The more I think about the comment, made many years ago by Kerry’s wise dad, the more I recognize how multi-dimensional it is.  It strikes me that if others can influence me to act a certain way around them, it must be true that I too, influence them.   I want to be the kind of person who is a good influence.  I want people to feel relaxed and unguarded around me.  I want them to know they are fine exactly as they are.  Sometimes my quick tongue, and my judgements, may not give this feeling of safety.  I wonder who is guarding themselves around me.  I’m watching myself, as Kerry’s dad would have watched her friends, to see what impact I am having.   

What I know to be true about my dancing friends is that Kerry’s dad would think these are the best kind of people.  With them I find myself being a very good version of myself.  In our group everyone is welcome just as they are.  This is not just lip service; it is the carefully cultivated culture of the group.  Our instructor, Reba J, walks her talk one hundred percent of the time with this one, and we are expected to do the same.  This group brings out the best in each other.  We want to show up as our best, and at the same time we fully accept that we are not always at our best.  This is key.  There is no posturing with us.  We prop each other up from all sides.  Using friendship as a container, we are safe to be good versions of ourselves.  It’s a feeling I wish everyone could have at least somewhere in their life.   

I’m keeping Kerry’s dad’s comment foremost in my mind as I walk (and dance) through this week. 

My inquiry for you this week is twofold, ‘What is being brought out in me?’  and ‘What am I bringing out in others?’
​
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 surround yourself with those who bring out your best, and how to bring out the best in others.
 
 

Every biking season I love to attempt the Highwood Pass.  This road, Highway 40, a mountain pass, is closed to vehicular traffic from December to June 15th to protect wildlife.  During most of that time, the Pass is impassable even by bike or foot, due to extreme amounts of snow.  But in early June, there is a tiny two or three-week window, when cars are forbidden, but the top of the pass is free of snow; this to the delight of cyclists who love to take on this challenging climb.
Last weekend, our son Greg, and I, tackled it together.  We rode it from the north side.  This is a 17km ride up a mountain.  By up, think up.  Like climbing continuously without any flat or coasting.  Up.  We lucked out.  We got a warm, sunny day.  While heat may not seem to be an ideal condition, we know that at the top of any mountain pass, the air is many degrees cooler than down below, and inevitably there is wind to contend with.  We packed our jackets and gloves and made sure we were stocked with spare tire tubes, a pump, water and some food…just in case.

We always go prepared, but this year we were extra vigilant because of Greg’s experience the previous week.  He had been asked to join a group from his office who were going to the pass for the first time.  Greg is a strong cyclist and has completed this route numerous times. I know this group was glad to have him along.

The day of their ascent was about ten degrees colder than this past week, and the sky wasn’t clear.  Greg said they were fine for most of the climb, but at about 5km from the top, it began to lightly drizzle and within minutes the drizzle turned to snow flurries.  They made it to the summit and took a nice smiling photo of their accomplishment.  Then things quickly turned.

Greg says the only way to describe it was it began to pour snow.  They put on warmer gear and started the descent.  While biking downhill sounds pretty nice ‘n easy, the slope of this side of the pass is significant and even on a dry day, the descent requires steady concentration.  As their group of six started down, they quickly became soaked from the pouring snow.  Greg had put on mittens and an extra jacket.  Even with that extra layer, he said he could not feel his hands.  The group went about 3km and pulled over to stop.  Everyone was soaked to the skin and freezing.  The road had begun to accumulate some snow and the conditions had become slippery. 

Greg has battled many elements of nature and developed a strong mental fortitude during his time competing in triathlons and adventure racing, so he knew a few things about what might keep them safe.  With the rest of the group being more casual cyclists, he could feel the fear in the group.  The plan was set that they would descend a few kilometres at a time and then group-up to make sure everyone was ok.  On the second stop, everyone was soaked to the skin and concern for safety, especially hypothermia, was real.  After some jumping jacks to get the blood flowing, they cruised on.

As they continued down, they noticed a man running out toward the road from a side parking lot.  He was waving his hands wildly, obviously trying to get their attention.  The group stopped.  The man, a father of a young toddler, had been cycling with his wife, towing a baby chariot.  They too had become caught in the nasty weather and the cold and wet became dangerous for them and especially for their little one.  The mother and toddler were trying to find shelter in the outhouse at the edge of the parking lot.  Their child’s safety would certainly have been compromised had they continued.
I should have mentioned earlier there is absolutely no cell reception in this area.  In fact, there is no cell reception for over 40km.  To top it off, during the closure, there is no way for any vehicle to access the road to rescue people in trouble.  This couple was about 12km from the gate where their car would have been parked.  The father asked if someone, once they were down, could inform the park wardens of their location so that help could be brought in.  The group reassured the father they would do this (and they did), then they reassured him he had made a good choice in stopping, and being able to do nothing else, they headed onward, not wanting to become casualties themselves.

When Greg texted us about this ride he said, ‘Home safe.  Mom, if you can believe it….conditions were worse than when we rode (several years ago Greg and I had a freezing, wet ride up and down).  It was completely bonkers on the way down’.

After hearing the complete story from Greg, I couldn’t get that little family out of my mind.  I kept thinking about what the parents must have been going through as they realized they were in trouble and their little one could be in serious danger.  I was so glad they found the shelter they did, and I was so glad they made the decision they did.   It dawned on me their thinking must have been, ‘What is the one best decision we can make right now?’

Greg and his group needed to have a similar thought when the weather turned and they too had to figure out how to navigate the descent.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Brenda and I needed to ponder this too, this week when we were caught in a sudden thunder, lightning and hail storm on our hike.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Most of us won’t be biking up mountain passes this week.  Most of us won’t be caught in hailstorms or frigid weather.  But all of us will find ourselves in situations where we are faced with a variety of decisions we could make.  Perhaps we are in a meeting discussing an upcoming project, and find ourselves dealing with multiple solutions, multiple egos and multiple agendas.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Perhaps it is even simpler.  Perhaps we are in traffic, or dealing with being overtired, or having to respond to someone, or juggling a few tasks at once, or trying to listen when we just want quiet, or trying to talk when someone else is not listening, or sitting down to dinner with our family.  Perhaps it’s deciding whether to reach out or give space.  Perhaps to comment or not.  Perhaps to encourage or listen.  Every day we make hundreds of decisions. Many of them we do on autopilot.  It might make a significant difference to us, or someone in our life, if we turned off autopilot and instead asked:

What is the one best decision I can make right now?

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the one best decision I can make right now?’
​
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 consider your decisions.
 
 

In the 1950’s the television show, To Tell the Truth, premiered, and to this day continues to gain popularity.  Wikipedia tells us that in it, four celebrity panelists are presented with three contestants, the “team of challengers”.  The celebrity panelists must identify, through a series of questions, which of the three contestants is the ‘central character’ whose unusual occupation or experience has been read aloud by the show’s host or moderator.  When questions are asked, the impostors may lie, whereas the central character must tell the truth.  This show, To Tell the Truth, has apparently changed hosts a number of times in the past sixty or seventy years, but continues to stay true to its original format.  I think I may have seen it once or twice as a child, but it isn’t a mainstay of my television diet.  For some reason, it popped into my head this week. 

I’m going to hold a vision of it there this week, visualizing one contestant knowing the truth, and the other two knowing just enough to sound convincing, as I wrestle with the thoughts and feelings running around in my head and in my heart.  Forgive me as I muddle through this.

Two heartbreaking stories dominated the news this week;  the discovery of the bodies of the 215 indigenous children from the Kamloops Indian Residential School in British Columbia and the horrific murders of four members of the Afzaal family from London, ON.   I have read news stories, listened to interviews and seen social media posts about both events.  Almost every single one of them shows the heartache of Canadians as we grapple with the fact that we can no longer pretend to be a nation where racism, and exclusion, and covering our eyes does not exist. We have solid evidence to suggest otherwise. 

It shouldn’t have surprised me that as I pondered all of this, I should come across this quote:

‘There are only two mistakes one can make on the road to truth.  Not going all the way; and not starting.’ ~ Budda

Where to start?  I believe our little individual lives are pretty good microcosms of the bigger world, so I want to talk about how we truth-tell in our own lives.  I’ll only speak from my own experience.  I like to think I am a truth teller.  I don’t lie.  I try to be honest with myself and about myself.  I believe other people when they tell me things.  I try to find the good in others. 

And yet….

There are times when I hear a bit of information, often a truthful bit, and I fill in the blanks to create a complete story, with what makes sense to me based on general knowledge, on my personal history, perhaps on my insecurities, and perhaps on what makes me feel good about myself.  It’s a dangerous game to play.  Budda would tell me I am not going all the way.  My made-up story, no matter how logical and realistic, is not the full truth.  If I want to know the truth, I need to be willing to ask about, and listen to the whole truth.  Not just listen to a snippet and then fill in the rest with what I declare to be the truth.

We’ve all had conversations with friends and family where someone has innocently said something, or has said something based on a larger discussion we may not have been part of.  On good days, this comment lands exactly where it should.  It’s a comment, a moment in time.  It is not a reflection of the persons complete belief system.  It does not reveal their motive for how they live life.  It does not give a full picture of anything.  The emotional impact of it ends at the end of the sentence.

But on other days….

On other days, such a simple sentence as this can set off a chain of thoughts, usually preceded by feelings.  Perhaps the thoughts sound like this? 

WOW!  I had no idea they thought that.  I’ll bet that means they also think this.  I had no idea.  I thought we were close.  And on and on and on it goes. We fill in the blanks with plausible thoughts.  The only problem is, we are forgetting to go all the way on finding the truth.  Our poor little human brains, in an attempt to organize data, have the capacity to do some mighty big truth stretching.

The situation with Residential Schools in Canada is so complex.  We have all heard parts of the truth.  This past week we heard a very disturbing, unsettling, difficult-to-accept bit of truth.  The reality is, this bit of truth was not just uncovered this past week.  There have been other such gravesites, there have been other such stories of these atrocities, and yet we have not been willing, or perhaps we have not known how to gain access, or perhaps we have been afraid to face head-on, the whole truth.  Our Indigenous Peoples have spoken about this for decades.  It is very, very difficult to sit quietly and listen to these stories; to not hear only a snippet and then fill in the rest with what might make some sense based on our own experience of life. 

In London, Ontario, a young boy is recovering from his physical wounds suffered when his family was run down by a young man.  He will never recover from the loss of his family.  My heart is broken for him.  I don’t know his truth.  I can fill it in based on my life experience of losing a parent, but I actually have no idea in the world what his life has been or will become.  Nor do I know the truth about the person who has been charged.  Nor do I know the truth about what it must be like to be a visible minority in Canada.

To tell the truth we must know the truth.  It’s kind of like that game show.  There are three panelists, but only one has the complete truth.  This is the only one who can stand up and say, ‘This is the truth’.  The others may sound real, they may know snippets of the truth, they may sound convincing.  But they do not have the whole truth about the profession they profess to be in, since they have not experienced it. 

I wish I had some answers.  I do not.  Here is what I know to be true.  In my own small world, I can practice being open to the truth.  I can be willing to listen to the truth.  I can notice when I’m making up stories by filling in the blanks around bits of truth, I can stop, back up, and then go all the way in my truth-finding. 

In my province, I can do the same.  I can practice being open to the truth.  I can be willing to listen to the truth.  I can notice when I’m making up stories by filling in the blanks around bits of truth, I can stop, back up, and then go all the way in my truth-finding. 

In my country I can do the same.  I can stop pretending ‘that’s not who we are’.  What we have seen these past weeks is who we collectively are.  We have seen incredible shows of support in the wake of these two tragedies.   People lined the streets in London to pay their respects.  Displays of children’s shoes have filled the steps of government buildings.  We are not all racists, nor are we all exclusionary, nor do we all cover our eyes from the truth.  But as a nation, these things exist.  It is not who we want to be, it is not who we can be, it is not who I strive to be.

There is a former Residential School not more than ten minutes from where I live.  I plan to go there this week.  There is a little gravesite there.  During a flood, years ago, the river rose and cut into the banks of the river exposing the remains of children who had been buried there.  Thirty-four bodies were recovered (of the original 73 children who died while attending the school) and were laid to rest in the little gravesite.  I’d like to leave a little pair of shoes there.  I hope they will be received in the way they are intended; I acknowledge what has happened, I am willing to face the truth, and my heart is aching.  It’s a start.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the truth?’
​
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 start on the journey of truth.
 
 
 
 

One of my favourite hours of the week is the one I spend with Carey Gruber, as she coaches my voice back to strength.  With each week, and each day of practice, I’m reminded how much I love singing.  It reaches a place in me that nothing else does.  The music expresses feelings that words sometimes cannot.  This music practice has given me so many gifts.  It’s reunited me with Carey, a complete gem, a friend, and a coach extraordinaire.  It’s brought back some great memories through song – it’s amazing how a particular song can take me right back to a moment in time.  It’s asked me to look at other things in my life I may have let slide or let go of, things that bring me joy or make my life richer, so I can decide if I want to spend the effort on those as well.  The neighbours may have a different opinion, now that the summer is here and our windows are open, but from my point of view, there has been no downside to my musical adventure. 

Except one.  I can’t get the F out.

Really.

When I started with Carey, I had a range between my chest voice and my head voice where the notes all sounded the same, kind of like a dolphin with laryngitis.  This was all part of the, hopefully temporary, damage done, during my surgery last Fall.  At first, I was just delighted to know I’d be able to speak.  Then more delighted to know my speaking voice would strengthen.  But as I tried to sing, I realized my singing voice was in trouble.  I was worried I would not recover it.  Over the past couple of months, we’ve made amazing progress.  The dolphin visits less often and when I remember to focus on my breath and use some of the tricks Carey has taught me, I can hear the songs getting stronger and stronger. 

But I still can’t get the F out. 

It’s my sticking point.  Last week we did a little experiment.  Carey tried playing runs of notes, up and down, that I would la la la along to.  She started and ended in a variety of different places.  We’re doing our lessons over Zoom so I can’t see the keyboard – even if I could I’m not a master note reader.  Regardless, in every single run I had trouble on one note.   I can not get the F out.   

Later in the lesson, I was singing one of my practice songs for Carey.  At the end, she asked what was different in the last half of the song.  I knew right away what had been different. I knew in the second half of the song, I was past what was the hard part of the song for me.  As soon as I didn’t have to worry about the F anymore, I was free to relax as I sang.  What a difference it made. 

I’ve been thinking about the F note this week.  Each of us has something comparable to the F in their life.  It’s usually a little thing that prevents us from doing some things we love.  It might be a perceived weakness, or a fear.  It might be an experience we had long ago that we never want to repeat, so we avoid every scenario that might place us in a similar situation.  It could be we don’t feel comfortable wearing the clothing we think we need for the occasion.  It might be we don’t know the words to say.  We avoid all sorts of wonderful things so that we can avoid the possibility of getting hurt, or being embarrassed, or feeling afraid. 

In the big picture of life, whether or not I get the F out is insignificant.  It won’t matter to most people whether I sing or not.  But in my little world of song, and in my little life, it does matter.  It matters because singing makes my life better.  And it matters because it turns out the F note is pretty popular.  She shows up everywhere.  If I try to avoid her, or to choose only music in which she does not show up, I’ll severely limit my joy.  I’ll have to be ‘on guard’, ever watchful, to prevent myself from embarrassing myself.  My life will be smaller than it need be.

I also want to figure this out because I understand this is representative of other places in my life I’ve lived less fully than I want.  I was afraid to join a choir for my entire adult life, in years when I could easily get the F out, for fear I was not good enough. What moments of joy I must have missed.  And what moments I am missing by allowing my world to be smaller than it need be.

So, I want to conquer this weakness, this fear.  I know I can.  It will take time, and Carey’s knowledge, and her willingness to try new techniques with me.  It will take my courage.  I am choosing to face this F note head on.  I will welcome her to my music.  I will learn tricks to navigate around her.  I will soon learn to smooth the pathways allowing her to shine.

We all have F notes, places in our lives where we live small.  They do not serve us well.  Our lives are so much richer when we live them singing all the notes in the music.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What will help me get the F out?’
​
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 the F out.