My wonderful dance group, Chinook Country, had a busy Saturday last week.  During the day we danced at A Taste of Okotoks, a street festival in a beautiful town just south of Calgary.  In the evening we were invited to be part of a Cabaret in Millarville, a picture-perfect hamlet in the Foothills of our beautiful Rocky Mountains.

Millarville hosted their annual rodeo in the afternoon.  This was to be followed by some family dancing and then a cabaret where the fabulous group, The Backroad Traveler Band, would play live.

As this was our first time being invited to this event, the agenda was fluid.  Our understanding was that we would perform a bit, then invite the crowd to join in a few simpler dances that we could teach, then perhaps we would perform some more.

As so often happens in life, I was glad we had brought a good dose of flexibly in our dancing boots.  It turned out that many families headed home post-rodeo which meant there weren’t very many families populating the family dance!  The evening crowd didn’t show up until after eight o’clock so that left us, about twenty-five dancers, the live band, and a couple dozen cowboys and cowgirls; some who had competed in the rodeo, some who had watched and some locals who were part of the organizing crew.

Whenever my ‘dancing sistas’ and I find ourselves in our dancing outfits with music playing, it doesn’t take long before our feet get tapping, someone recognizes that one of our choreographed dances could go along with the current song, and we whoop and holler our way onto the dance floor.

That was the scene in Millarville on Saturday night.  When we weren’t singing along to the familiar tunes played by The Backroad Traveler Band, we were on the dirt floor dancing.

At one moment we were dancing along to a Brooks and Dunn song and I looked outside of the open-air tent toward the arena and saw four or five children riding their horses in the beautiful evening sunshine.  What an incredible sight. I thought about how lucky these kids were to be doing what they loved without a seeming care in the world, and how lucky I was to be doing the same.

The moment the song ended we headed to the edge of the dance floor to grab out water bottles and figure out the next song.  We quickly recognized Take it Easy by the Eagles so we turned and headed back out on the floor. 
It was at that moment it happened.  A drunken cowboy asked me to dance.

To clarify, for the purposes of this blog, a drunken cowboy can be described in the following way.  He had enough to drink to have courage to ask someone to dance.  He clearly had enough to affect his vision so that my wrinkles miraculously smoothed out.  He was not falling down drunk.  He could speak clearly and walk in a straight line.  And he could keep a beat and mind his manners.

When I was teaching students in grades seven, eight and nine, about five times per year our Student Council would host a dance.  Prior to each dance my teaching colleague and good friend, Jack, would give dance lessons to all the students.  The first, and most important part of the lessons revolved around how to ask a person to dance and what to say when you were asked.  The answer we practiced was, “I would love to”.  We practiced saying this with a smile so it would be comfortable.  We also covered such things as what to do if the person danced in a way that made you feel uncomfortable, how to say thank you at the end of the dance and we explained that while saying yes once was appropriate, once the dance was finished, they did not need to say yes to the same person again unless they chose to do so.   ‘No stalking’ was part of the protocol.  In the midst of it all, we taught them a bit of two-step and a line dance and I must say we hosted incredibly fun dances.

And so, at this somewhat awkward moment of being asked to dance by a somewhat drunken cowboy I found myself uttering the words, “I would love to”, and before I knew what was happening I was whirling around the dance floor while the rest of the line dancers danced their practiced routine. 

The teacher had become the student.

As we danced I recalled how Jack and I had taught so many others that when someone asked you to dance, it cost you nothing to be kind.

And so, it came to be that on a beautiful sunny evening in the Foothills of the Rocky Mountains, in an open-air tent, when a drunken cowboy asked me to dance, I chose kindness.

When the song ended, I thanked my partner and he thanked me (several times!). I made my way back to the safety of my dancing group and life righted itself.

It’s easy to choose kindness in situations we choose or that are familiar to us.  It’s easy to be kind to people in our ‘circle of comfort’.  It’s easy to be kind when it doesn’t really cost us discomfort.  It’s also easy to think we would have been kind when we hear a news story about a person who suffered unkindness.

It is harder in the moment, when our actions may be judged by others or when we feel self-conscious or timid or embarrassed. 

Last Saturday evening I had a choice to make.  In some ways I was lucky.  If my drunken cowboy had become a problem (he didn’t) I had a great back up crew, all wearing red shirts and cowboy hats.  I still had to make a choice. I’d make it again.  I’d choose kindness.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I choose kindness?’
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Elizabeth is a life and leadership coach in Calgary, AB.  She provides leadership coaching for individuals and groups and she creates and facilitates custom workshops for corporate, public and private groups.  Contact Elizabeth to help you or your organization to figure out how to create a kinder workplace or personal space.

When I was a kid, our Dad would pack us all into the station wagon, later the van, hook up the homemade tent trailer and set off for our three-day journey to New Brunswick to see our cousins.  These of course were the days of not only no seat belts, but also of no air conditioning, no radio, no drive through restaurants, no Slurpee’s.  We did have a backward facing seat in the station wagon that produced excellent doses of car-sickness.

We left each morning at about nine o’clock and drove without a break until noon, when we would stop at the side of the road, make a picnic lunch, boil water to do dishes, pack everything up again and strike off from about one o’clock until four or four-thirty, when we would stop to make camp for the night.  I can only imagine what would have caused my father to institute a ‘NO ASKING “Are we there yet?” RULE’

We must have asked this relentlessly at some point but in my personal memory, I can only recall being very clear on the rule about NOT asking.

With this being the time of summer when no doubt thousands of families are striking off on road trips, perhaps equipped with more modern conveniences than we had, I suspect that this question is being banned in vehicles all across the country, by parents, like my dad, who are doing their best to just ‘get there’.

I remember sitting in the hot car, and when we were not singing to pass the miles we would talk about the possibility of there being a secret, underground road, that could get us to ‘the farm’, our magical destination where we would spend days playing with our beloved cousins, much more quickly.  I recognize now, that when we ‘got there’ we really did know that we were somewhere special and we cherished every moment of our holiday.

As I reflect on my more recent life, I notice that I’ve not been as consistent with my acknowledgement of ‘getting there’ as I could be.  How often have I found myself wishing to have some event hurry-up-and-get here only to forget to appreciate what I had when I was standing in the moment.

How many of us have wished to get a job, (I want this so badly; I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get it; it’s perfect for me) only to get it and then to find ourselves complaining about how tired it is making us.  Or what about wishing for time off work, only to complain about how the weather didn’t cooperate.  Or wishing we would have children, only to end up wishing for time for ourselves.  Or finding we have time to ourselves when our children are grown, only to wish we had a full table once again.  Or wishing that, just for once, we could come home to a clean house, only to find ourselves missing the familiar signs of an active family.

How many times have we prayed for doors to open for us, then walked through that door and not even notice that yes, ‘we are there yet’.

It’s easier as I get older to recognize the fleetingness of life.  Where as the miles to New Brunswick felt like they were passing in very slow motion, the milestones in my life pass by in a blur.  It is only by my consciously telling myself to take a breath, to slow down, to take it all in, to enjoy it right now, am I able to bring some of the sense of wonder into my current life that I had when I spent those precious weeks on ‘the farm’.

This past Tuesday, I was out for my ‘long ride’ with my friend, and training partner, Rhonda.  We’re getting ready for the Sea-to-Sky Gran Fondo, a 125km bike race from Vancouver up to Whistler, BC.  We’ve set aside Tuesdays as the day we do our long rides together.  On the other days we each do our own shorter rides.  Every Monday, I get excited and nervous for Tuesday.  I get nervous because I doubt my ability on the difficulty and distances (we’re now up to 90km) and I get excited because I LOVE being out on the hills in the mountains.  Despite the conflict of emotions, I keep wanting Tuesday to arrive.

Without exception, on every single one of our Tuesday rides, we have found ourselves biking along when one of us says to the other, ‘Can you believe this?  How lucky are we to be out here in this beauty?’  This past week, Rhonda commented as we pedaled, ‘I cannot believe that these hills get more pretty each week.’ 

Both of us are smart enough to know that ‘We are there yet’.  We may not be at the starting line of the race, yet we are ‘there’.  We are right in the place we will remember for many years.  The gun for the race will sound and race day will pass in a flash, but this part, the training part, the part like this past week where we panicked and pedalled for all we were worth when we passed a bear, and we braked and stopped in our tracks when a wolf crossed in front, or the part when we took a lunch break at a picnic table and relished the silence, this is the part where we are smart enough to know that yes, ‘we are there yet’.

When I was working as a teacher, I often wished I had just one day a week when I could treat myself to a long bike ride with a friend.  I am there.  And I am not letting this go unobserved by me.

Nor am I letting some other things go unobserved. Like my weeks of Stampede Dancing; I am definitely there yet.  And time with our children and their spouses; I am there yet.  And minutes with Benjamin; I am there yet.  And Sunday bike rides with Jim; I am there yet.  And phone calls and texts from friends and family; I am there yet.  And facilitating workshops with incredible groups; I am there yet.  And even eating ice cream cones on summer nights; I am there yet.
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This week as you enjoy this middle of summertime, take time to notice that you just may be standing in the middle of something you once longed for.  Take time to ‘be there yet’.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Am I there yet?’

Elizabeth is a life and leadership coach in Calgary, AB.  She provides leadership coaching for individuals and groups and she creates and facilitates custom workshops for corporate, public and private groups.  Contact Elizabeth to help you or your organization to figure out how to become more ‘there yet’.

My mind has been just whirling this week.  I know I’ve committed to a LOT of dance performances with Chinook Country Dancers for this ‘Ten Days of Stampede’ and that means a lot of early mornings and tons of exercise but I don’t think that’s it.  I can usually shut my mind off when I need to but this week none of my regular tricks are working.  I’ve been thinking about the young soccer players from Thailand, who were trapped in the cave with their coach.  I’ve been feeling helpless, like much of the rest of the world.  And, now that they have been rescued, I’ve been trying to figure out what made it possible for the rescuers to successfully pull off a task that seemed far beyond possible only a week ago.

To backtrack a bit, this team of players do not come from the wealthiest families.  These were boys, who loved to play soccer and who had a coach, who they also loved and who cared for them.  They had a soccer practice on June 23rd, after which they had a picnic.  Such a simple pleasure and no doubt a treat for them.  During the picnic, they decided to do some cave exploring.  It seems like such a teenage boy thing to do.  The complication occurred when the boys and the coach went into a cave and monsoon rains caused the water level in the cave to rise quickly, and dangerously high.  The boys and their coach managed to scramble to a high ledge, out of the water, but 4km inside the cave.  It was nine days before they were found, alive, another six days before the first four boys could be rescued and two more endless days before the final boys and the coach were safely removed from the cave.  At the time of writing of this blog, no one is considered ‘out of the woods’ yet, however they are receiving excellent care at Thai hospitals.

Besides the terror I felt for these boys and their families, I was mesmerized by the way experts on cave rescue (among other things) gathered together from around the world to solve this problem.  I was not on the ground there, nor do I personally know one single member of the rescue team, but from every report I have watched or read, these highly trained people put aside international differences and made the decision that the goal of successful rescue would be their only focus. 

There have to have been egos among this group.  There have to have been governments who would love for their country to receive credit for such a dramatic rescue.  There have to have been members of this group who could have refused to participate if things were not done ‘their way’.  And yet, somehow, this group united, and made the decision to not only attempt the near-impossible, but to work together, stay focused on the mission and put their training and experience into practice. 

It’s hard to imagine all the small decisions and structures that were needed to pull this off.  When I listened to the description of how the boys would be led from the cave, with one Navy Seal leading in front, tethered to one soccer player, and one taking up the rear, I felt the familiar sting of tears.  One of the news anchors describing this mentioned that with these supports in place all that each of the soccer players needed to do was to breathe. 

It struck me that if only each of us had this support in our lives, in our families, in our workplaces and in our countries, many of the problems we are trying to solve might dissolve.

Imagine what could we achieve if we had someone ahead of us saying, “I haven’t travelled your exact path before, but I have travelled a similar one and I have skills that will help you.  Follow me and I’ll show you what has worked for me.”  And if someone behind said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back”.  And if both of them said, “You can do it.  You can do this thing you have never even imagined doing before.  Just remember to breathe”.  And if your whole world cheered while you did the impossible.

This week in my little world two very small-in-comparison events occurred.  One has to do with my dancing.  We have performed at about fifteen or twenty different locations around the city.  Last Wednesday a small group of us performed on CTV on the morning show.  I was asked to be the spokesperson for this event.  I didn’t realize how nervous I was until we arrived at the television station.  Luckily, our instructor, Reba J, had sent me a video of a previous year’s performance so I could get a sense of what was expected (Reba J was the person leading me).  All of the other dancers stood with me as I did my little part, and they reminded me to breathe.  And after our performance, our little group cheered, not only for me, but for all of us and our successful execution of our dance. 

The second event involves my friend, Brenda.  Brenda set a goal for herself earlier this year.   She decided to train for and compete in a running race called The Sinister 7.  This is a seven-stage, 160km (100 mile) mountain race.  The terrain is rugged.  The cut-off time is 30 hours.  The competitors start in daylight but run through the dark of the night.  The information on the website for the competitors is not sugar-coated. “This race will punish those who are not prepared” and “The race’s name is inspired by the treacherous Seven Sisters Mountain that looms over much of the course” and “This race is incredibly difficult.  Be prepared for one of the toughest experiences of your life”.

Brenda had never attempted this before.  She did create a training plan and she stuck to it.  She did research the race.  She did tell people what she was doing and she called upon a few others who had done similar events to help her with support.  As she raced, her main support person, Carena, navigated her way ahead to meet her at the transition stations with supplies. (This was her ‘lead’).  And she had a whole army of people taking up the rear, cheering her on as she left each transition area: some in person, some on social media, some quietly in their own way.  And at just over 27 hours from her start, she not only finished, she RAN across the finish line.  And her whole world cheered.

This week it may be time for each of us to think about something we long to do but fear we may not be able to accomplish.  We have evidence to prove that with supports in place, with a lead, with a cheering section and with reminders to breathe, we may just be able to do far, far more than we ever dared possible.
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My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I make this possible?’

Elizabeth is a life and leadership coach in Calgary, AB.  She provides leadership coaching for individuals and groups and she creates and facilitates custom workshops for corporate, public and private groups.  Contact Elizabeth to help you or your organization to figure out how to make your dreams possible.
 
 
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It’s World Cup Soccer time and I, being a lover of this sport, have been trying to catch a few games on television.  This past week I had the chance to watch Japan face Belgium in an elimination game that would determine who would make it to the final eight.

In fairness, I really did not have a favourite going into this game, but I had seen Japan play a few days prior and I loved their style.  I also sort of felt like they were the David of the David and Goliath match I witnessed in this previous game; this was a game they needed to win to make it to the final 16.   I haven’t looked up the statistics on player height and weight but as a casual observer, it appeared they had been on the lesser side in terms of both height and weight in both games I saw.  So, on Monday, when the game began, I found my heart cheering for the Japanese team.

As the game progressed I cheered louder and louder, not only with my heart but with my voice.  I loved their footwork.  I loved the sheer joy they displayed on their faces when they unexpectedly scored the first, then the second goal.  Belgium, and I daresay, most likely much of the world was shocked at their early and strong lead.  I loved their support of each other.  But most of all, I loved that when an opposing player bumped into them, or stole the ball, or knocked them to the ground, unlike every other team I have seen, they did not launch into the theatrics of injury, hoping for a call against their opponents.  Instead, they got to their feet and continued.  No drama.  None.  It was actually unbelievable.

I was heartbroken by the end of this game.   Belgium had managed to tie the game in regulation time and in extra minutes, at about the 94th minute mark, Belgium scored to all but end the game.  The game continued for another minute but the dye had been cast.  Japan had lost and was out of the tournament.

While my heart broke for this wonderful Japanese team who was not favoured to win, I listened to the commentators review the game.  Meanwhile on the field, the Japanese players lined up in front of the fans and bowed to show their gratitude.

The next morning, our daughter-in-law, Cara was looking at her twitter feed and exclaimed, “Listen to this!  After Japan lost their game yesterday, they cleaned up their locker room, left it spotless, and left a note behind for the Russians, written in Russian, saying ‘Thank-You’ “.

My mouth may still be agape. 

Soccer players, or football players, as they are referred to in most countries, are some of the highest payed athletes in the world.  Some would argue they are over-payed.  These men, I presume, are not in the habit of doing their own laundry on most days, let alone cleaning up locker rooms after they have used them.  After all, there are people hired to do this job.  These players drive fancy cars, dine at expensive restaurants and are used to the celebrity status that being well-known sports figures offers them.

Just to be safe, I looked up the salaries of the players on the team from Japan.  I thought perhaps that these men did not get the big salaries of other famous teams and that maybe they were just grateful to be at the World Cup.  I was wrong.  A quick search of ‘The Google’ as we’ve become fond of saying in our house, told me that the salaries of these players range from 1.65 million Euros to 13 million Euros.  It would seem like they can afford to hire someone to do their laundry and clean up after them, just the same as all the other players.

And yet, the Japanese team chose to change the image of professional soccer players this week.  Despite the fact that the entire world saw them in the same league as the rest of the players, and I’m guessing the entire world expected them to behave exactly like other professional players, they chose to let their behaviour speak for itself. They chose to be different, and in this case more, than the world expected.

This has been a powerful lesson to me.

When I look back upon my life I recognize the many times I have chosen to be exactly what others expected of me.  Sometimes this has been good.  I have been expected to be hard working, honest, responsible, fair and on time.  I have chosen to comply with this.  However, at other times I have been expected to be less-adventurous than some, and I have complied.  I have been thought to be too old for certain things, and I have complied.  I have been thought to be too female for certain things, and I have complied.

As you travel through this week, notice where you are living a familiar, expected story.  Watch for ways you can make small changes in your behaviour to help others make huge shifts in how they view you.  Cleaning up a dressing room is a small thing.  This happens day upon day in the world of sports and mostly it goes unnoticed.  It is usually completed by a cleaning staff.  To have a National World Cup Team complete this task without any expectation helps us shift our view of these players from being aloof and high-brow to being thoughtful, humble human beings.

What I have taken from the example of these Japanese soccer players is that at any given moment, I can choose to change my story from an old one where I do exactly what others expect of me, to a new one; one that serves me better, and that better reflects my true self.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What new behaviour best reflects you?’
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Elizabeth is a life and leadership coach in Calgary, AB.  She provides leadership coaching for individuals and groups and she creates and facilitates custom workshops for corporate, public and private groups.  Contact Elizabeth to help you or your organization to figure out how to change your story to best reflect you.