This week I took a little tumble off my bike.  I know.  It’s almost exactly one year since I broke my foot while on a biking trip, and this week, while innocently, and not spectacularly, biking the final few kilometres home from a ride, I found myself on the ground doing a quick body scan to assess the damage.  Luckily for me, the damage is almost all superficial.  The ego will take some time to mend.  And my confidence is shaken a bit.  But really, the impact was minimal.

Then on Sunday, when we were out at a walk to raise awareness about Bladder Cancer, supporting our good friend Bryan, Jim and I ran into Ed, an old colleague of ours.  The impact was huge.

Ed taught with Jim, early in Jim’s career.  He was the only bread winner in his family, and to make ends meet he had a little side job of selling and installing built-in vacuum cleaning systems. Early in our marriage, when our kids were really little, we hired Ed to install one of those systems in our tiny, new-to-us, home. 

Ed and his wife Lorraine, have an adoptive daughter, Jennifer.  I don’t recall how, on that evening thirty some years ago, the conversation turned to adoption, but I do recall this exact part of it:

Ed:  If Jennifer ever wants to find her birth mother, I will help her.  I have something I want to say to that woman.

Me: (Silence.  Maybe even a bit of breath holding.)

Ed:  I’ll tell you what I’d tell her.  I’d tell her, “Thank you, for giving me the most precious gift in the world”

I have to say, I had tears in my eyes.  I was speechless.  This was likely the first time I had realized that a person could choose their perspective.  Those few seconds of conversation had an enormous impact on me.

When I saw Ed last weekend, I reminded him of that conversation from over thirty years ago.  I told him what an impact it has had on my life.  Ed thanked me for reminding him and we had a most wonderful conversation about our lives and how we impact one another. 

Each of us impacts our world many times each day.   It is easy to pretend this is not so.  It is easy to imagine that sometimes we just operate in a bubble, and that if we mind our own business, we will have no impact on others.  This is simply not the truth.  We each have impact.  Each thing we do has impact.  The secret is to be aware of our impact on others and on situations.  We become more confident, and more humble, when we recognize that each thing we do, or do not do, has an impact.

When I first became aware of this, I found myself feeling a bit paralyzed.  Knowing everything I might do has an impact, caused me to assess each of my actions.  When I thought about going to any event, I realized that whether I arrived early or late, gently or loudly, stressed or calm, thoughtful or spontaneous, bearing gifts or just a smile, right on time or not at all, I would have some impact. 

The choices we make matter.  How we live matters.  How we show up, matters.

It’s overwhelming stuff.

Some relief comes with noticing that having impact does not mean we have to judge our impact.  We do not have to figure out if it will be positive or negative.  We do not even have to be fully responsible for our impact.  We simply need to acknowledge that no matter how we act, we will create an impact. 

I can think back to many times when I have disagreed with someone, sometimes in a professional setting, sometimes at home, and I have become silent.  I have not offered my opinion.  I always assumed that by doing this, I was not having an impact on the situation.  I thought I was being Switzerland.  In some cases, I even thought I was really good at this.  I thought I was hiding my feelings with great skill.  I now recognize that even my silence, my Swiss-like behaviour, had an impact.  My feelings were likely leaking out of me as easily as air moves through the holes of Swiss cheese.  I’m trying not to judge or assume what that impact might have been.  It could have caused the other person to create a story in their head to explain my withdrawal.  It could have been a relief to them that I was not talking.  It could have given someone else a chance to speak.  There are endless things it could have been.  But the one thing I know for sure it was not, was nothing.

On Sunday, as Ed and I continued to talk, he told me that even though he was grateful to Jennifer’s birth mother for allowing he and Lorraine the joy of adopting their baby, as the years went on he began to understand the impact it must have had on her, a young woman who had just surrendered her child.  He said, ‘We were so wrapped up in our own delight at finally having a baby, I never once stopped to think about the toll it had on her.’ 

Ed then shocked me when he told me, ‘I did get to thank her, you know.  In fact, Lorraine and I became very good friends with her.  Did you know she spoke at Lorraine’s Celebration of Life this past year?’

No, I had not known.  But somehow, I was not surprised.

Ed understands impact.

When Jim and I chose to support Bryan by participating in the walk for Bladder Cancer Awareness we had an impact.  When Greg and Cara joined us, they had an impact.  When Bryan and Lynda were delighted to see us, it had an impact.  When Bryan’s oncologist showed up at the event, that had an impact.  

I’m beginning to recognize that while I may not always know the impact of my actions, I can at least always be aware that each of my actions will certainly have one. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What impact am I having?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice your impact.
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

Last month, biking in the Ride To Conquer Cancer, Rhonda and I had lots and lots of moments when we would pass other riders and plenty of times when other riders would pass us too.  Each time, as we had been instructed to do, the passing rider would call out, ‘On your left’, before they pulled out the left to pass.

This lovely, consistent phrase, commonly used by cyclists, avoids having the biker being passed from being startled.  It can very unnerving to suddenly see something close to you in your periphery vision as you cycle along, focused on the road ahead.

On the afternoon of the first day of the ride, we heard the familiar, ‘On your left’ call from a male voice.  We continued cycling and before we had made too many more pedal strokes, a tall, conservative looking cyclist passed us, carefully watching traffic and obeying the rules of the road.

It was only when he got in front of us, when we could see him from behind, that we noticed his socks and the message they bore.  While his riding shorts were classic black, and his jersey non-flashy, or memorable, his little, six-inch socks blew us away.  They were neon in colour; green to be exact.  Printed on the back, in what we believe was his own hand writing were the words:

Do Epic Shit

Pardon my language.  I usually choose to use my other English words when writing this blog.  But a direct quote is a direct quote.  And quite frankly, I can’t think of any other phrase that would reflect either what he meant or what our reaction was.

Our response was immediate joy. 

Joy.

Immediately.

Rhonda and I kept cycling and didn’t talk about those socks until later.  But when we did, we both felt exactly the same.  We just loved the idea.  And we especially loved that the message came from someone, who although we do not know them, from all other appearances, seemed to be a fairly cautious, play-by-the rules kind of guy.  And perhaps it was poignant that we should see this message during the Ride to Conquer Cancer, both of us recognizing how lucky we are to be able to participate. 

I’ve been thinking about this phrase since then.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to measure what is epic.  And to know how much epic is needed in my life.

This year, I’ve offered to spend my Fridays with little Benjamin, our grandson.  Ben is now 20 months old.  I LOVE my Friday’s with Ben.  When Kaitlyn returned to school after her maternity leave in January, I asked her and Matt if I could have Ben for one day each week.  It wasn’t that they needed my help. They have wonderful care for little Ben.  It was that I wanted to develop a good relationship with my grandson.

Building relationships with children, happen when we create consistent, predictable, regular times to be together. Having a safe space and doing things together helps too.  This makes sense to me.  When children know they can count on us to show up for them regularly, when we say we will, they learn to trust us.  I’m pretty sure this happens with every age of person.   It doesn’t feel epic, but it does feel right.

I’ve spent the vast majority of my life being consistent, reliable and predictable.  I have never regretted it, but I have often watched others not operating quite the same way and I’ve wondered if I was missing out on something.  Something epic.
What I am concluding is that there is kind of a Yin and Yang to this; a bit of a push and pull.  

When I first decided to do a long bike race I was training alone.  One day, about a year-and-a-half ago, I texted my friend Rhonda to see if she would join me on a once per week training ride.  Rhonda and  I had never biked together and although she did like to bike, had never gone more than about 30km at once. I was training for my first Gran Fondo.  Rhonda quickly agreed and so began our Tuesday long rides.  Those consistent, predictable, regular rides, that at first kept us both wide awake the preceding Monday nights worrying whether we could manage the distances we had planned, turned into longer and longer rides.  More importantly they turned into times together we both came to cherish. 

And late last summer, and then again this summer, they turned into some epic moments when we completed two Gran Fondos, an incredible ride from Canmore to Jasper, and the Ride to Conquer Cancer.

I think it is only when we create a relationship, built on a foundation of consistency, reliability and predictability that we are able to trust one another enough to create our epic moments.

And so it was that this last Friday, I arrived at Ben’s house at 7:00am as planned.  He and I read for a bit and played with his cars.  We made our traditional scrambled eggs and he helped by adding the grated cheese at the end.  His nap was unremarkable.  We hiked in the park and found a slide to climb up and slide down.  He napped in the afternoon and then we played cars.

Really, it was another perfect day.  We have a wonderful relationship together.  I cherish it.  I doubt there is a bystander in this world who would rank what Ben and I do as epic.  Perhaps conquering a slide on your own is epic when you are little.  Perhaps mastering sitting on little chair all by yourself is epic.  Perhaps just the gift of being together, consistently, predictably and regularly, is epic.
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When Rhonda and I went cycling this past Tuesday, our first time out in nearly a month, we weren’t in a race.  We didn’t have fancy jerseys, there were no cheering fans and we did not come home with a medal.  We rode through the foothills, leaves turning their fall colours, snow capped mountains to the west.  Epic. 

And holding little Ben in my arms while we added the cheese to the scrambled eggs and then on my lap while we read his book about his family? Epic.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘How am I creating an epic life?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She most often uses polite language!  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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice the epic in your life.
 

This past Wednesday marked the 18th anniversary of 9/11.  It shocks me that eighteen years can have passed since that sunny Tuesday, September morning when our world changed.   Like so many others, I know exactly where I was when I first had the inkling that something was very, very wrong.  I remember the conflicting feelings of horror, disbelief, and later even gratitude; gratitude that I was not there.  I remember understanding that I needed to provide a place of stability for my students who were also hearing bits of news and who had no way to make sense of any of it.  Offices in Calgary, the hub of the oil and gas industry in Canada, were evacuated.  The world we had come to know, had turned on its head.

One of my colleagues was my friend, Betty.  Betty’s son, Mark, who is also my friend, was working in New York City on that day in 2001.  I recall the waiting and endless waiting until Betty heard from Mark.  I reached out to Mark to ask him about his experience of that day:

‘The building I was working in was across the street from the two Trade Centers and the windows from the trading floor looked out onto the two buildings. I can remember the sound, noise, vibration, type feeling from when the first plane hit. What is also quite vivid is the reaction of the people in the office. There was almost a quietness at first as everyone tried to process what was going on, followed by some visceral reactions. I tried to gather a consensus of what we should do (this was right after I checked my trading position to make sure I was long silver and gold) and was met by a lot of indifference, people weren't sure whether we should leave the floor or not. It didn't take me long at this point to take the stairs down. As we were trying to find our fellow colleagues in the mass of people and confusion the second plane hit. At this point I didn't even know that there were planes creating these impacts. From the angle that I was located I only saw the explosion and assumed it was a bomb and terrorist event of some nature. My reaction at this point was "What's Next?", The New York Stock Exchange popped into my head and I thought it was likely best if I got out of the downtown core. I spent the next few hours walking with some friends to Upper Manhattan. I also remember that cell phones weren't a staple yet in 2001 and the ones that were around were having a hard time finding a signal that day. I did manage to borrow a phone and reach my parents to give them word of my safety. Up to this point I know there was fear involved, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't but you're really just reacting to the situation and there isn't much time for fear or emotion. Then when you hear your parents voice on the line it takes you to another place and the reality of the situation instantly becomes clear.  Those are the memories that have left the deepest etchings in me.  Despite my proneness to depression and anxiety, I don’t feel my psyche suffered any chronic affects from this experience.  Ironically, it was through the Invictus Games and being inspired by the courageous women and men who lost virtually everything as a result of 9/11 where I initially saw the light that has significantly helped me on my own path to healing and recovery.’  

This week, as I was trying to process some of the new leadership ideas I learned at the course I took last weekend, I saw a post that Betty had put on Facebook.  I believe the original is called ‘All the Little Things’.  You’ll get the idea:

The head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten
Another man was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn’t go off on time
Another was late because of being stuck on the NJ turnpike because of an auto accident and his life was spared
One missed his bus
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change
One’s car wouldn’t start
Another went back to answer the telephone
One had a child that dawdled and didn’t get ready as soon as he should have
One couldn’t get a taxi
One that really struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning.  Before he got to the towers, he developed a blister on his foot.  He stopped at the drug store to buy a Band-Aid.  That’s why he is alive today
Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a ringing telephone … all the little things that annoy me, I think to myself, this is exactly where I am meant to be at this very moment.
 
Without a doubt, this piece of writing causes me to stop.  I have so many, many examples to pick from of times in my life when I have been annoyed (and sometimes even something stronger than annoyed) because I had planned for things to go a certain way and the universe had planned on a different chain of events for me.  I don’t necessarily believe that I am always exactly where I am meant to be.  Sometimes I am certain I am meant to be cycling in the mountains and yet I find myself sitting at my desk!  What I do believe is that I am always in choice about how I respond to where I find myself.

In the course I took this past weekend, I heard the phrase ‘until now’.  One of the participants was telling us about an incident she had faced.  Our facilitator asked how she handled the situation.  She responded that in that kind of situation she always took over the little details by herself.  And the facilitator responded, ‘Until now.’

Until now.

This too caused me to stop.  I’m not sure I wanted to hear this.  ‘Until now’ forces me to acknowledge that I am always in choice.  I always have the ability to choose my reaction and my behavior.  ‘Until now’ tells me that when I find myself doing something in a certain way because this is how I have always done it, there is a possibility that there is a different way. 
‘Until now’ tells me that when I find myself in a familiar pattern of emotion, the kind where I know the script all too well, that there is a different choice I can make.

I am guessing the author of Betty’s post could imagine the people written about in the piece were struggling with why they may have been spared.  He may have imagined them telling how they experienced feelings of guilt, both because they had been impatient due to the little disruptions in their personal mornings and then even worse guilt because they had been spared being in the towers.  I am imagining him telling them, ‘This is the story you have told yourself, until now…’

This week I have been playing with the concept ‘until now’.  As I was hustling around my kitchen, preparing for a dinner meeting I was hosting for eleven people, I could feel a familiar feeling of ‘I don’t need any interruptions, I just need to get this done.’  And I said to myself, ‘until now’.  ‘Until now’ I have told myself that no interruptions is the only, or at least the best, way to assure everything is done on time.  The truth is, of course, adding a healthy pinch of my controlling nature does not add any good flavour to the meal.

As I was getting ready to head out to the gym on Thursday, I noticed I had about two minutes to spare.  I had the immediate thought that I had time to run back upstairs, sort laundry and put in a load.  This would have been my familiar pattern.  And of course, it would have led to my other usual pattern of leaving two minutes late, trying to rush through traffic and arriving just in the nick of time.  ‘Until now’ I smiled to myself, leaving the laundry upstairs.

I have no idea if I am where I am meant to be.  What I do know is that my familiar patterns give me familiar feelings and familiar results.  When I notice familiar patterns, my gentle whisper of ‘until now’ reminds me of my choice.  Sometimes I choose familiarity.  Sometimes I take a chance and choose something different.  I have to admit, I enjoyed the nice two-minute conversation I had with a complete stranger in the changeroom at the gym.  And she seemed to enjoy it too.  There was a time I would have hoped I wasn’t holding her up from anything… until now.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is my familiar way of being…until now?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to help guide you to your ‘until nows’.
 
 
 

A couple of weeks ago, our daughter, Kaitlyn, attended the funeral of one of her most favourite high school teachers, Mr. Dolan.  Mr. Dolan, along with his colleague and best friend, Mr. Valleau, headed up the journalism department at the high school that our kids attended. 

It was under the direction and friendship of Mr. Dolan and Mr. Valleau that Kaitlyn and her wonderful friend Ashley, had the seeds of journalism sprinkled on them.  They learned to write news articles, eventually becoming regular contributors to their school newspaper.  They were introduced to broadcast, becoming co-anchors on the closed-circuit school television show, LTV.  Each morning the school news was broadcast in-house, to all students and faculty, via televisions in their classrooms, with Kaitlyn and Ashley at the co-host desk.

Along with the journalism skills the girls honed throughout their years at the school, they also found a place of belonging.  In a school of more than fifteen hundred students, it would have been easy to make themselves invisible, blending into the throngs of students.  Instead, they were encouraged to find their voices, and use their talents to add to the diverse extra-curricular program at the school.

So much did these two teachers and this program impact Kaitlyn and Ashley, they both followed their dream of journalism to the prestigious Ryerson School of Journalism.  Kaitlyn and Ashley were not the only students impacted by these teachers.  Over the more than twenty-year span of this locally created journalism program at the high school, many, many students were gifted with the time of these two mentors. One student, Jodie Martinsen was part of a team who won an Emmy for their documentary, Ghana: A Digital Dumping Ground. 

After Mr. Dolan’s funeral, Kaitlyn had the opportunity to meet his daughter and to tell her of the impact her father had.  Kaitlyn told her that during one of her moves overseas, she had mis-placed and eventually lost her treasured copies of the Scarlett Fever, the school newspaper, covering the three years of her high school life.

Mr. Dolan’s daughter said that while going through her dad’s belongings, she had come across the bound copies of the school’s newspapers from Kaitlyn’s three years!  She offered them to Kaitlyn, who was touched beyond measure.  They organized to meet in order that Kaitlyn could receive the copies.

I haven’t seen the papers since Kaitlyn received them.  If I did see them, it would be very unlikely I would recall any of the activities being reported on, nor would I recognize most of the names associated with the articles.  I don’t know if Kaitlyn remembers the details of the activities either.  What I do believe she remembers is the feeling she had being part of the writing and editing team.

I think she remembers the feeling of knowing that she was being counted on to show up.  I think she remembers that she mattered.  I think she remembers that she was required to do her best.  And I think she remembers that because she was in the ‘public’ eye, she made herself courageous enough to help others feel like they had a sense of belonging too.

This week, I was driving over to Kaitlyn’s house early one morning to watch little Benjamin as his mom and dad headed back to school for another year of teaching.  I offered to watch him this week because his regular care-giver is away on a long-planned family holiday.  Winding my way through their neighbourhood, I stopped to let a young boy, perhaps eight years old, and his mother, cross the street.  They had their arms pretty tightly linked together.  I can’t say what they were talking about with one hundred percent certainty, but considering it was the first day of school, and based on their body language and the worry in their eyes, I am imagining that they were each having their own struggles with their thoughts about this upcoming school year. 

I couldn’t help but make a wish for that little boy.  I wished that he could be welcomed into the classroom of a teacher like Mr. Dolan.  I wished that he might learn wonderful things.  Even more importantly, I wished he could find a sense of belonging; of feeling that his presence was important, of knowing that he was being counted on to bring something special to his classroom, of believing that he mattered.  In twenty or so years, it is possible that he might not even recall the name of his teacher.  But if that teacher has done her or his job well, that little boy will be passing those same gifts on in this world.

After teaching at the same school for a number of years, Kaitlyn started at a new school this year.  She had the usual jitters of being a new teacher to a school.  While I sympathized with her and understood her worries, I really couldn’t help but feel completely at ease inside myself.  I know that she carries some of Mr. Dolan’s magic with her.  I know she has the most wonderful ways of creating lessons and units that engage students and give them a place of belonging.  I know she requires students to do their best and I know she creates a space where they can be courageous. 
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I think the timing of her receiving the bound books containing the old newspapers was serendipitous.  It was a perfect reminder that all any of us really wants is to know we are welcome, that we bring unique talents and that we belong.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I creating belonging?’

Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how create belonging.