Brenda and I headed out on our Tuesday Trek in our usual fashion this week; no muss, no fuss, no fanfare.  We had our lunches packed, our route downloaded, our water and emergency gear onboard,  our intended route left with Jim and Daryl, and with a beautiful full moon setting in the west as we approached the trailhead.
We were hiking a trail I had not done before but that we’d talked about doing since early in the season.  It’s a good late-in-the-season hike because of its difficulty.  It takes until this time of the hiking season for our legs to be ready for the climbing.

Brenda had done this one years prior and we’d both admired Forgetmenot Mountain throughout the season as we’d hiked trails nearby.

As we started up the fairly steep ascent, we checked in with each other to make sure we were each still a ‘GO’.  We agreed the sescent would be hard but we’d be fine if we went slowly.  Once we got above the tree line and began crossing the scree slope (an expanse of broken, loose rocks) it was hard to find the trail.  The great news was there was a wide area to navigate within and we could see the general direction of the next climb where we were headed.

The other wonderful thing was that hikers who had come months and years before us had erected cairns to mark the way.  These guideposts, piles of rock really, can be found on almost every mountain hike.  They mark spots where a change in direction might be required, or where a potentially hard to spot trail might be hiding, or, in our case, they were there just to keep us headed in the right direction across the wide ridge.

I’ve learned to watch for and be thankful for these cairns.  Hikers protocol asks us to add a rock to each pile as we pass by.  This is both a practical and symbolic gesture.  It helps those coming from behind and it reminds us all that we are in this walk of life together.

As we hiked along on Tuesday, I had plenty of time to think about guideposts.  We benefitted from several that day.
At the far end of the ridge was another tall outcropping of rock which would become our second ascent.  There is a ‘path’ pointing to the top, but once the sparce grass of a meadow ended, the path disappeared in the rock.  Two other hikers happened along as we were pondering our next move.  They had both been there before, were clearly very experienced hikers and they offered that we could follow them up.  They also knew of the gentler way down.  Brenda had heard about this way, and in fact had travelled it before but could not recall where to find its beginning.   We’d been hoping it would be obvious once we were at the top.

Brenda and I weighed our options and decided to follow Marek and Peter.  They were excellent guides, steering us safely up the side of the rocks.  Traverse to the left, Marek would call down.  You’ll get better footing there.

At the top we all stopped and enjoyed our lunches.  We sat protected from the fierce wind by a ten (ish) foot wall of rock.  No matter how comfortable we were, we couldn’t help but wonder where exactly the easier way down was.  It turned out it wasn’t far away at all; just about 100 metres on the other side of the outcrop.  The challenge?  We had to make our way around the cliffside to get to it.

To understate, neither of us is fond of heights.  I would also admit to being low on the ‘careless’ scale.  We decided to give it a look.  It took very few steps, for us to realize we had to rethink our plan.  The rocky non-path led us along jagged rocks, with a wall of stone on our left, and a several hundred foot drop on our right.

The guideposts leading us to our moment of decision had been great.  The cairns steered us in the right direction, and the two hikers, Marek and Peter, had led us to the possible easier descent.  Yet as we realized we simply were not willing to risk walking around the side of the cliff, we had to look for guideposts elsewhere.  We found them exactly where we knew they would be.  Inside ourselves.

It's perfect when your partner and you agree on how difficult decisions should be made.  Brenda and I are a great team in this regard.  We asked each other only one question.

“What is the safest choice we can make?”

The answer was easy.  We needed to go down the way we came up.  Despite the fact this way would not be easy, and would involve first finding a possible way off the outcrop, then crab walking backward until we were off it, then navigating the steep but obvious path down, this was the way we knew for sure.  This would be where someone would look for us if for any reason we ran into trouble.  With the decision easily made, we headed down.

We’ve all benefitted from the experience of having guideposts, not just those on the trail, but those in our lives. Sometimes they come in the form of people. Sometimes we read just the right words at just the right time. Sometimes we see something we are sure is a sign sent from someone we love.  Sometimes we literally reach a roadblock and have to change direction.  These are all helpful and comforting ‘cairns’ to notice.

But the most important guidepost of all is one we always carry.  It is that of our inner voice.  Not the one that whispers tales of dread and potential disaster in our ears, but the one that reminds of us our values.  When we can clear out the noise and quietly get in tune with which guideposts we want to use to lead us through life, our decision making is suddenly very, very easy.  The steps we have to take may still be difficult, as they were for Brenda and I on Tuesday, but making the right decision was easy.  Almost always when we are clear about our values, and use them as our cairns, we find a feeling of peace within ourselves.  This too, is a sign we are on the right path.

Since Tuesday I’ve been mindful of trying to create the feeling of peace, that comes with living in full alignment with my values.  I still want to climb mountains and have adventures and live a rich and rewarding life.  The best way I know how to do this is to notice cairns on my path, add stones to the those I find on the way, thank living guides for their assistance, and to follow my own values.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What guidepost best serves me 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 to recognize guideposts.
 

In the middle of July, on a weekend afternoon, just when the smoke was beginning to roll into Calgary, I spoke with my brother on the phone.  A year earlier, in June 2020, he and his partner, Victoria, my friend Rhonda and her husband John, and I, had planned to cycle the Cabot Trail in Nova Scotia.  It’s been on my list for years.  We had been incredibly disappointed, but understanding, when we could not travel to do it last June.

My brother, Daniel, told me on the phone he had decided to do the trip one week from our conversation. His idea was to drive to Nova Scotia in one day, from his home in Ontario, stay overnight with our brother, Matt, then drive to the beginning of the trail, Baddeck, on Monday, where he would begin his cycling adventure.  He expected the three-hundred-kilometre trek to take him three days, meaning he’d be back at Matt’s by Thursday night, and home on Friday.  As we talked, I told him I was envious.  He asked, ‘Do you want to come?’

“YES!”

I told him I needed to check with Jim and to see if I could get a non-stop flight from Calgary to Halifax, and that once I’d done that, I’d get back to him.  Jim arrived home about an hour later and I told him about it.  ‘Go’, he said.  And then about one beat later he asked if we would like him to come and drive a support vehicle for us.  Since Dan’s truck would be available, this was doable.  I checked flights, called Daniel, and seven days later we landed in Halifax.  Our brother Matt and Jacki were home and happy to host us overnight coming and going.  The three places Daniel had booked for accommodation for him had rooms for Jim and me too.  The pieces just fell into place.

That five-day adventure was absolutely perfect.  It was so good to see Matt and Jacki, who we haven’t seen since they moved East.  The cycling itself was beyond incredible.  Daniel and I are compatible cyclists and Jim, the perfect support person.  We’d be up early in the morning, when the fog still blanketed the coast, and we’d begin our days.  Usually, we were soaked withing the hour.  We climbed hills longer and steeper than I thought possible as we made our way through the Highlands National Park.  Most days the fog would lift by noon, and we’d witness spectacular views of the ocean.  We stopped for plenty of photos, we sometimes chatted as we rode and often rode along quietly enjoying the physicality of the cycling itself.

On one occasion we came across a construction zone on the road.   Our lane was flagged through and as I cycled to the end of it the flagman there, holding traffic so we could pass, asked how I was.  I said I was good but would be better if he could tell me that the road flattened out soon.  His response was the best.  “I’d be lyin’ if I did”, he told me with a grin.  It was little interactions like this that reminded me why I love the East Coast and its people.  We ate sea food at night and listened to live fiddle music one evening.

We left Calgary at noon on a Sunday, and arrived home at noon five days later, having completed the three-hundred-kilometre, thirty-five-hundred metre gain in elevation, journey.  As we unpacked and re-assembled my bike, I could hardly believe it had happened.

As I thought back to the unfolding of the events it wasn’t lost on me that my quick ‘YES’ answer was not my norm.  In fact, this was an unexpected, and unlikely answer from me.  I often like to pretend I have some semblance of control over things and when I plan I feel more secure.  Yet I could not argue with the fact that my quick yes had not given me less control over anything, and it certainly had not detracted from any part of the trip.  In fact, this will be a hard trip to beat. 
I told Jim that I thought we should have a ‘YES’ account.  When he asked what I meant I explained we could have a separate bank account where we had a little stockpile of money just for the purpose of saying yes to opportunities that might come our way.  This was to be different than other accounts we might use for saving for planned adventures.  This one was to be for unexpected but enticing adventures.  It’s hard to describe what they might be when we haven’t considered them yet.

As I’ve continued to ponder the notion of the ‘YES’ account, I’ve come to realize the account at the bank is not the only one I need to invest in.  When I look back on the Cabot Trail adventure, the money was just one small part of what I considered when I made my snap decision.  In fact, when our kids were growing up and wanted to do something, but thought they couldn’t afford it, I often told them if money was the only thing holding them up, they likely didn’t want it badly enough.  I think my new YES account needs me to make deposits of other kinds too.

In my personal YES account, I need to make regular deposits of self-confidence.  I need deposits of clarity of my values; by knowing these well, I will know what adventures will fill me up.  I need deposits of supportive friends and family; by spending time with people who know me well and want what is best for me, I gain the freedom to reveal more of myself and my dreams for myself.  When I first heard about the possibility of the Nova Scotia trip, I called our son, Greg.  Greg did not hesitate.  “Go Mom”, he said.  “You will love it!   And I’ve got a bike box you can borrow.”  We each need people like Greg, people who believe in us and our dreams even when we have little doubts about our own abilities.

My personal YES account needs practicality too.  I think some of my un-imagined adventures will involve physical activity, so I need to make deposits of time into my personal well-being, ensuring I’m not limited by my ability.  I need to make small deposits of my dreams, so I can recognize the right opportunities for me.  And I think it will benefit me to make deposits of living in the moment, and enjoying the moment I’m in.  By doing this, when an opportunity presents itself, I can grab it if I believe it fits well with my idea of what makes a rich and fulfilling life.

YES accounts, accounts of possibility, are unique to each person.  These are accounts of the soul.  Accounts where we store up dreams we may not even know how to put into words, but when the opportunity reveals itself, we recognize it, and trust in our feeling to seize it.

This week, I challenge you to ‘open’ your YES account, to decide what needs to be deposited in it, to start making deposits, and to watch for the opportunities that come your way.  I also challenge you to make small, daily withdrawals from your account.  Find small things to fill your soul each day, so you begin to get used to the feeling of what makes you, you.  Meanwhile, I assume I’ll be at home next week, following my normal routine, but… you never know….

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What deposits does my YES account need?’
​
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 open your personalized YES account.

When I decided to take the summer away from writing my blog, I envisioned endless days of relaxation, stretched out weeks, and periods of lazing in the sunshine.

Bahaha!

Where did it go?  In a blink, here we are, the week after Labour Day.  Another summer in the books.

I have many favourites from this summer.  Some, I'm sure, will show up in my blog over the next weeks. I loved my Tuesday Treks, my bike rides, our camping trips, and especially my days with Ben.  Little Andy is still too small to spend full days with us but Ben looks forward to his 'Gramma Days'.  At three, he's old enough to not only look forward to them but to have some ideas about what we can do together.  One day, when he and I were chatting on FaceTime and talking about what we'd do on our next day together, he suggested we visit our friend Shirley on her farm.  He absolutely loves his visits with Shirley. 

"Can we make that happen?", he asked.

Something about this simple question has stuck with me.   I loved his choice of words.  I loved that he has an understanding that a lot of what we do is under our own control.  That we are not victims, bumbling along, being acted upon.  I've been using this phrase all summer.  

Can we make that happen?

Each of us has hopes and dreams for our days, our weeks, our year and our lives.  We want so badly for certain things to happen.  We hope a coveted job opens up and we'll be considered for it.  We imagine ourselves looking through photographs of trips we have taken.  We long for visits with treasured family and friends.  We wish we could perfect a skill.  Too often we don't get past the hoping and dreaming stage.  We want it, we dream it, we may write it, or even say it.  But so often, we forget the critical piece.  We forget to make it happen.

I recognize that many, perhaps most, of my unfulfilled longings, both of this summer and of my life, were so for one reason.  I didn't make them happen.  It wasn't on purpose.   There have been times I've naively thought others might make things happen for me.  If I just worked hard enough someone  might invite me to step into my own dreams.  Sometimes I filled my schedule with other good and noble activities, leaving no time for my dreams and longings.  Sometimes I didn't take the first step.

Alas, time has a way of marching on, squeezing us until we are uncomfortable enough to make choices. Almost always something has to be let go.

Most of us accept this, as we should.  If however, we do accept that things will have to be let go, we should also accept that it is NOT an act of randomness as to which of our activities, desires, dreams, plans or hopes gets squeezed out, which one is left off the schedule, which one is never realized.  This is not random.  The one squeezed out is the one we did not make happen.

The older I get, the broader my view of life becomes.  I find it easier to get above the picture that is my life, and notice which things are leading me to become who I strive to be, and making me most satisfied and peaceful.  From this view, I can easily see what I want to 'make happen'.  It doesn't mean these things are made happen without sacrifice and deliberate action.  It does mean they are important to me and it is up to me to make them happen.

Ben and Andy are lucky little boys indeed.  They live in a home where they can play, learn, and test their boundaries all while feeling safe and loved.  They also have one extra piece of luck.  They have parents who carefully choose to use language that helps them be self-assured, confident, risk takers and to have agency over themselves.  I noticed when Ben asked about going to Shirley's he did not ask if I could make it happen.  He asked, 'Can WE make that happen.'  

Children use language they hear daily.  Clearly Ben has heard his parents say, 'We can make that happen', inferring that each of them will have a part in the realization of the goal.

It's September.  For me this is a time of new beginnings.  It's a time to ponder life and consider what I want to make happen.  I wonder what we each could achieve if our self-talk included less of  'I could never do that' or 'I wish I could do that', and more of  'How can I make that happen'. 

'We can make that happen' has become a catch phrase in our home and with my hiking partners.  Often it's said with a smile, kind of like we're not taking it too seriously.  After all, we're quoting a three year old.  And yet, as soon as it's said, something is set in motion, and it begins to happen.  There's power in these words. 

My inquiry for you this week is, 'How can I make this happen?'

​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 individuals, 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 make it happen.