When Ben was about three years old, any time we were talking about an idea for doing something, he’d pipe up and say, “We can do that!”

It became a mantra in our home and with some of our friends.  If we were talking about going for a hike, or doing housework, or planning our next day, one of us would inevitably pipe up and say, ‘We can do that!’.  I hadn’t forgotten about it, but it hasn’t been such a common expression lately.  Ben of course is on to new ideas and sayings and somehow, we’ve just let it slip past our daily vocabulary too.

Last weekend as we were in Banff, enjoying the sunshine, beautiful fall leaves, and mountains, and cheering on the thousands of runners participating in the Melissa’s race, I felt a wave of nostalgia as I realized how much I missed running.  When people, usually with puzzled looks, used to ask why in the world I did it, I always knew my answer.  It was so simple.

Because I can.

I ran because I could.  Running for me was my meditation, my place to work out the puzzle pieces in my head, my place to challenge myself, and to feel peace.   I ran in the early mornings, when the sun was either not quite up, or just giving me a glimpse of its glory.  I ran in the spring days when the brand-new fawns were standing with their mamas.  I ran in the bitter cold winter, when coming home, I delighted to see the frozen ice on my eyelashes.  I ran in races with thousands of others, feeling the joy of their companionship, and I ran alone on country roads, feeling the peace of nature.

It has been extremely difficult to give up running, this thing that is a big part of my identity, even though I understand my right knee simply is not on board to continue.  As I cheered on Kaitlyn, Greg, and Sus on Saturday, I thought to myself, “I cannot do that”.  It was not an easy thought to think.

This is not a new thought, but the more seasons that pass by, the more I fully realize this to be the truth.  As the runners entered the finishers chute, and we cheered our crew to the finish line, I didn’t have too much time to brood.  By then, Ben and Andy were pretty much done with cheering for all the legs and shoes passing them by at their eye level, and they wanted to play.  Ben asked if we could go for a walk in the woods.

We can do that, I thought.

Getting ‘lost’ in the woods with our Grandjoys, and ‘discovering’ new paths to explore is also good for my soul.  I can’t quite sort out the puzzle pieces in my head with all the questions coming my way from them, but it certainly brings a sense of peace.  Interestingly, while there, I never once thought of the running, which just moments before, I had missed so much.

I’ve come back to our playful old thought, ‘We can do that!’, many times in this past week.  It’s a wonderful expression really.  When it is offered with just the right tone; with a twinkle in the eye and a smile on the lips, it can make us aware of all we really can do, and it lightens the load of doing it. 

On Sunday morning, Jim asked if I’d like to go for a bike ride.  I didn’t say it out loud, but in my head immediately came the thought, ‘We can do that’.  On Monday I asked Jim if he’d like to join me on my visit to see my friend, Graham, still in the hospital.  ‘We can do that’, Jim replied out loud.  On the way, Jim remembered that Graham loves vanilla milk shakes and asked it I’d like to stop to get one to bring him.  We can do that, I replied.  When we were at the hospital, Graham asked if we’d go for a walk with him while we were there.

We can do that.

It’s easy to think about all the things we cannot do.  When we are young, we languish over all the things we cannot yet do.  When we get to a certain age, we mourn all the things we used to be able to do but cannot do with such ease any longer.  Sometimes our seemingly shrinking worlds feel very real.  Yet at any age, on every day, there are limitless things to which we can respond, ‘We can do that.’

We can approach days with curiosity.  We can offer a smile.  We can reach out to others.  We can try something new.  We can offer praise.  We can give compliments.  We can tackle our checklist.  We can witness nature.  We can sit with a friend.  We can take a chance. We can walk beside.  We can say yes.

On Sunday, our dance troupe was invited to dance for the cast of the Cirque de Soliel show, Kooza, at their after-party.  It was a last-minute invitation but our leader, Reba J, with her unshakable belief in us, replied, ‘We can do that!’.  Each of us received her invitation.  All of us who possibly could, even some who had to come home early from their weekend away to make it work, responded, ‘We can do that!’.

Dancing under the clear sky, moon shining down on us, I never gave running a thought.   As we danced, we kept catching each other’s eye, and between songs would whisper, ‘Isn’t this so incredible!?’  Our knees didn’t ache (yet), our minds let go of everything we cannot do, and we simply danced together in joy. 

We can do that.

This week I hope you find yourself smiling as you go about your life, noticing all the times you get the chance to say, ‘We can do that.’  It’s life changing.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What can you do?’
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Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how ‘You can do that’.
 
 
 

Today is the Melissa’s Road Race in Banff.  I’m not running it this year, but we’re still going to be in Banff, cheering on our son, Greg, our daughter, Kaitlyn, and Greg’s brother-in-law, Sus.  It doesn’t seem so long ago that our kids, too small to enter this race, were there cheering me on.  Now, one full circle later, I get to cheer as they compete. 

This is an absolute favourite race of mine.  Every part of the day is fantastic, from getting up in the dark to make the trip into the mountains, watching as the first rays of the sun illuminate those majestic rocks in the west, to parking and listening to the racers as they try to stay warm and strategize their race, to cheering as the runners pass by on the road, to listening to the announcer as each runners name is announced as they cross the finish line, to sitting on the grass post-race, listening to the live music provided.  I love it all; every last second of it.

I think if I was put under a tremendous amount of pressure and asked to give my absolute most favourite time of this day, I would have to say it is listening to the announcer at the finish line, welcoming each finisher by name over the loudspeaker.  I always have to fight back tears at this part. 

When I was running, there was something so validating about this moment; this moment when each of us who were participating, were simply noticed, and named.  I often crossed the finish line with tears in my eyes.  Many people mistakenly thought I must be either hurt, or simply so glad to be done.  But neither of these were true.  I loved the running part of running.  But I really loved something about that name-calling part.

Greg and Cara were telling us that when they went to Penticton to cheer on their friend, Derrek, in the Ironman Canada competition last summer, they were brought to tears at the finish line too.  In that competition, as each finisher approached the finish line the announcer boomed, “(the competitors name).  YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN.”   I have never seen this particular race, but I can imagine the emotion here, the emotion of the competitors as their months of training are realized in success, the emotion of their supporters as they celebrate the victory of a loved one, and the emotion of simply being noticed and named.

When we arrived into this world, each of us were noticed, and named by our parents.  The noticing and naming were given in love.  Our names were said so preciously those first times, as those already inhabiting our world got used to saying it, and as we learned to associate it with ourselves.  I was bestowed the name Elizabeth, after Sister St. Elizabeth, my mother’s favourite teacher, who happened to be a nun.  For all my elementary school days I was only called Elizabeth.  In fact, my mother forbade me to answer to anything else.  The only exception was that my brother, Daniel, just a couple of years younger than me, could not manage the whole mouthful of my name so he called me Littlebit.  Eventually Dad joined in and Littlebit stuck; but just with Dad.   My brother eventually mastered the full four syllables, and fell in line with everyone else.

I think this emphasis on my name, made me sensitive to the names of others.  I became a noticer.

When I was teaching school, I had a little ritual I performed about eight times each day.  On the first day of classes I would ask each student which name they preferred to be called, and I used it from then on.  Then, at the beginning of each class, as each new group of students would enter my classroom for their math lesson, I would stand at the door, just outside of the classroom and welcome them each by name.  ‘Good to see you Jasmine, good morning Rob, I’m glad you’re back Jackson, how are you feeling Emma?’, and so on.  I always thought it was important that each of them knew they were noticed and heard their name spoken in welcome at least one time in each day. 

These days I have many names; Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie, Mom, Aunt Liz, Aunt Elizabeth, Gramma, Seven, Mrs. Critchley, and even Lizard, by one dear friend who finds it to be hilarious.  It has been rumoured I have a strict preference for Elizabeth.  Like with most rumours, this one has no basis in truth.  I’ve often been asked what I prefer, and I’m always a bit baffled.  I just don’t know what I prefer.  Actually, what I do know is this; I prefer to be called the name that most sounds like love when spoken by whomever is talking to me.  For my sisters, that would be Elizabeth.  For my brothers, it’s most often Liz.  For Jim’s family, it’s Liz, or Aunt Liz.  In my family there is a mixture of Aunt Liz and Aunt Elizabeth.  I, like everyone else, simply want to be noticed and named.

Most of the lessons I learned in school have provided me with a sound guide for how to live my life.  But one of the lessons we were taught was to NOT name call, and this is a rule I freely break, and rebelliously encourage others to break also.  It’s important that we not only name call, but that we do so in a way that allows others to feel noticed, named and loved. 

On Saturday I’m going to practice some name calling in Banff.  I’ll even be loud.  I hope you too find some time in this upcoming week to do some loving name calling of your own.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is my name calling?’
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Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to name call.
 

Last weekend when my sister, Margaret, was visiting, I opened the cupboard containing all my recipe books.  Usually my little recipe box, with so many treasured hand-written recipes in it, sits on the middle shelf nestled beside my other recipe books.  On this particular day, it mustn’t have been nestled tightly enough for when I opened the cupboard, the box jumped out, landing on the floor and generously spreading the recipes around.

Luckily, they thoughtfully fanned themselves out and my sister managed to gently nudge them back into what we hoped was more or less the right order.

A few days later my friend, Brenda, called.  She was going to spend her day making a variety of squares for her son’s upcoming wedding rehearsal dinner.  I grabbed my recipe box and rifled through it for some of our family’s favourites.  I found some great recipes to share with Brenda and then spent a few minutes rearranging the misplaced cards.

I have some wonderful family recipes.  I started collecting them as a young teenager and I’ve added to my collection over the years.  These days, I often find recipes online, but it’s inside that old wooden box that I still find some of my favourites.  All these recipes are hand-written, most in my handwriting, some in the handwriting of my much younger self, some in the writing of my sisters, and others in the handwriting of family and friends.

Once I’d snapped pictures and shared a few recipes with Brenda, most of them marked with stains of cocoa, or butter or sugar, I didn’t give them much more thought. That is, until we met for a hike this week.  Brenda told us she had a story to share.

She filled Pam, Lynne and me in on the wedding plans and told us about the squares she’d made. Then she laughed and said, “You won’t believe this.”  She proceeded to tell us she had just finished her baking when her son, the groom, called to chat as he often does.  During the call he reminded her, ‘Don’t forget about Richard.’

Brenda of course, knows Richard very well.  He and her son have been best friends for years and years.  Richard has been to their house many times and has shared meals with them many times.  Suddenly, Brenda remembered – Richard is seriously allergic to nuts.  Almost every square she had made contained nuts; peanut butter, coconut, walnuts.  The ones not containing nuts she was afraid to serve fearing they may have been contaminated with some kind of nut.

Luckily, Brenda has a fantastic sense of humour, and a great perspective on life.  Other than feeling badly that she had to start over, we all had a good chuckle.  She was laughing, thinking of starting her baking all over again. 

I on the other hand, began thinking about family recipes.  About how sometimes, the recipes we have gone back to time after time, are not the right ones. 

We all have family recipes.  Not necessarily the ones that come on little 5” x 3” little cards, with listed ingredients, directions, and oven temperatures, but ones that have guided us through life. 

We have recipes from our family for how we approach life, for how we spend and save money, for what is expected of us, and for what is acceptable behaviour. We have been given recipes for how we treat others, for how we show up, for how we care for our homes and others, and for our tolerance for risk.  We might even have been given recipes for where we should spend holidays, how we should vote, and how we should raise our family. 

Mostly, these recipes have been passed on to us with love and the best of intentions.  But sometimes, those old recipes are simply not right for new situations we find ourselves in.  Sometimes we need a brand-new recipe.  We need something that fits our needs.  We need something that works for us and will make us flourish. 

It takes courage to try a new recipe. 

When I was raising our children, I had a great recipe that worked for me.  It was simple.  When I had to choose what to do, I simply asked myself, ‘Is this best for the kids?’  If it was, I did it.  If not, I did not.  It worked like a charm. 
Until it did not work at all. 

When they had both moved out, I found myself still reaching for this recipe to help make decisions in my life.  And it no longer worked.  I had to develop a completely new recipe for myself; one that fit my new circumstances, one that nudged me to flourish in a new way.

It’s September.  It’s that time of year of new beginnings.  Perhaps, it’s also a good time to sort through our recipe boxes and decide which of our old family recipes we should keep near the front, which can fade to the back, and which can be thrown away altogether. 

There are a lot of delicious new things out there to try.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What recipe am I using?’

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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to create new recipes.