We had a wonderful morning of firewood chopping with our family on the weekend.  The day was crisp and clear.  We’re lucky to live in a place where we can get out into the Foothills and do this as a family.  Greg and Cara have a wood burning fireplace, so the bulk of the days haul went to their home.  Kaitlyn and Matt love to use their firepit and they went home with some fresh logs to burn too.   We think we’ll go out one more time so Jim and I will have a nice little stash before next years camping season.  Except for Cara we were all able to go together this year. 

Cara spent her day working.  This was her second last day of work at this job.  She’s really enjoyed working there over the past few years, but as she pondered where she wants to be in five years, this job wasn’t paving the way.  She and Greg have long made decisions this way; is what I’m doing today, getting me closer to where I want to be in five years?

The five-year part is arbitrary of course.  But it’s not a bad chunk of time to consider.  We can do a lot in five years.  On the other hand, five years fly by in the blink of an eye, and if we don’t lift our heads up every once in a while, to see if we are on a favourable path, the time passes us by anyway.  When we finally do look up, we find many things have changed around us, but we haven’t ended up where we imagined.

I’m probably not the expert on five-year career decisions.  I stayed in my first, much loved, teaching job for thirty-three years.  At the same school.  I did lift my head and ponder whether I was where I wanted to be.  I had opportunities to change; to change schools, to change positions, to change grades and subjects.  For me this was such an easy choice, even though I did give it serious thought.  I was exactly where I wanted to be and more than that, I could see that in five years, I would still love where I was.  I had freedom to make changes in my own practice, and I was always reinventing and trying to keep things interesting.  I was at an incredible school, with incredible colleagues and incredible students.  Even in the midst of it, I recognized how lucky I was.

So, while some people are wise to make career moves to position them for their next step, some of us do not have to wrestle so hard with this part of life.  However, every single one of us have other parts of life to consider.  Who do we want to be in five years?  Which people do we want stronger relationships with?  How will we increase our joy?  What hobbies or interests are we pursuing, even in the smallest way, to keep us feeling connected to our passions?  Which of our strengths will we amplify, and which weaknesses diminish?

Most of us, caught up in the full days of life, don’t even think of thinking about such things.  And yet, one five-years becomes the next.  Before long, they string together to make a life. 

The premier of British Columbia, John Horgan, underwent biopsy surgery on Friday for a growth in his throat. At the writing of this blog, I am not aware of the result of the testing of the tumour.  I first heard this news story, while driving home from a doctor’s appointment.  For some reason it really hit me in the heart.  I know it was because it was exactly one year ago, I too had a biopsy followed by a significant surgery to remove the tumour in my neck.  My tumour was of the non-cancerous variety.  And other than some pesky lingering side effects, I’m able to live the life I want.  If the result had been different, I know I’d have been praying for five more years.  I’m wishing the absolute best for Premier Horgan.

None of us has a guarantee about almost anything in this life.  Most of us, with a bit of good fortune, will still be around in five years.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we woke up in 2026 and found we were the absolute best version of ourselves?  The absolute best chance we have for this happening is to take a few minutes to really figure out exactly what that best version looks like.  What does she sound like?  What does she love?  Who is at her table?  What brings her joy?  How do others feel in her presence?  How engaged is she?

Weighty questions are these to be sure. 

I understand that tonight there will be Northern Lights dancing above almost every part of this province I love.  I think I’ll stay up a bit late and take a drive to see them.   Sometimes when we stand in such majesty, we receive insights.  The beautiful aurora borealis might just give me the perspective I need to remember I can become whoever I dream to be.  There is so much more inside each of us than we often dare to reveal.  Perhaps the next five years is our time to dance and shine.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘How is this preparing me to dance and shine in five years?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to grow yourself or your organization into it’s best self in the next five years.
 
 
 

Last weekend I was immersed in a three-day coach training course.  I’ve wanted to take this course for years and suddenly, a week ago, the stars aligned.  With the click of a mouse and the tap of a credit card (ok, maybe more than a tap), I was enrolled.

In the couple of days preceding its start I worried the days might feel very long.  We were online, using Zoom and Jam Board, and one requirement was that we were to be on camera at all times.  I needn’t have worried.  The content was so engaging and the facilitators so skillful the days flew by.

There were about twenty-four of us in the class, from almost every corner of the world: Abu Dhabi, Hong Kong, China, Germany, Kuwait, Sweden, USA, Japan, India, Canada, the and UK, among others.

As part of our training, we were often placed into pairs or triads in order to practice a new coaching skill we were learning.  During several of these practice-coaching sessions, I found myself in a group with Audrey.  Audrey, originally from Hong Kong, currently works in New York City.

During one of our role plays, Audrey spoke about Chinese art and its use of space.  She explained that often Western art encourages the practice of filling the full canvas with people, things, places, and colour.  Contrasting that, Chinese art is known for its use of ‘white space’.  The objects, people and scenes only cover a portion of the canvas; the rest is left blank.
This allows the painting to breathe and enables the audience to use their imagination to interpret the scene.  Audrey explained if the mind can reach there, there is no reason for the brush.  Space is left for the audience to fill in the rest of the picture.

I had to work hard to stay engaged and focus on our role play as my mind absorbed what Audrey had revealed and as I began to connect this idea of space with other areas of my life.  I’ve been wondering where I leave space and what might be possible if I leave more space in my world. 

For the next month or so, I have very little space in my calendar.  I have two large, exciting projects demanding my focus and time.   Yet I’ll do myself no favours, if in that time, I completely cover my canvas and forget to leave space for creativity, for thoughtfulness, and for restorative rest.  I may not have control over the time-commitments on my calendar, but whether through good luck or good management, some of my filled timeslots have space-creating activities built into them.

My Tuesday hikes, give me space of the most literal kind. In the mountains and foothills, I have space to breathe.  And think.  And appreciate.  And be with others.  And experience nature and her wisdom.  And remember how lucky I am.  When I look up at the clear blue sky as I travel the forest trails, I notice a completely blank canvas.  I understand the power I have to fill it in any way I wish.

My Wednesdays with Ben, and soon with Andy too, give me a different kind of space.  This time gives me space to fill my heart to overflowing.  In this space I allow myself to let go of my ‘important’ work and commitments and to find joy in each moment.  I find space to be present, to laugh, and to feel joy.  When we spend this day each week with Benjamin, I purposely leave some unstructured time in the day; space for him to have his own idea of what to do.  Or perhaps space to just linger with a captivating activity.

My twice weekly dance classes give me space to move.  Even more than that, they give space to be with friends, to feel the music and its affect on my body, and to move my own body while being completely in synch with others.  It is in these classes I can forget about age and age-appropriateness, and be willing to make my own rules, or make no rules at all around what it means to age. Our incredibly gifted and skillful instructor, Reba J, has created a space for us where she holds a belief about each of us that is far more generous and confidence-building than any other I have experienced.  In this space I continue to grow.  Better than that, I blossom.

When I was growing up, we didn’t have a dishwasher.  Doing the dishes gave us a space in between our meal with our big family and whatever activity we were going to do after dinner.  I now see that space was filled with gifts.  My sisters and I talked together.  Sometimes we sang.  There was space for us to just be.  To be sisters.

This week, thanks to Audrey, I’m going to practice noticing and appreciating space.  I’m going to accept space in conversations and remember its important role of giving room for thought and for considered responses.  I’m going to find tiny moments when I can stand on the blank parts of the canvas of my life and resist filling in every single space, in service of creating something not yet imagined; something with the potential to be wonderful.  I’ll let the end of the brush stroke be the beginning of my wonder.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What space am I creating?’
​
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create the space needed to grow into your yet unimagined life.
 
 

Last week I was driving down Macleod Trail, one of the main north/south routes through Calgary, when I heard the familiar sound of an ambulance approaching from behind.  The road was not terribly busy, and I was easily able to find my way to the right hand side of the road where I waited the few seconds it took to pass.  As it did, I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes.  Every time I hear the siren of an ambulance when I’ve driving,  I have this same reaction.  It’s been happening for almost ten years.

Just over nine years ago, toward the end of August, Jim had a heart attack.  I wasn’t home that evening.  This was very rare for me, but several girlfriends and I were acknowledging the end of summer with a dinner out.  Trying to be present, and in the moment, I turned off the sound to my phone.  When it was time for us to head home, I took out my phone to send my standard ‘On my way’ text to Jim, when I saw I had 18 missed text messages.  At that time in my life, if I had one or two texts per day, I felt popular, so seeing 18 texts instantly gave me the feeling something was wrong.

As I quickly scrolled through them, I got the gist of the messages quickly.  Something was happening with Jim’s heart, he had called an ambulance, the responders had arrived, and due to the miracle of modern technology were linked directly with a cardiologist at the Foothills hospital who were giving instructions on the exact drugs to be delivered.  When I read Jim’s text, ‘This is not a heart attack’, I knew immediately that, in fact, it was. 

I was able to talk on the phone to Jim as he was put in the ambulance.  Once I knew where they were headed with him, I told him I would meet him at the hospital.  Jim was at home on the acreage, about a 40-minute drive from the hospital, and I was about 20 minutes away from both home in one direction and the hospital in the other.  When I arrived at the hospital, I stood outside on the sidewalk near where the ambulances would arrive.  My friends Coralie and Gina stood with me.  I wasn’t there long when I heard the wail of a siren.  Instinctively, I knew it was Jim who was the patient inside.  The lights were flashing, the siren was on, and the vehicle was moving very quickly.

I went inside and was told he had just arrived and would be taken directly upstairs.  It would be several more hours before I got any word of Jim’s condition.  At about two in the morning, as I waited by myself in a small room on the Cardiac ICU floor, Jim was wheeled past.   The kind health practitioners transporting him stopped so I could see him, and they filled me in on his condition.  I learned he had indeed had a heart attack and needed quadruple bypass surgery as soon as possible. 

If you’re a regular reader, you know by now Jim’s eventual outcome has been excellent.  For that reason, I’ll skip all the details of the next weeks.  However, one thing Jim told me was that once he was in the ambulance, the attending paramedic told the other who was driving, ‘Once we get off this side road and on to the secondary road, Light ‘Er Up.’

Light ‘Er Up they must have done for they reached the hospital in roughly the same number of minutes it took me.

Ever since then, when I’m in traffic and see or hear an ambulance in which the driver is following the ‘Light ‘er Up’ command, I think back to the night Jim was the patient.  I know that as his ambulance sped on its way to the hospital, other drivers must have pulled over to the side of the road to let him pass by.  All those drivers were helping the paramedics achieve their goal. 

In our society, we have been trained this way.  We know we can best help by moving to the side of the road and leaving a clear path for an emergency vehicle to attend to its duties.  In those moments it’s as if we are part of the achievement of the goal. We want the paramedics to achieve success.  We want them to reach their goal.

A couple of weeks ago, Kaitlyn and Matt decided to redecorate little Benjamin’s room.  As Ben says, he’s ‘really into cars’, so they chose a car theme.  Kaitlyn had the idea of collecting licence plates from every province and territory across Canada.   She reached out through social media, and within a couple of days she and the boys were driving around the city picking up licence plates people had offered her.  In the mail others began to arrive, coming from friends and relatives, and friends of friends and relatives, across the country.  Two days later she was featured in an interview on CBC radio. In less than a week, the room was completely redone, complete with the licence plate collection, a refurbished race car bed, and a wheel mirror.  All that’s left is to find is a coveted plate from Nunavut. 

People generally want to see others achieve their goals.  We love to see people succeed.  And yet often, we set goals and keep them to ourselves.  I’ve often wondered what goals might actually be able to be achieved if we were willing to ‘Light ‘er Up’.   What could happen if we were brave enough to tell others our goal, and then watch in wonder as they helped clear paths for us?

If an ambulance could ‘Light ‘er Up’ and stop entire roads of traffic to get Jim safely to help, and if Kaitlyn could ‘Light ‘er Up’ to create the perfect room for Ben, then perhaps the rest of us too can use this magic phrase for our goals.  We need to be careful though.  ‘Light er Up’ tells others we mean business; it means we are coming through.  When we say it, we should be ready to watch with wonder as others spring into action to help us. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What goal is calling me to ‘Light ‘er Up’?
​
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 set goals worthy of ‘Lighting ‘er Up’.

Last week, I was talking with a client about how fast time flies.  This client is much younger than I.  They were thinking about how as the years pass, there seems to be a sense of urgency to do things; things that might not be available to do later.  I completely relate to this, and at the same time I’m learning to grab the moment I’m in, and to relish it.  Carpe Diem, as they say.

When we were hiking last week, the weather was less than ideal.  It would have been an easy day to convince ourselves to stay home.  After all, there was snow forecast for higher elevations and it was to higher elevations we were going!  Luckily for me, I have the perfect structure in place to make sure little things like cold and snow don’t make it easy for me to stay home.  I know others are counting on me to be there.  So, if I say no, I’m not only saying no to cold and snow, I’m saying no to friends.  The stakes are higher here.

As we hiked up toward the top of the mountain, the snow began to fall.  It was absolutely beautiful.  We were wearing layers and had extra layers in our packs, so we stopped to put on a waterproof outer layer.  Feeling more comfortable, we continued upward.  The lack of traffic on the trail was a surprise to us.  This is a very popular trail, especially in the Fall when the larch trees are in full colour.  But on this day the only other hikers we saw were a younger couple who passed us in the first half of the climb.  When we got to a place where the path forked, there was a sign with a picture of a hiker on it pointing us in the right direction.  On top of the sign, the couple in front of us had built a miniature snowman, complete with sticks for arms and a little face.  It was so unexpected and so charming.  Even though we had just stopped moments earlier to take pictures, and even though my camera was tucked away out of the precipitation, I still knew we needed to stop and capture the moment.

Except for the fact I had the image of the little snowman in my mind as we wandered, I didn’t think much more of it.  We climbed to the top, where it was very windy and took refuge beside a nice grove of trees as we rested and ate lunch.  On the way down we met several other hardy hikers heading up; we patted ourselves on our backs for our early start, commenting to each other on how much windier it might be for them at the top. The elevation lessened as we travelled down the same path we had taken up, and soon the temperature rose by a few degrees.  When we got to the sign with the hiker on it, we were dismayed to see that our little snowman friend had met his demise – he had melted just enough to fall off his little perch atop the sign.  It was such a little thing, a nothing really, and yet it was the perfect reminder for me to seize the moment.

We could easily not have stopped to take the picture on the way up.  We could have said we would stop on the way down.  There will be time later, we might have reasoned.  And we would have been wrong.  We would have missed the moment.

I’ve had Mr. Snowman in my head this week.  It’s not that I’m particularly fond of snow or snowmen.  It’s not that I can’t build myself another one.  In fact, there will be dozens I can build this winter if I like.  But none of them will capture the magical feeling of that hiking day: the first snowfall of the season, the beautiful light on the mountains, the crisp air, the easy conversation, the absolute silence, and the unexpected little snowman.

Jim and I took Ben camping in those same mountains for a few days this past week.   Ben LOVES camping.  He loves tramping in the woods, he loves helping set up, he loves his little camping cereals, and playing Go Fish.  I always try to be fully present with Ben and on this trip, thinking of the little snowman, I was even more so.  This was our last camping trip of the season.  Of course, we hope to have many more trips in other years.  But none will be with this precious little three-year-old boy, who calls out at 6:30 in the morning to see if it’s time for him to come and snuggle in with us.  In the blink of an eye, he’ll lose interest in helping place the wheel chocks as we set up and Go Fish won’t hold his attention.  There will be new moments to treasure, but I’d be fooling myself to believe I can squander these moments, and then expect them to be waiting for me later. 

When I think about the rushing of time, about how days and weeks and years fly by, and the urgency of it all, I’m no longer worried I’ll miss out on big opportunities.  I know there are still plenty of opportunities coming my way and I’m planning to seize the ones that call my name.  But more than being concerned with seizing opportunities, or jobs, or invitations, I’m concentrating on seizing the little moments.  Of being fully present.  Of running the mile I’m in.  Of recognizing it only takes a few degrees and a few hours for a magical moment with a snowman to disappear.
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My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I seize this moment?’

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 seize moments.
 
 
 
 
 

Last Sunday, in Sudbury, Ontario, thirty-nine miners were trapped underground.  The workers were stuck in Trotten Mine in the Worthington area of Sudbury when a scoop bucket being sent underground detached and blocked the mine shaft.  This accident damaged the elevator, known as a cage, that normally carries the miners in and out of the mine.
The workers were stuck at levels between 914m and 1219m underground.

When we first heard the news story about this on Monday, none of the miners had been rescued but all of them were safely in a room, an underground refuge station, created for such an emergency.  As I followed the story for the next two days, until Wednesday when the last miner safely surfaced, I couldn’t help but think of what must have gone through the miners’ minds as they sat together in the refuge station waiting for rescue.

In my imagination, they first assessed the possibilities for their rescue.  Since they were never cut off from the surface by phone, I assumed they received encouraging news telling them there was a viable rescue plan in place.  I also assumed they had been trained for such an emergency.  And yet, I could imagine them, imagining all the possibilities.  When you are over a kilometer beneath the surface of the earth and your regular route out is blocked, I’m guessing all the assurance in the world does not quiet the mind.

I watched a video interview with Henry Bertrand, one of the trapped miners.  He described how, when the accident occurred, there was an ‘All Stations’ alarm.  The workers made their way to the refuge station where they waited to hear from control.  Henry said it had lights and communication.  He also said that during the three days the miners were below surface, food was brought down to the trapped miners by rescue workers from Ontario Mine Rescue and from Vale Mine Rescue.  Some of the men needed medication, and that too, was brought down.

In the first hours, Henry said they passed the time with light conversation, trying to keep morale high.  He said later they got to know each other much better.  He did not elaborate on the exact details of the conversation, but as an observer of people, it was easy to see he had been impacted by those conversations and by the time underground.  I can’t help but think that as the hours and days passed, their thoughts might have turned to, “When I get out of here….”.  Or perhaps, “I wish I had….”  Or perhaps, “If I get another chance…”

Most of us will never work in a mine.  Nor will we even be inside one.  None of us would choose being trapped underground, not even in a refuge station.  Yet all of us can relate to what these men must have been going through.  Perhaps not to the details, but certainly to the idea of being on our own, thinking about our lives.  I’ve been picturing that refuge station.  It was a safe place to wait.  It was not an assurance of a safe return to normal life.  But as it was so aptly named, it gave refuge. 

Every single one of us needs places of refuge; places we can go to ponder our situation, perhaps to talk it over with trusted others.  Places where we can consider who we want to be when we return to our normal lives.  Young mothers often jokingly say the bathroom is such a place.  It’s the one place they can hear themselves think and remind themselves of the mother they wish to be.  Some people find refuge on a walk or run or bike ride.  Some find it in their church community.  Some in quiet meditation.  Some in the company of a good friend, or in a warm embrace.  Some find it while cooking or knitting or working creatively in other ways.  Some find it in groups and some alone.

I find refuge in nature.  It’s there I release the demands of daily living. I release the tumbling thoughts of what I could or should be doing. I give myself permission to appreciate my life and to ponder the person I strive to be.  I’m lucky.  I have good friends to ponder with.  We don’t always have good solutions, but we provide the space for thoughts to be voiced.  Sometimes that’s enough. 

The miners did not just get lucky and happen to have a refuge station at their disposal on Sunday when they became trapped.  Their place of refuge was carefully planned and named.  I also don’t believe any one of the thirty-nine of them signed up for the job just to have the possibility of pondering life waiting for rescue in a refuge station.  But I suspect now they are all safely above ground, each of them will be grateful for the thoughts they were able to have.

Neither do the rest of us want to have the need for refuge.  Nor do we have refuge stations placed randomly in our lives.  Occasionally we do find ourselves in an unplanned place of refuge, and we recognize the feeling there, but most often, we need to think about what provides us the best refuge and plan some time for it into our lives. 

Just like the miners, once we are back in our ‘real’ lives, we may not be able to implement all our thoughts pondered in our place of refuge.  But if we regularly give ourselves short periods of refuge, our thoughts soon become our habits, and we grow closer to who we long to become.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where is my refuge?’
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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. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn to create refuge.