Jim and I have put several thousand kilometres on our odometer these past few weeks.  We’ve attended several Celebrations of Life, both in neighbouring Saskatchewan and British Columbia.  On each of our weekends away, we decided to make a little trip out of it, stopping to see some of the beauty of our country along the way; the golden fields stretching for miles on the prairie, and the spawning salmon and fruit laden orchards in the Okanogan Valley.

We travelled in glorious sunshine, through a windstorm, along roads lined with the reds, oranges and yellows of fall, in pouring rain, and through our first snow storm of the season.

As always, whenever we travel, I observe other drivers.  Some slow and steady, some clearly on their way to perform cardiac surgery, some attentive and others not so much.

I especially notice driving behaviour at intersections, as some drivers pretend not to notice the orange light, sneaking through as it turns red, and some who seem to take forever to move forward, even after the light is clearly green.  Jim’s voice is often in my head with these ones as he sometimes mutters, ‘It’s not getting any greener buddy.’

When Ben and Andy are with me, we often play a little game when we’re waiting at the red light.  Because it can be hard to wait patiently when going to the zoo or to some other wonderful location, I’ll often say, ‘We need some magic!’  That’s the signal for us to say, altogether, “Abracadabra, light turn green!”  Unbeknownst to the boys, I cheat at this game.  I covertly watch the light for the cross traffic, paying attention to the walk signal counting down.  When the signal stops flashing, I know I have just enough time to suggest our game, and for us to perform our magic trick before the light will change. 

Our success rate is high.

This week however, I did not have the boys with me when I came to a stop at a red light.  I was behind one other driver, a woman in an SUV.  When the light turned green, she did not enter the intersection.  It was not that she was glancing left, then right, as I often do, to insure no driver is trying to sneak through the cross light (I can only assume heading somewhere to do cardiac surgery).  Rather she seemed very interested in a device she was holding in her hand, and she didn’t notice the light had changed.

Within a few seconds her peripheral vision must have picked up on movement around her because she dropped her device and drove forward, me following.

It was a non-event really.  It happens many, many times daily in every city and town in this country.  Lights turn green and people don’t notice the signal to move toward their destination.

The same thing happens in other parts of our life.

So often we want to move forward in our daily life.  We wait for a signal to let us know it’s the right time.  Perhaps we want to be noticed for a promotion at work.  Maybe we hope to be invited to join a particular group.  Sometimes we might hope to be tapped on the shoulder to share one of our many talents with others.  We could be waiting patiently for someone else to give us a signal they are interested in our friendship, or perhaps are ready to hear our apology.  We might be hoping for a solo, or even to be invited to prepare our favourite dessert. We might even wish to just be noticed, to feel significant, of importance in someone’s life.  Often, someone else wishes this for us too, but so often we miss the signal.

It would be so much simpler if there were subtle little stoplights all around us, with signs on them, so we’d clearly see when it was safe to move toward our goal.  The truth is, often there are very clear signals being sent to us, but we are so distracted with other little things in life, we don’t notice the subtle invitations. 

We are so busy with the importance of clearing out our inbox, we don’t notice the colleague waiting at our office door, looking as if they have something to say.  We are so busy talking, we don’t realize someone else is waiting for their turn, perhaps to tell us something important.  We are so busy getting things crossed off our to do list, we miss the subtle hint that if we were to show the slightest interest, we could be invited to join a hiking group, a leadership think tank, a travel club, a basketball league, or a musical group.  We miss the smile, inviting us to join the group.  Sometimes we even miss the worried look, wishing we’d take a moment to ask how things are going.

Unfortunately, often the invitation doesn’t last as long as our distraction does, and once we look up hoping to see a sign, the sign is gone, and we believe we should continue to wait.  We continue to hope for some signal that our small dream might be within reach.  We think the signal should look a particular way, when in fact signals come in so many subtle forms.

A lot of life can get missed.

I’ve missed out on some invitations that have come my way.  I have been so wrapped up with my own busyness that I’ve been passed over for an opportunity, mostly because I haven’t seemed interested. The truth was, I was interested, but I missed the signal.  I’ve fussed over having the perfect meal ready rather than stopping for a good conversation and then wondered why everyone else had become more connected and I had become more tired.

Luckily for me, I’ve got plenty of years under my belt, and I’m learning to sit up and take notice of the smallest signals.  When Andy asks if I’d like to build a train track with him, I understand it’s a clear, bright green light for a possible path forward toward a strong relationship with him down the road.  The same thing is true when Ben invites me to build a Lego or attend a school event.  If I were to say no, each time did so, I would be lessening the chance for another invitation.  No one likes to be rejected, and not many people will come back time after time, only to find out I’m still too busy.  I always say yes to these little guys.

When I hear myself say once too often to a friend that it’s been too long since we’ve gotten together, and they agree, the light is less bright, but it’s still green, and I do my best to figure out a way to not let many more days pass until we figure out how to connect.

We can’t say yes to every single signal presented to us, but we certainly can begin to notice lights when they turn green and take the chance to move forward toward opportunity.  The price for not doing so is high.

This week, I invite you to notice a signal being given to you.
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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 begin to notice the light when it turns green.

My friend Barb predicted I’d be writing a blog with this title, so how could I not.  Late in July, I had a phone call from my wonderful friend, Jane.  Jane and I have known each other and have been friends ever since we were introduced on the steps of the ‘Girls’ Entrance’ of Dundas District High School on the first day of grade 10.  My family had recently moved to a farm in the area, I was a brand-new student, and I knew absolutely no one at my new school.  The guidance counsellor, Miss Kelman, found some ‘nice girls’ to introduce me to.  Somehow, the stars aligned and we remain friends to this day.

During my phone call from Jane, she told me she and her husband, Terry, were coming to Alberta for a visit.  We have been incredibly lucky over the years to be able to see one another regularly.  They continue to live in Ontario, and currently live not very many minutes away from Jim’s mom.  At the same time, their son, Greg, lives here in Alberta.  Needless to say, between them coming here to see Greg, and us going there to see our families, we are thrilled to be able to meet in person more often than might be possible otherwise. 

This summer Greg took a job at Mount Norquay ski hill, as a summer guide for their Via Ferrata experience.  Translated, Via Ferrata means ‘Iron Road’.  It’s an assisted mountain climbing experience where participants scale mountains by way of ladders, suspension bridges and handles secured in the face of the mountain.  In my mind it translated not to Iron Road, but to NO WAY!

Jane told me Greg was taking a group of eight friends and family on one of the excursions, the Ridgewalker, as part of his hiring package.  Most of the spots in his excursion were quickly filled with his very fit, youthful friends, but he had saved two spots for his parents.  His Dad, Terry, had, with much trepidation, agreed to go.  Jane, who is afraid of heights, was a definite no.  This left one spot open, allowing Jane to extend the invitation to me.  My answer was easy and swift. 

No.

But thank you.

I thought it looked scary, and dangerous.  It seemed foolish to do.  I am afraid of heights.  I’m not much of a risk taker.  I’m known to be overly cautious.  So, no.  No thank you. 

And that was that.  I put it out of my mind.  Out of my mind that is, until the week before Jane and Terry were to arrive, when came another text telling me one of Greg’s friends had had to back out of the adventure and Greg had again extended the invitation to me.

I’m cautious and a safety girl, but I also remembered hearing that sometimes opportunity knocks twice, and when it does, I should at least listen.  So, I asked a very shocked Jane to give me 48 hours to think about it. 

Those were life changing hours.  I didn’t talk to anyone about my pending decision.  Not one person.  I did do some real soul searching.  Yes, I’ve been cautious.  Yes, my set point had become a quick no.  Yes, most people would never even have asked me, knowing I’d say no.  But Greg had asked, and not only had he asked, he had texted his mom saying ‘She will crush it’.

Crush it?!?

No one has ever, ever said this about me.  It made me think, and made me question why I was saying no.

After my requested 48hour thinking period, I called Jane and asked her if the spot was still open.  Yes, it was.  I asked her to tell Greg I was in.  Jane couldn’t believe it.  ‘I thought you were afraid of heights too?’

‘I am’, I replied, ‘But I’ve still decided to go.  I am determined to face this fear.’

For the next week or so, I spent many, many waking moments, truthfully many hours in the night too, telling myself I could do this.  Other than telling my sister Mary, and Jim, who was shocked but very supportive, I told not a single soul.  I did not want to do it or not do it because of the comments of others.  I neither wanted to hear, ‘You’ve got this’, nor ‘You’re crazy’.  There was something deep inside me prodding me to do it for me.

On August 3rd, Jim and I drove into the mountains to join the others.  Another surprise awaited me.  One more spot had opened just that morning, and Jane, feeling terrified, but knowing if I could do it, so could she, said yes.  I was terrified as I put on my harness and helmet.  I was terrified riding up the chairlift to get to the base of our climb.  I was terrified doing my test climb on the practice wall. And I could have cried when I said goodbye to Jim.  Throughout all this time I said not one word.

However, I had determined to do this.  I had determined to do it without fuss.  I had known I’d be afraid, and I had determined to look that fear in the eye.  Not to overcome it, but to face it.  I had determined to put forth my best effort, which I soon realized was going to be needed. 

Greg was an amazing leader.  He watched as I approached each section in the way he instructed and often as I’d complete each one, he’d matter of factly say, ‘Good job.’ 

That’s it. 

​It was exactly what I needed.  I needed someone to acknowledge what I was doing.  I did not need someone to be shocked I could do it, or cajole me into it, or ask gently how I was doing. I did not need condescension or cheering.  I needed someone who assumed I could do it and acknowledge I had done it.  He did that for me.

I did not look down once during our four-hour climb.  Not once.  I listened very carefully to the instructions and tried to do what I’d been told.  I talked to myself, sometimes out loud.  I reminded myself to place my hand here, my foot there, or to unclip and reclip.  I reminded myself to smile.  I even laughed when just as we were beginning one of the more challenging sections, one of the younger climbers behind me sang out, ‘Let’s Go Girls’, one of our dance groups very favourite songs to perform. Even though none of the dancers knew what I was doing, it felt like I had a whole pocketful of support. 

I don’t think I’m unique.  I think many, many women are like me.  We’ve spent our lives putting others first.  We’ve encouraged our partners and children to ‘Go have fun!’  We’ve said we’d have dinner ready when they came back.  Or we sat in the stands and cheered for them.  I did all this, and I don’t have any regrets about it.  As women we’ve also been gently and not so gently told what we will like, and not like, what we might be good at and what we should likely leave to others.  I sometimes think we were also taught how to be cautious, how not to rock any boats, or challenge any societal expectations.  It became an easy habit to say a quick no, without really thinking about whether I might rather say yes.

August 3, 2024 changed me. 

I became a bit more of myself.  I revealed a piece of myself to me that I’ve not had the courage to do before this summer.  Part of this began to show up when I was in Spain with our son, also named Greg, in June.  Perhaps that laid the groundwork for the climbing experience.   I think I revealed something to myself that others may have seen, but I had not.  I can’t go back now.  I don’t think I ever need to complete a Via Ferrata again.  But I do think I’ll pause before I say no from now on.  And I’ll pause before I say yes too.  I now know that just because I, and others, have gotten used to seeing me in a certain way, does not mean this is all there is to see.  I want my children and grandchildren to live life fully, to say yes to the things that bring them joy, and to be brave enough to become themselves.  I want them to see me do this too.

I want this for each of us.  We get exactly one try at this thing we call life.  Maybe we already have it perfectly right and we just want more of what we already have.  On the other hand, maybe it’s time to shake it up a bit.  Either way, life is very, very precious.  Let’s make the most of it.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I revealing about myself?’
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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 begin to say yes to the things that make you more of you. 
 

I hadn’t planned to take such a long summer hiatus, yet somehow the summer came and went, then we were into Fall, and now here I am again.  My challenge is that when I let go of one thing in my life, something else happily fills the space created.  Sometimes it feels overwhelming, but mostly I am very grateful to have so many ways to find joy each day.

This summer, as Ben and I were driving along one day, he excitedly called out a very familiar phrase to me, “Gramma!!  Look!!!!  Fast!!! Out your window!”  This little series of exclamations is most often followed by me trying to stay in my lane while I look all over the highway for what exciting vehicle has caught his eye.

Ben LOVES vehicles.  I’ve learned the names and makes of more vehicles in the past few years than I ever even knew were in existence.  He can accurately name almost any vehicle, and most often knows interesting facts about them.  Alas, he thinks I have the same retaining power as he does, and I am frequently quizzed about things he has shared with me.  I do know that the most popular police vehicle has been the Crown Victoria. However, I failed miserably on his quiz, consisting of me identifying vehicles, in the dark, by only looking at their bumpers.  He was the quizzer, and I was the game-player and when I’d make a poor guess he’d exclaim, ‘Incorrect!’ and proceed to help me further my stockpile of car information. 
Ben loves cars so much he cannot wait for us to make good on our promise to take him to a junkyard so he can see all the kinds of cars there.

On that day in the car, driving with him, I wasn’t completely sure what he was hoping I’d see when I was to look out my window, fast!  When I asked him, he said, ‘Did you see it?!  It was a decommissioned taxi!!’  Once I got my head around the fact he knew what decommissioned was, I said that I hadn’t noticed that it had been a taxi.  He said, ‘You have to look closely.  They’ve taken off the signs and painted over it, but if you look very closely at it, you can still see the faint outline of the words’ 

He continued, ‘It’s like a fingerprint, Gramma.  It is special for that car and it will always be a part of it. It can’t fully be taken away.’

I might have failed at the identifying portion of our trip, but I was certainly struck by the wisdom of one little car crazy boy.  I’ve had his little voice and those word rattling around inside my head for over a month now. 
Jim and I notice fingerprints in all sorts of places in our home these days.  My office doubles as a jail for our game of Good Guy, Bad Guy, and with its glass doors, not many weeks go by without little fingers finding their way to it.  It’s the same with other places in our home.  It’s not easy for two little grandjoys to visit a home without leaving their mark.  There was a time I’d have wiped these up quickly.  I might have even become frustrated with them. 

Not anymore.

I now treasure these little fingerprints.  I’ve also started to recognize and appreciate all the other ‘fingerprints’ people have left in my life, the fingerprints that can’t ever be taken away.  I have the fingerprints of my siblings, the people who have known me forever.  I have fingerprints from my cousins, who imprinted on me some of my most treasured memories.  I have fingerprints of cherished friends, some who knew me when, and some who have more recently become a priceless part of my life.  I have fingerprints from adventures I’ve experienced, and from unspectacular daily interactions.  I have fingerprints from conversations and comments made in passing.  I also have my share of smudgy fingerprints, the ones that aren’t so pretty, that I could have done without.  But they too contain some wisdom and I’m trying to be thankful for even those ones.

This weekend is Thanksgiving.  It’s one of my favourite holidays of the year.  I love being with our family and taking time to think about all I have to be thankful for.  As we get together this weekend, I have a feeling there will be fingerprints left everywhere.  Perhaps not so much on the windows at Greg and Cara’s where we’ll celebrate together, but in so many other places. 

Cara and Greg will leave their fingerprints of love on the delicious food we are already looking forward to.  Fingerprints will be left in the conversations we will have with one another as we catch up with some of the details of our lives.  In our family we have a wonderful habit of supporting one another in our activities, in our professional lives, in our dreams and in our challenges.  We will leave fingerprints on each other as we do this. We will leave fingerprints with our laughter.  We will leave fingerprints on the Ben and Andy as we finish our meal with a rousing game of Thanksgiving Bingo, complete with the silly little trinkets Jim finds to use a prizes (although it will be hard to outdo the glow in the dark vampire teeth found last year). 

We all leave fingerprints wherever we go.  This weekend, may we notice them, may we make choices about which kind we will leave, and may we not be too quick to wipe away the ones others are trying to leave on us.

Happy Thanksgiving.
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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 to love fingerprints.