I was in Ontario last week facilitating the staff at a large women’s shelter and sexual assault centre.  We are working together to design the direction the organization will take in the next three to five years.  This organization has gone through some major organizational changes in the past three years, merging two distinct organizations, with very different foci, into one.  The work of each of the original organizations is critical.  In the vast majority of cases of the women they work with, they provide life changing refuge. 

No mergers are seamless; this one is no exception.  As each group struggles to maintain their identity and to do their important work, they’ve found themselves feeling like bystanders, standing on the sidelines, waiting to fully participate in  whatever the new ‘normal’ is.

Bystanders are people just off to the edge of the action.  They are present at events or incidents but do not take part.  Sometimes they are bystanders by choice.  Sometimes by necessity of the system.  Sometimes out of fear.  Often, it doesn’t take much to turn a bystander into one who feels empowered to take part.  In recent years, bystander, has come to be used to describe a person on the edge of a very specific event; a bullying or violent event.  However, a bystander refers to anyone present at any event who does not take part.

When I landed at Pearson International Airport in Toronto on Sunday, it was, like most days at Pearson, bustling.  Like most days there, and at all airports around the country, there were plenty of bystanders.  There were those just standing and sitting on the edges watching the people, and there were those with the official titles; those on stand-by.  The bystanders.  These people are, in the most literal way, standing on the edge, but not yet taking part.

People who fly stand-by, the bystanders, most often do so for one of two reasons.  Either they, having been unable to commit to a particular flight earlier, need to fly at the last minute, or they want to fly at a cheaper price.  Either way, they find themselves standing at the side of the action, not taking part.  Once they are assigned a seat on a given flight, they cease to be bystanders.  They are no longer not taking part.

When we behave like bystanders outside of an airport setting, I think we may have the same two considerations.  Either we haven’t, or haven’t been able, to plan ahead to figure out where we can jump into the action, or we think the cost of jumping in might be too high.

As I observed bystanders both in the merged women’s organization I worked with, and at the airport, I began to think of the other places I have noticed bystanders.  And I recognized that I too, have played the part of bystander many times in my life.   

This weekend we will turn our calendars over to December.  December.  It hardly seems possible.  At our house this signals the ‘legalization’ of all things Christmas.  Our outside lights will be turned on, gifts will be purchased, plans will be made to see friends, Christmas music will accompany me in my car, and smells of baking will fill the house. 

This year, as a new Christmas focus, I’m going to commit to a season where I do less standing by, and more jumping in.  And no, I’m not anticipating a sudden outbreak of violence.  Instead, I’m going to be on the lookout for places where I can get involved.  When it might be just as easy to stand off to the side and not make an effort, I’m going to be a participant.  I’m going to find places to offer kindness.  I’m going to initiate simple conversations with all sorts of people, rather than sit quietly on the sidelines.  I’m guessing store cashiers and clerks could use a kind word during this busy season.  I may find myself smiling at the people manning the Salvation Army donation sites.  Perhaps I’ll throw in a loonie or two.  I’m going to say yes to knitting scarves for the homeless.  I’m going to dance at seniors’ centres.  I’m going to join in singing.  I’m going to fit in a walk with a friend.  I’m going to stay longer visiting at the dinner table and hope the dishes wait for me 😊

I’m going to assume that the present is the present.

While many bystanders worry that the cost will be too high if they jump in, I’m going to assume I simply can’t afford to stand by.  My little effort may make all the difference to someone’s season.  I’m guessing it will make all difference to mine too.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Bystander or participant?’
​
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 participate fully.

In a lot of ways, this has been exactly the kind of week I love/hate.  I think I love it.  It’s the kind of week where I’ve had a very busy calendar, but more noteworthy, the things I’ve had on the calendar have spanned from meeting with some women friends to quilt, to writing a Strategic Plan document.  In between there have been client appointments, my yearly physical exam, written proposals, workshop planning, yoga, book club and a day with little Ben.   There haven’t been many free minutes!  I also stopped in at Greg and Cara’s under-renovation house to catch up on their progress.

When most people hear they purchased a house and are doing some renovations, their minds go to paint and perhaps some new flooring.  This would not be the case for this house.  Most of the main floor has been taken right down to the studs, one upper room has been removed to allow the full height of the twenty-foot ceiling to be showcased and the kitchen and dining rooms have switched positions.  This is not a renovation for the feint of heart!

To add to the challenge, a massive beam needed to be inserted to support the ceiling, once one of the demolished walls was removed.  Clearly, this is not a renovation that is dreamt up on a Monday, and finished by Saturday.  They have a fantastic project manager working with them, and of course, they have a blueprint.

A blueprint is a very specific, technical architectural or construction drawing.  In the case of houses and other buildings, once a blueprint design is approved, it must be followed.   Each of the tradespeople involved in the project must use the blueprint as their instructions.  If someone wants to make a change, the blueprint must be changed and approved.  There isn’t room given for personal preference.  The blueprint is the rule book.  It is assumed that following the blueprint will lead to the safe, successful completion of the project.

I just LOVE a blueprint.  Now, truth be told, I’ve never really built a house.  And in full disclosure, I’ve don’t really know how to read a blue print.  But there is something about the certainty of it, the idea that there is a defined right way, that sets my mind at ease.  Yet, although this feels so right to me, I recognize that this is also a weak spot for me.  Clearly I have a high value around security, or control, or responsibility, or correctness or whatever it is called, and obviously it serves me well in many places, but I also understand this comforting feeling I have when things are in order is not a good blueprint for every part of my life.

Clearly there are places where blueprints are not the answer.  For all those other places, this week I have discovered Moo Prints. 

On Wednesday morning I was invited to join a small quilting group.  The idea was that four women would get together; each bringing their own project and spend as many hours as they wanted on their own quilting venture.  When Brenda first called to invite me, I immediately said yes.  I knew that although I didn’t have a project on the go, I had seen a quilt a couple of years ago that I wanted an excuse to try.  It is a fairly large project.  Of a cow.  A beautiful, colourful cow, made of strips of material.  What I didn’t realize was that my beautiful cow did not come with a beautiful blueprint.

Instead she came with some steps to follow that seemed rather loose to me.  For instance, step three talks about cutting the black fabric into strips.  Then cutting the strips into a variety of lengths and widths.  Pardon me?!  In every quilt I’m made in the past, the cutting forms the most precise and perhaps the most important part of the project.  It is what sets up the design to fit together.  I read the instructions myself twice.  Then I looked at the picture.  Then at the instructions.  Then I asked Jim see if he could see what I had clearly missed.  Then I took the pattern to Brenda’s to have the ‘girls’ help me out.  Sure enough, I was to cut it into a variety of lengths and widths, of no specified dimensions!

As the morning wore on, I gained my confidence and having cut the fabric, I started to lay it out onto the traced pattern.  The more I placed the black fabric, the outline, on the pattern, the more I realized that the less precise I was, the better it looked.  This cow is not meant to look like a perfect ‘log cabin’.  She is meant to look like a cow. 

It dawns on me that while I love blueprints for many parts of my life, some of my most treasured memories and some of my most proud accomplishments have come from times when I’ve only had a mooprint, not a blueprint.

I had no blueprint when raising my family.

I had no blueprint for dealing with each individual student in my care when I was teaching.

I had no blueprint for establishing my coaching practice.

This weekend there will be no blueprint for how to be when we attend the funeral of the husband of our dear friend.

There is no blueprint for how I love little Benjamin.

In each of these, the only blueprint I’ve had was in knowing how I want to show up; who I want to be.

For all the rest, for the details of how things will turn out, I’ll trust myself to cut and arrange irregular shapes with perfect and not so perfect placement, and stand back to enjoy the beauty.

My inquiry for you this week is. ‘Do I need a blueprint or a mooprint?’
​
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 create mooprints.

I’ve been thinking about a little encounter I had last week when I was in Ontario.  It was a non-event, really.  But is has been rattling around in my mind.

Part of the trip was business and the other part was pleasure – all pleasure.  Being able to be present for Greg to defend his PhD was a highlight of my life.  Greg’s defense was on Friday.  On Saturday, I had been invited to Cara’s family’s home, situated about forty-five minutes outside of London to join in a celebration for Greg.   While I’d been to ‘the farm’ several times previously, I had always driven there with Jim, or with Greg and Cara.  Being a typical passenger, I had mostly simply enjoyed the beauty of the southwestern Ontario countryside and hadn’t paid much attention to road names or signs.  I knew the general direction, but on every other trip I’d made to the farm, we had left from Greg and Cara’s place.  This time I would be leaving from London.

Before heading off, I make a stop at a beautiful greenhouse and gift shop, situated right at the edge of the city.  I had been there before and loved it.  This time I was hoping to find a little something I could take for Sharon and Dan, Cara’s parents, to thank them for hosting me and for hosting our celebratory dinner.

My trustworthy GPS led me to the greenhouse and I found what I was looking for.  As I was paying, I thought it might be a good idea to ask the girls at the cash register, what might be the quickest way for me to get to Highway 402.    I figured the girls might know a better route than the one the GPS was showing.  I was also thinking that there was a little town, Komoka, that I had been through many times before and since it was on the way to the highway, once I got there, I’d have my bearings.  So, as they were looking on their computer for the highway, I suggested they just tell me how to get to Komoka and I could find my way from there.

Komoka?

They each looked at me with a blank expression.  I was a bit confused.  I was pretty sure I had the name of the town correct.  And I was also pretty sure it wasn’t much more than about a five-kilometre drive from where we were.  (Full disclosure:  It turns out the distance is closer to 9km than 5km)

I’ve never heard of it, was the honest reply of one.  The others agreed.  Between us, we found Komoka on their map and they were able to steer me out the door with ‘good enough’ simple instructions to Komoka, which hopefully would lead me to the highway and then to the farm.

This entire interaction was short, really pleasant, and ultimately helpful.  I arrived at the farm in one piece and relatively unflustered!

Over the past week, I’ve been thinking about that interaction.  Komoka was so nearby to the greenhouse and yet the three people I spoke to there had never heard of it. 

I was raised on a farm so my circle of community was larger than it might have been had I been raised in an inner city.  Even so, it stopped me in my tracks to realize even though I might know more about the geography of my five-kilometre circle, in many, many parts of my life, I’m sorry to admit I live in a bubble that is much smaller than five-kilometre bubble.
So many of us surround ourselves with familiar people, places and things.  We’ve created a small circle around ourselves, stretching oh, about five kilometres in any direction, that contains not only our family and friends, but also our familiar go-to spots, our hobbies, our thoughts, our opinions, our beliefs, and our worldviews. 

When we stay inside our little five-kilometre circle, we never have to challenge ourselves.  Since we carefully, over time, create our circle ourselves, we don’t even notice that we have selectively eliminated many, many discomforts from it.  We’ve eliminated the need to hear opinions that may challenge our own.  We’ve eliminated experiences that have the potential to grow us as people.  We’ve eliminated opportunities to not be ‘right’, but to just be. 

Back in Calgary this week, Jim and I were returning home one evening and exited a main road to stop at our grocery store (yes, the one I’m most familiar and comfortable with).  Once we were on the off ramp, we could see flashing police lights ahead.  We assumed we would be detained due to motor vehicle incident. We drew up alongside a police cruiser, and stopped at the red light.  To our amazement, there was no accident.  The young police officer was out of his car and he was walking toward what appeared to be a homeless person.  We could not hear or see the exchange.  What we did witness, was after a few words, the two men shook hands.  The Calgary police officer returned to his cruiser and turned off the flashing lights.  The other man, eating the homemade sandwich the officer had given him, crossed the street in front of us, head held just a bit higher than I suspect it had been when the officer first arrived.

The life of living on the streets is far, far out of my five-kilometre circle of comfort.  It may have been out of the circle of comfort of the officer too.  But he chose to go there.  He chose, not because he had to, to take the time to create an interaction neither of those men may ever otherwise have had.  The twenty or so metres he walked was not even close to getting out of his geographical five-kilometre circle, but he bridged an infinite distance of connection.  It was humbling to watch.

I’ve been thinking of ways to stretch my circle.  Driving alone to the farm was a miniscule beginning.  I’m thinking it’s time to make some sandwiches.  Mine will not look like those of the officer, but hopefully they will be just as open-minded, as nourishing, as connecting and as kind.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How big is this circle?’
​
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 grow your circle.
 

We had a big moment in the Critchley family this past week.  Our son, Greg, successfully defended his PhD thesis.   In February, he will convocated from the University of Western ON, with his doctorate in Management Science. 

This has been quite a journey for Greg.  As we talked about his milestone this week, we calculated (no fancy formula, just some mental arithmetic😊) that he has spent 22 years (13 + 4 + 1 + 4) as a student.  When he left the banking world to pursue his MBA in 2012, little did any of us have any idea that upon its completion, and then the completion of a few years instructing at the university, he would be defending his thesis for his PhD this week.

To say we are proud, is an understatement.  To say what we are proud of is the actual degree would be less than truthful.  What I am most proud of, what I have always been most proud of, is the way Greg has handled himself throughout this gruelling process.  As with everything he does, he decides who he will be to make himself proud at the end, then he just gets to work with the doing.

Greg’s final exam came in two parts.  He first gave a public presentation of the research he’s done over the past four years.  I was able to fly to Ontario to witness this.  Following the public presentation, Greg entered another room alone, to face a three-hour oral exam.  Three examiners, none of whom had worked with him, from different parts of the country, had previously read his almost three-hundred-page dissertation.  They, monitored by a chairperson, and observed by his advisors, used the three-hour oral exam to question him about every part of his detailed mathematical research.

Greg’s wife, Cara, and I, left campus for a while during the examination. Upon our return, we waited in the hallway for the final hour of the interminable exam.  Finally, finally, the doors were opened and we were invited into the room to meet the examiners, his advisors and to hear the wonderful news.  A champagne cork popped; one of his advisors had clearly anticipated this positive result.

As we chatted in the room, suspended in that state of knowing the result but not yet having it sink in, one of the examiners shook Greg’s hand in congratulations.  He said, ‘Greg, your work is excellent.  We don’t often get work of this calibre.  Your paper was so enjoyable to consume.’

Enjoyable to consume.

This is not an expression I have ever used, or even heard used.  Furthermore, I haven’t really considered the idea of consuming in much other context than consuming food.  But of course, we consume non-food items every day.  Since then, I keep thinking about this interesting way of considering the things we take into our minds, our hearts and our bodies.

This examiner was making the point, as did each of the others, that the material in the paper was presented in such a way as to be easy to follow and understand.  More than just forcing himself to concentrate and try to connect dots, he had been able to enjoy the process and absorb the content.  I suspect he also thought it was substantive.  That he should say it was enjoyable to consume, could lead me to believe it nourished him in some way. 

How often do we consume things that do not have this effect on us?  More importantly, how often do we ‘feed’ things to others that are not at all enjoyable to consume. 

I began to consider the number of interactions each of us might have in a typical week.  I wondered, during how many of those interchanges was I providing the person I was interacting with, something enjoyable to consume?

Recognizing that each of our interactions either adds positively or negatively to our relationship and to how we think and feel about ourselves, it might be worth considering exactly what it is we are offering for consumption.

Sometimes we are so determined to have our point of view known, we fail to notice the indigestion it causes in others.  I hate to think that carelessness with my words has given others things not so enjoyable to consume.

When Greg wrote his thesis, he spent months considering and reworking how to take complex, perhaps not particularly enthralling material for most of us, and turn it into something easily consumed.  Then, as he created his accompanying visual presentation, like any good chef, he considered presentation, delivery and flavour.  He added a pinch of levity (really, this is possible even in mathematics!) and examples to make it relatable and even enjoyable to consume.

I’m not expecting to enrol in a PhD program any time soon.  I am however, expecting to have many interactions with family, friends, colleagues, and clients.  I am going to spend some time working on my recipes for delivery.  I have a feeling there is some room for improvement in the ‘enjoyable to consume’ category.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What would make this easy to consume?’
​
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 create interactions that are easy to consume.
  

Last week we were reminiscing about our trip to Scotland.  We took this trip last Fall.  It was a cycling trip where we spent leisurely days pedalling through the beautiful Highlands of Scotland.  As I type this, I realize that time does soften all things.  This was, after all, the trip that came to be because my sister-in-law’s father had suddenly passed away while cycling this very route a few years before.  The initial purpose of the trip was for us to finish the trip for Bob, and to see the exact places he had been and the place where he had taken his last breath.  It was also the trip where, on Day Two of our trip, I broke my foot in three places, and kept going so as not to spoil it for the others.  And it was the same trip during which a ‘gale’ (think ‘hurricane’) blew in, sidelining us for a day, and leaving in its wake trees downed across all roads and power out across the moors.

And despite all of this, as we reminisced, none of these details were what we talked about.  What we remembered instead was the absolute magic of seeing the beauty of Scotland, together, from the seats of our bicycles.   We are in complete agreement that the speed achieved while pedalling is just about as perfect a speed as there can be for sightseeing.  We felt like we were moving all the time, and yet going slow enough to really take in the details.  We could stop whenever we felt the need to take a picture or just to take in a view.

Rhonda and I felt the same about our trip this past summer when we cycled from Canmore to Jasper.  We were so lucky to have 3 ½ days to spend cycling along the Icefield Parkway, seeing the breathtaking Rocky Mountains at just the perfect pace.  We had time to look around and breathe in the experience, and at the same time we felt like we covered some good ground each day.

Jim and I have talked about walking trips we have heard that others have done.  Other than one like the Camino, I think the pace would be too slow for me.  I really don’t need to see every single rock and hedge; I’m good with the general notion that we are passing by rocks and hedges. 

I’ve long thought about running across Canada.  Really.  I am pretty sure the window for that has passed me by but it’s still in my deep pile of ‘things I secretly long to do’.  The truth is, just like walking would bore me to tears and I’d feel like I hadn’t really seen anything, running would likely give me the same result. I wouldn’t be bored.  But I would be puffing and panting so hard, I would forget to stop and take in the sights.  What a shame it would be to run across our country and not see a thing!

I’m lucky I have the choices I do about which activities I participate in.  More and more, the articles I read about good health, and aging well, tell us to keep moving.  They say that sitting is the new smoking.  And even though I am a ‘mover’ I am going to respectfully disagree with the latest research on sitting.  We are not doing too much sitting.  In fact, we are not doing nearly enough. 

I contend that more sitting would add much more life to some of our years.

This past week, I went for a coffee with my daughter, Kaitlyn, and our friend Donna.  Donna’s family has recently suffered a heartbreaking loss.  Heartbreaking.  When I knew Donna was back home, we arranged to get together.  Driving over to see her I had no idea what to say.  I also knew that there was nothing I could say that would help.  And that there were likely things I could say that might hurt.  And that most likely the very best thing we could do was to simply sit with her.

And so, on Monday, in the late afternoon, we sat.  And we talked.  And we cried.  And we laughed.  And we hoped.  And we prayed.  But mostly, we sat.

Life moves at an incredible speed.  Busy is the new status symbol.  We are encouraged to keep moving.  Most days we have to keep moving, just to keep up.  Sometimes we are walking through our lives, so focused on every tiny detail of our own that we miss the bigger picture.  Sometimes we are running so fast we can barely breathe, let alone focus on what we are passing by.  Other times we are cycling, just enjoying the scenery so much, we forget to notice the struggles of our fellow riders.

It is only when we stop completely, when we sit together, that we really understand the importance of simply being with each other.  This rare, rare gift, costs us not one cent, yet is priceless.

In some of the most difficult moments of my life, the absolute most precious gift I have received is that of someone sitting with me.  It has not been their words.  Nor the treats they brought.  Nor the advice they gave. It has been the simple gift of sitting together.  Of knowing someone was willing to be by my side when I wasn’t sure I knew what my next step should be.

My work schedule has me running these days.  I’m ok with that, and in many ways, I love it.  I love having full days and feeling accomplished at the end of them.  In the midst of it all, I am reminding myself to notice places where I can sit.  I am reminding myself to seize those fleeting moments when I can either offer a comment or advice as I go about my busyness, or stop and sit for a minute, silently saying, ‘I am with you.’

Yes, our hearts need the kind of exercise that comes with moving our bodies and pumping our blood.  But they also need the kind of exercise they get when we fill them to capacity as we sit together.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where can I sit?’
​
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 has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth, she’d love to sit with you as you examine your or your organizations next steps.