I thank my brother-in-law for suggesting this blog title for me.  It’s possible I may have convinced myself I was simply too busy to write this week if not for a little nudge by him.  Thanks Greg.

Last Tuesday, our hiking group, The Tuesday Trekkers, made our plan for our weekly hike.  The week before had brought snow to the area, snow unlike we’ve seen in some time.  Often when it snows here it is a one-day event.  Sometimes a huge amount of snow falls, and sometimes not, but usually because of our dry climate, the snow is light and fluffy.  As we like to say with a wink, it’s a dry cold here.

However, last week the snow surprised us on Monday, and with the exception of Tuesday when there was a little reprieve, it continued to surprise us Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and even a little bit on Sunday.  By the end of the week, even in the city, we had well over a foot.  The roads were treacherous for driving a few of those days and the temperatures dipped into the ‘not fit for man or beast, and very few women’ category.

Yet this past Monday, the day after the snow finally stopped, we checked the weather forecast for the following day, our hiking day.  Looking at it through the most optimistic lens we could find, we decided we could manage a hike on Tuesday.  After all, even though the overnight temperatures were to be in the negative teens, the day itself was promised to be the warmest we’d had for a while.  We have warm clothes, good emergency supplies, and great common sense, so when we paired those with our need to get out in the forest together, there was no question about whether we’d go.  The only questions were when and how far.

We usually like to get an early start, for many reasons.  In the warm months, this is the coolest time of the day.  Additionally, the light is so beautiful first thing in the morning, and the animals are often stirring at this time of day, so we look forward to catching glimpses of them on our way out of town.  However, at this time of year, as we count down the weeks to the shortest days of the year, we prefer to wait until we have a bit of light before heading out.  Pam especially, has to drive through countryside prolific with moose, elk and deer, and not only are they tough to spot in the dark, but our vehicles don’t stop on a dime when the roads are snow and ice covered.

So last Tuesday, using all our reasoning power, we chose to meet in the parking lot near the trail head at nine o’clock.  We could see that the sun would be up, and given the sun in the forecast, the air would be beginning to warm.  Knowing some of the trails would have too much snow to be able to manage, we chose an area that most often has groomed trails, or at least well travelled ones. 

You can imagine our surprise, and slight dismay, as we drove closer and closer to our destination.  Instead of the car thermometer rising, as it normally would if we were travelling west with a slight warming trend promised, it dropped lower and lower until finally it hit -19°C, and then ‘rebounded’ to -18°C.  When we met in the parking lot, we weren’t sure exactly what to do.  Our normal cutoff for hiking is about -15°C, but lured by the promise of a warmup, we couldn’t help but be tempted.  The forest was absolutely magical, with trees laden with snow and a blue sky emerging.

It was too cold to go far, but too beautiful to not go. 

And so we did.

We chose a short route, knowing we could add on distance if the conditions changed.  We appreciated the uphill start, as we tried to get warm blood to our fingers. Almost always we stop to take many photographs, but on this morning, our hands got too cold when we removed our mittens, and our bodies needed to keep moving to stay warm.  Eventually we couldn’t resist.  The forest was simply too beautiful to not capture some of it with pictures.

This ended up being one of our shorter hikes of all time.  We were on the trail for just over two hours.  Still, it was exactly what we each needed.  It was time to connect with one another, to catch up on our lives, to lay down, even for just a short while, our jobs, pressures, worries, and responsibilities, to laugh, to breathe in fresh air and the beautiful smell of the forest, to marvel at the snow clinging to the branches, and to watch in awe as the smallest breath of wind caused a waterfall of snow.

It had definitely been too cold to go too far, but too beautiful to not go.

As I drove home, warming my fingers on my heated steering wheel and my rear end on my heated seat, I recalled that only a few hours earlier I’d been overwhelmed with all I needed to do.  I had a couple of Christmas sewing projects I was desperately trying to finish on time, I had a coaching recertification test and hours of paperwork to complete, and I had …. on and on and on.  But as I drove, I was grateful we had gone.  I needed that time with these women.  I needed a little reset.  I needed the reminder that in this busy season of Christmas that now feels like it’s rushing toward us, there will be many times like this.  Times when it is too much, when we are too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed and too frazzled.

I’m going to be reminding myself of this.  I may be too busy to chat for long, but it is too important to not make that call.  I may be too tired to do all of it, but it is too important to not do any of it.  I may be too frazzled to go to one more event, but maybe I could manage just one event, or bits of several.  In it all, I hope that sometimes, instead of thinking I have to do it all, and to be everywhere, I can remind myself that not only is it ok to do much less, but that sometimes doing less helps me appreciate the beauty, the friendships, and my family, even more. 

The memories we make on short hikes are every bit as beautiful as those made on long ones.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How long does my hike need to be?’
​
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 the perfect length of hike. 
 
 
 

When Ben was turning one, Jim made him a wooden growth chart.  It was in the shape of a giraffe.  Every year on his birthday, and sometimes in between, his mom has him stand, back to the ruler, and she makes a mark with his height.  Then they print his age and the date so there will be a record of his growth.  When Andy was born, they started using the growth giraffe for him too.

I’ve seen homes where growth is marked right on a wall.  We did this for our kids.  The corner of our kitchen that led to the main hall had some penciled in heights and dates for each child.  I always wished ours had been portable, because when it was time to sell our acreage home, those little markers of growth stayed behind.

Kids are so delighted when they grow.  It’s as though they stand a little taller, and feel just a bit more grown up, more mature, when they see they are making progress.  For kids in this family, they love to tell others that they have grown.  I think it gives them a great sense of accomplishment, even though, if truth be told, they really didn’t have to do anything except wait.  The growing kind of happens whether they are trying hard or not.  Time passes, and eventually there is growth.

I can’t remember when we stopped measuring.  Certainly, it was long before we moved.  We didn’t move until they had finished university and had established lives for themselves.  I’m guessing it was around the time when they became teenagers, but I can’t be sure. 

So, I’m wondering this.  If Ben and Andy grow every six months or so, without any deliberate effort on their part, and if at my last check up I found I had shrunk one-half inch with absolutely no effort on my part, is  it possible that each of us, is continually growing, or shrinking,  without any deliberate effort.  I think it is.  However, our growth is not usually in height.
Have we grown to be more, or less, tolerant.  More, or less, opinionated.  Have we grown in kindness, or wisdom? Or have we gained or lost some skills?

If we were to record our growth, we could think of the ways we show up in the world; ways we show up without thinking about them too much at all.  In the last six months have I grown to be more or less tolerant?  Have I grown in kindness? Have I grown in wisdom?  Have I grown in some skill? 

A lot of life passes us by without us living with much intention.  The truth is, we don’t often take the time to be intentional.  Yet the days pass, the interactions with others occur, and we grow, or shrink, one way or the other.  Some of it is completely out of our control.  No amount of willpower would have been enough for Ben or Andy to add an inch to their chart, nor would it have prevented me from losing my half-inch.

But in many other areas of my life, whether we grow or shrink, expand or retreat, broaden or minimize, all depend on us.
Most of us can think of someone, perhaps a colleague, friend, or family member, we haven’t seen in some time.  Upon meeting them again, we first notice the obvious changes: your glasses are new, you’ve grown your hair, you’ve moved.  We don’t have to get too far into a conversation before we notice other changes too.  They may have grown to have more compassion, a more open-mind, new interests, or a positive outlook.  They may exhibit signs of bravery or confidence.  On the other hand they may have grown insensitive, outspoken, cynical, or afraid.  Either way, some kind of growth has occurred, most often without much effort or deliberate action on our part. 

Many of us bumble our way through life.  We do what we do without much introspection.  If a situation unfolds right in front of us where we can help someone, we often do so without much thought.  If our peer group is sitting and complaining, we will pull up a chair and join in, without a second thought about the notch it will create on our growth chart.

If Jim were to make me a growth chart, I’d ask for one shaped like a mountain.  It wouldn’t have a constant slope, but rather it would climb, and level off to little ledges where I could reflect and record my growth.  It’s almost impossible to notice growth while we’re climbing, but from the vantage point of a rest point on the side of a mountain, the big picture of life is easier to see.

I want to continue growing in positive ways for the rest of my life.  I know people who are proud to have reached a certain age, an age where they proudly claim they have ‘earned the right’ to be stuck in their thoughts, opinions, and actions. They no longer believe they need to make the effort to use kind words, to show interest in new things or new ideas.  They likely don’t want a growth chart.  But I like to think I’d use mine for years to come.

Last week I didn’t write a blog post.  We’d have a few sleepovers with the boys, and an extra bonus visit too.  I had appointments, and plenty of ‘work work’.  For each of these things I stayed fully in the moment, enjoying each one.  Normally, I’d have stayed up late, or risen very early to make sure I had written my blog.  But I was tired, and I granted myself some grace.

I sure wish I had a growth chart.  I think I might have earned a little notch of wisdom.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘What notch am I placing on my growth chart today?’
​
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 making notches of growth on your chart. 
 
 

I was thinking about my dad this past week.  I’d been doing something, and my mind had wondered.  Suddenly I smiled as I heard Dad’s voice in my ear, “Hey, who’s steering this ship?”  This was his teasing expression used to either keep us on task, or to let us learn to laugh at our own mistakes.  I think of this often, and notice I’ve started to use the same expression, or a version of it, in my own life.  Sometimes I use it just in my head, sometimes it comes out of my mouth, most recently with Ben.

We were lucky enough to be able to spend last Friday, a school Professional Development Day, with both Ben and Andy.  Usually Fridays are reserved for only Andy as Ben is now in school full time.  Last Friday, when we had both boys, we had a very cold, and unusually damp day.  We’d spent most of the morning indoors, and I was thinking about a way to get us outside for some fresh air.  I had a prescription to pick up at the corner pharmacy, so I lured them outside with the promise of us taking our little toy Mini Cooper along.  Ben was to ride in it on the way there, and Andy on the way home.  Normally, Andy loves to push Ben, but with the cold, it didn't take long before he offered that I could push instead.  The car has a steering wheel in it and also a handle that the pusher can use if the driver forgets to steer.  Ben loves to steer and he’s good at it.  I noticed however that we were often heading toward the road.  ‘Hey, who’s steering this car?’  I laughingly asked.  “Well, I’m trying to”, he said “But you keep steering too.” 

True.

Later in the day he asked if we could watch the movie, Inside Out 2, together.  It’s very rare that the boys watch television at our house.  We work hard to make sure Gramma days are filled with activities and time together.  But this was a cold day, Andy was sleeping, and Ben was exhausted from the Halloween festivities of the night before, so I said we could at least start the movie and watch some of it. 

If you haven’t seen it, you should.  It’s brilliant.

It’s a sequel to Inside Out, where the viewer is introduced to Riley, a young 11-year-old girl who adapts to her family’s move from Minnesota to San Fransisco.  We follow the inner workings of her mind as five personified emotions, Fear, Anger, Disgust, Joy and Sadness, administer her thoughts and actions.

In Inside Out 2, a new element of her brain, Sense of Self, is developed as puberty arrives.  Sense of Self brings the new and difficult emotions of Anxiety, Envy, Ennui, and Embarrassment.  The creators of this movie brilliantly allow us to watch how Riley’s behaviour and feelings change as each of her emotions ‘steer the ship’. 

I often forget kids’ movies as soon as they are over.  Inside Out 2 has stuck with me.  How often do we find ourselves in situations where we think, or someone might say, “What we need here is a bit of compassion (or tolerance, empathy, deep understanding, love, integrity, loyalty, connection, joy)”.  But often when we say it, we say it as though someone or something outside of us might magically sprinkle some upon us and our situation.  What Inside Out 2 asks us to see is that these things are not outside of us.  They are inside us, and we have complete control over which emotion, or attribute we chose to bring forth; which one we choose to let steer our ship.

I’ve been asking myself a version of a very simple question off and on this week.

If I let her steer my ship, what would Love do?

When I ask this, I am not asking how a bit of love might help me.  If this were all I was asking, I’d be running the risk of overriding its suggestions, perhaps with stubbornness, or anger, or fear, or intolerance.  Rather I am asking myself to call forth Love. I can picture my brain sending a message to all the small members of my ship, requesting that Love come to the wheelhouse and steer the ship.  I’m not asking Love to simply come up to the wheelhouse to give me some possible suggestions, I’m asking her to steer. 

What would Love do?

Love, of course, can be replaced with whatever emotion might be needed for the situation at hand.  But for me, Love has popped up more than the others.  When Love is steering, she tends to bring along Integrity, and often Joy.  When I ask ‘What would Love do?’, it’s my cue to remember that I am in charge of how I show up in my world.

In Inside Out 2, Riley can be forgiven for having her ship members override her brain seemingly randomly, without her consent.  She is, after all, a new teenager, and her mechanism for calling forth the appropriate crew members has not been completely installed.  Most of us though, cannot claim this for our excuse.  Our mechanism is fully installed and we, and we alone, have the owner’s manual.  We each have a full crew below deck, waiting for us to ask them to steer.  Each of them has the ability to get up to the wheelhouse quickly.  However, I’m noticing, the more we call upon certain ones, the more they practice getting up on deck quickly, and the easier it is for them to take charge of our ship. 

I’m trying to be very intentional about who I give permission to steer my ship.

This week, we will mark Remembrance Day.  I suspect those young soldiers who fought for our freedom had to work hard to choose who was steering their ship as they face the battleground of war.  Courage, Self-Sacrifice, Integrity, Strength of Character, Selflessness and Commitment would have all been called forth.  I am grateful for their sacrifice. 

This week, I encourage you to notice who is steering your ship.  It’s a privilege to live in a country where, because our safety and freedom have been secured by brave men and women, we have the luxury of focusing on how we wish to live in this peaceful land we sometimes take for granted.  I’d like to make sure my contribution is not a thoughtless one, but one that I intentionally choose to add value to my relationships, my community, my country and my world.  I want to carefully choose who is steering my ship.

My inquiry for your this week is, “Who is steering my ship?’
​
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 intentionally steer your ship.
 
 
 

This past Tuesday, for the first time since last winter, all four of the Tuesday Trekkers hiked together again.  Plenty of hikes have happened during that time, but all were made up of different combinations of two or three of us.  It felt great to have the whole gang back.

I had seen a beautiful photograph of a moss-covered staircase, taken on a hike billed as easy enough for a three-year-old.  Since it was the first time in a long time for some of us, I thought this easy hike, combined with another nearby, equally intriguing ‘easy enough for a three-year-old’ hike would make for a perfect day together.  Apparently, the reviewers of this hike were referring to Superman’s three-year-old child.  No three-year-old I know would have a hope of completing these hikes.  However, we did not know that when we struck out.

We chose to do the canyon hike first, leaving the beautiful staircase until the end.  According to the reviews, we would be able to amble along the canyon floor.  We struck out along the beautiful path, which soon turned narrow and much less well marked.  Luckily, we had downloaded the map for this hike, and we used it to hold the course.  The trail was littered with fallen trees which we climbed over or under, and body height rock walls we navigated as we climbed higher and farther away from the canyon floor.  I mind climbing much less than descending so as we were going up, I spent some time thinking about how we’d get down on the way back.  It took us almost an hour and a half to travel less than the two kilometres that led us down a steep descent leading to the floor of the canyon. 

This trail starts out along the Trans Canada Highway, near the town of Canmore.  The reviews had mentioned one small drawback of this particular trail was that due to its proximity to the highway, traffic noise could be a nuisance.  This part of the review was accurate. While we usually love the absolute silence of the forest, on this day, we were able to hear the traffic.  It wasn’t awful, but it reminded us that real life wasn’t too far away, a fact we usually love to leave in the car when we take out our packs.  However, once we stepped onto that canyon floor, all noise was silenced.  Perfect stillness fell upon us.  The rock formations were fantastic.  We hoped to take some photos, but quickly realized that along with the noise of the highway, the light had also disappeared.  In a narrow canyon, marked by high cliff walls, the sun has a very narrow window of opportunity to shine down, especially in the fall and winter months.  We had missed the window.

Remembering that the reviews had said we could walk through the floor of the canyon to return to the trail nearer the beginning, thus avoiding all the over and under of the trees and the climbs up and down the hills, we tried to figure out how to make this happen.  Alas, we did not have a three-year-old to help us.  There was absolutely no possible way we could descend the huge drops, and we could see that even if we had been able to do this, there was no way to walk on the canyon floor.  The canyon was quiet, a place of refuge, but our possibilities were very limited there.

We managed to make our way back to the intersection of our trail and the trail to the staircase.  This second trail paralleled the highway.  I expected it to be much noisier.  However, a small berm between us and the road, gave us all the buffering we needed.  There was peace here too.  Not the complete silence of the canyon, but a surprising amount of quiet.  After more time than the review suggested, we still had not come across the staircase or anything like it.  We chose to turn back, leaving the staircase for another Tuesday.

Thank heavens we don’t need much to have fun.  We loved being together and we did love our day, despite it not turning out at all as we had anticipated.   And as always, I took more away from it than just sore muscles and some pretty photographs.

When we were standing in the silence of the canyon, I thought of how often we wish we could turn off the noise of life.  We wish that, even for just a few minutes, we wouldn’t need to respond to others, listen to the news, rush through traffic, navigate through crowds, look at our endless to do lists or even listen to well intentioned others.  Sometimes we just want the canyon floor.  But it isn’t a good place to linger.  On the canyon floor, we are alone.  The silence that starts out as such a gift, soon turns to loneliness. The lack of light prevents us from seeing possibilities.  The large boulders stop us from trying new things, from having a few adventures, from going anywhere other than where we currently are.  It’s hard to shake the cold down there.

But during the second portion of our hike, along the part with the berm separating us from the highway, there was also a precious peace.  Here, we could hear the muffled sounds of the traffic, but we could still hear our own thoughts.  We had light, light that gave us perspectives and beauty not visible from the canyon floor.  We could travel more easily and had more possibilities available for our movement.  I wondered if even though the silence of the canyon could be so alluring, if perhaps walking with a berm at our side isn’t a more favourable protector for us.  It quiets the unwanted noises of life yet allows for all the beauty and growth we seek.  Most of the time we don’t need complete solitude and silence, we simply need a place to catch our breath, recharge, feel safe and at peace.

What then are the berms of life made of?

In my world, berms are not made of earth, grass and trees, but of the people and events I surround myself with.  Doing work that fills me up and standing among people who share my passions make up part of my berm.  The friends I can laugh with and in the next breath share my worries, these are my berm too.  Hugging my children and grandchildren strengthen my berm.  Knowing home is a safe place to land is too.  The berm lets us know we are supported, we are safe, we can be our creative selves, and we can have peace.  It also reminds us there is a wonderful busy life also awaiting us when we are ready to rejoin it.

This week, after the busyness of Halloween, you may need a minute or two on the canyon floor.  But once that is over, I hope you can strengthen your berm so you can once again share your gifts and joy with others.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I strengthening my berm?’
​
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 limit your time on the canyon floor.