As I sit to type this, I can hardly believe we are going to roll the calendar over into the year 2020.  It seems like only a blink ago, we, the collective world, were almost holding our breath in anticipation of a new millennium.  And here I sit, watching the third decade of this new century and millennium rush toward me.

It's unbelievable.

On December 31, 1999, we stayed at home on New Year’s Eve.  Our friends, Jack and Lorrie, were with us.  We had all been well ‘warned’ about the possible things to fear as the clock struck midnight.  We had heard that computers had never been programmed to handle a new date, one starting with a 20 instead of a 19.  We had been instructed on how to avert this possible malfunction by upgrading software.  And we understood that it was possible that if some large, important corporations had not taken proper precautions, we could all be thrown into some kind of chaos.  Bank accounts could be inaccessible, as could any stores or businesses relying on computer technology.

As the clock struck midnight in Australia, then Asia and Europe, the world gave a sigh of relief as we could see that Y2K, and all the fretting that came with it, had been for naught.  Electricity still flowed, computers turned on and worked (although we may still have been using a dial up connection), televisions powered up.  It was all systems go.  Within moments, we were back to playing game, wishing each other a Happy New Year and no doubt making some resolutions for the year 2000.

Here we are again, twenty years later, at the cusp of a new decade, once again looking forward.  This time our vision is 2020.  Literally.  We are trying to imagine how to improve ourselves, our lives and our circumstances.  The new page is blank and we are free to imagine whatever our imaginations can conjure.

I don’t know when I started making New Year’s resolutions. I can remember seeing my older sister, Mary, writing hers in a book when she was a young teenager, so I can guess I was about ten or eleven when I first began to understand this notion.  I take them seriously when I write them, but put absolutely no pressure on myself to fulfill them.  I think I must just love the idea of a clean slate.  A possibility for a fresh start; a chance to become my best self.

As I consider heading into the 2020’s, I’m thinking more broadly.  I recognize that rather than this being just a fresh sheet of paper, it’s more like an entire fresh roll of paper; blank, unrolled and taped to the wall in front of me.

Normally I’d start writing down what I’d like to accomplish in the upcoming year.  The problem with my method is from this vantage point, the year seems so long.  I can’t picture next November or December.  And even worse, when I do picture them, they seem so far away that I tell my self I have plenty of time to get started on and to complete my goals.  Even though I’m not really even starting on my resolutions, I somehow convince myself there will come a magical time when I reach my goal!

This year, I’m approaching it differently.  Instead of me looking at that huge unrolled piece of paper, waiting for me to write or draw on it starting from the left side, I’ve decided to stand at the right hand side of the same sheet of paper and look back at it.  Whether my mural sized paper represents only the upcoming year, or the entire approaching decade, I’m going to approach it as if.  As if the year is in my past, in my rear-view mirror.  I want to ask myself the simple question:
When I look back at 2020, what do I want to be able to take pride in?

Looking at the year from this perspective, I certainly don’t want to have a blank paper.  I really don’t want any parts of it to be blank.  And at the same time, I don’t need it to be filled with just busyness.  I want to consciously place images and words and events that I will be proud and even delighted to see.  I’m picturing old-fashioned hard copies of photographs.  I’m thinking of what will fill those pictures and what pictures will fill the mural.  When I look at my mural from the right side looking back, I’ll be terribly disappointed if I can’t look at those pictures with pride.  I don’t care so much how I physically look, as I do how much I am fully present.  I care about how passionate I am.  I care about how I feel about others.  I care about how I do my work. I care about how I show up.  I care about what I contribute.  I care about what I create.  I care about how I connect.  I care about how I love.

It’s said that hindsight is 20/20, that when we look back, it is easy to see what decision we should have made, what path we should have travelled, what friend we should have called.

We don’t need to wait until the end of 2020 to achieve 20/20 vision.  We can polish up our 2020 goggles right now.  We have the capacity to know now what will feel fulfilling at the end of the year.  By standing at the end of 2020 in our minds and looking back, we can start to fill in our murals with pictures that represent the best of ourselves; the best of our time; the best of our talents; the best of our relationships; the best of our skills; the best of our love.

Happy New Year.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What will fill my mural?’
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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 how to fill your mural.
 

When we were kids, one thing we looked forward to every year was watching for a couple of special packages that came in the mail.  One came from Newcastle, NB, from our Grampy, our mother’s father.  Grampy was always generous with his gifts.  He loved to send us each something special and then add some of Mom’s favourite treats to the package.  The five-pound box of Ganong chocolates, ribbon candy and barley toys quickly became not only Mom’s favourites, but ours too. 

The second package we watched for also came from the East Coast.  Also, from New Brunswick.  Our Dad’s family lived there, and we were especially close to our Sussex cousins.  We each received one gift from them, as they did from us.  Looking back, none of the gifts were expensive, but when we opened them, they were valuable beyond measure.  It felt like magic had been packed in those parcels.

I don’t have a strong memory of any of those exact gifts, but I seem to recall receiving a powder puff, shaped like a little mitten that I could put my hand inside, and that had powder sewn right into it.  None of the gifts would have cost much to buy.  I am guessing that many of the ones we received might have been purchased at Steadman’s in Sussex.  Looking back, I now understand the gift wasn’t the important part of the exchange.  What was important, what our parents taught us in the exchange of the gifts was two-fold.

First, they taught us that wrapping mattered.  Not the wrapping paper, or the bow, or the gift tag, or even the tidy folded corners, but the actual act of wrapping.  When we opened the brown paper package from our cousins, memories of love poured out.  Inevitably we would feel the exact same kind of excitement and closeness we always felt during our precious summer weeks together.  It was as if when they wrapped the gifts, little bits of themselves got caught up inside too, and came pouring out when the tape was peeled off.

I’ve never talked to my cousins about this, but I have a feeling that on Christmas morning, when they opened the little gifts we sent them, they likely had the same experience.  I’m guessing none of them can remember any particular gift we sent, but that they can remember the excitement of the package arriving in the mail and the feelings and memories that would have washed over them when they opened them.  I know we didn’t buy expensive gifts or use fancy paper either, but I know we did pack our hearts in those little packages.

The second thing our parents taught us was that the appropriate way to acknowledge a gift was with a thank you note.  So, inevitably, on one of the days following Christmas, we’d sit at the kitchen table and, using brand new note paper, the kind that comes in nice box with matching envelopes and that very likely was one of the gifts from our cousins, we set about sending a letter to say thank you.  Even though we likely had to be prodded to get started, the writing of the thank you letters became a treasured tradition.  It wasn’t that the letters themselves were literary treasures.  No doubt, mine would have started with:

Dear Joan.  How are you?  I am fine.

No, the content was not remarkable.  But understanding that by sending the letters we were connecting again, and even better that we would get a letter back, made the task feel exciting and important. 

I don’t know if our parents thought through the lessons they were teaching us.  It’s possible the buying and sending of the gifts was just one more in a long string of jobs they had on their Christmas to-do list.  But if our parents hadn’t given us the opportunity to spend precious time with our cousins each summer, no gift arriving from them at Christmas could have felt so good to receive. 

Most of my gifts have been purchased and wrapped for this year.  I know that most of my gifts won’t be the gift at all.  The real gifts are the little connections and experiences and conversations we have throughout the year.  The knowing that we value others company and presence.

Christmas hasn’t quite arrived yet this year, but I think I’m going to do my ‘shopping’ early and often for 2020.  Then, I will rest easy knowing I’ve already given the best gift.  The little wrapped one will still be fun to buy, wrap and give, but I know what will be remembered long after the paper has been recycled is not the gift, but the relationship.

May your home, heart and gift-giving be filled with love this Christmas season!

Merry Christmas.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What gift are you giving?’

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 pick out the perfect gift!

Last Sunday, the Critchley Clan made their annual trip to Banff to enjoy an incredible brunch at the Banff Springs Hotel.  If you have never seen Banff Springs, it might be time to put it on your Life List.  Sunday was particularly beautiful.  With frost on the trees, a fresh dusting of snow on the ground, and a perfect Alberta blue sky, we felt like we were driving on the front cover of a Christmas card.  When the majestic Banff Springs Hotel came into sight, it was a breathtaking sight.

Impossible though it may seem, things only improved as we stepped into the lobby of the hotel.   Fondly known as Castle in the Rockies, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is world famous.  Wandering through its beautifully decorated hallways and ballrooms, it’s hard to imagine someone envisioned and then had this masterpiece built over 130 years ago. 

Sitting in the dining room, while the food on our plates was magnificent, the view out the window beside our table was the true showstopper.  I’ve been there many times and it never ceases to make me want to pinch myself.

Our family started this tradition of a Christmas season Sunday brunch some years ago.  As our family expands, so does the size of the table.  As I sat with everyone on Sunday, I couldn’t help but think about what a luxury this tradition is.  Of course, the hotel itself is luxurious.  So is the food.  So is the atmosphere.  But as I sat, producing interesting items from my purse to amuse Benjamin, and listening to the conversations, I started to think about what it means to live in luxury. 

Never before had I considered my life to be luxurious.  We do not have a particularly luxurious house.  Our cars are of the domestic variety.  Until my most recent car, five years ago, I had always driven a second hand car.  My clothes are nice, but would not be described as luxurious.  The food we typically eat is healthy, and very good, but not luxurious (unless Cara and Greg are treating us to some of their gourmet treats).  We tend to be a camping family, rather than a luxurious hotel family.  We want for very little, but we don’t live extravagantly. 

And yet, on Sunday, as we ate together, and as we drove to and from Banff, I could think of many, many luxuries I enjoy.  It turns out, I am surrounded by luxury.

While we were eating brunch, Kaitlyn, who loves to bake and who is quite accomplished at it, mentioned (while nibbling on a mince tart) that she thinks her pie crust could use some tweaking.  She asked me if I could help her.  I too love to bake and have made many hundreds of pies over the years.  Yes, I would love to make pies with her, I replied.  Inside of me I thought, this, this is luxury; having my daughter wanting to spend time with me doing such a simple thing. 

On Monday, I took care of Benjamin, having changed my regular day of Friday to Monday for this week.  We have a little routine on our days together.  Our mornings are spent outside, wandering in nature.  After playing with his cars, and making and eating lunch, I ask him to get me some books to read before his nap.  He often chooses a ‘truck’ book, carrying it over to me, and turning around backward so I can pick him up in my lap.  ‘Read?’ he asks.  When we read, I hold the book with both my hands and he rests his little hands on my wrists.  As I read, I can feel his hand as he gently pulses his little thumb against the underside of my wrist.  This, this is luxury; sitting peacefully with this boy, who I love so much.

After dropping Ben off on Monday afternoon, I headed over to Greg and Cara’s new house.  Renovations have been underway there for a couple of months.  While a crew has been demolishing, framing, wiring and plumbing, Greg has been designing and building cabinets, framing doorways and hanging new doors.  Yesterday, the tradespeople moved out, signifying it was time for Greg and Cara to be able to start painting.  Knowing they have been living in their basement, using a hotplate and microwave, I thought they might like a ‘real’ meal so I offered to take one over.  It wasn’t fancy.  When I got there, it was dark.  They had bright lights set up on the main floor, and using those and some camping headlamps, they were in the midst of taping up the windows so Greg could spray paint the new frames.   I asked if I could help and together, we finished the final couple of hours of taping.  I left them to have supper, knowing they would be working late into the night again.   As I drove home, I thought this, this is luxury; having our son and daughter-in-law living close enough by, after more than a decade of living away, that I can stop by to visit and help.

Luxuries have been showing up in my mind all week.  I’ve been making a habit of recognizing them and naming them to myself.  It is a luxury that both our children will be spending Christmas with their in-laws, and that we are invited to join in; how lucky are we they each married into welcoming and loving families.  It is a luxury that I have sisters and brothers who keep in regular contact with me, and whom I love being with when we are in the same part of the country.  It is a luxury to attend Christmas functions with my Jim; to not have to navigate alone.  It is a luxury to have my friend meet me for a walk with Ben.  It is a luxury for me to have friends to spend time with.  It is a luxury to have friends to share my hobbies.  It is a luxury to receive an email from my friend wishing me a Merry Christmas.  It is a luxury to snack upon a childhood treat, a wishbone candy, brought to me by one of my dancing friends.  It is a luxury to dance in a little Christmas parade.

I don’t know why I did not know I had a luxurious life.  I think I may have been defining it incorrectly.  I am not sparkly, or beautiful or rich.  But my life is filled to the brim with luxury.  This season, I plan to celebrate all my luxuries.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is luxury?’

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 recognize luxury.
 

When the snow arrived last week, it piled up quickly.  While we are usually used to Alberta snow being dry, light and fluffy, this time it was unusually heavy.  As the temperature dropped throughout the day, the snow became drier and lighter.  Unfortunately, the base layer, now sitting underneath the lighter snow, turned to a hard crust of ice.  Not only did that make driving tricky, it also caused maneuvering by foot to be slightly challenging.  Leaving my house on Thursday for a yoga class, I was driving slowly through the school zone near our house, when I saw a twenty something man at a pedestrian crosswalk.  I was still quite far away but I slowed down even further, knowing the road conditions were icy.  He confidently stepped out onto the road, as one does when they have the balance of youth, and in an instant became a flurry of flailing arms and legs as he ended up flat on his back on the road. 

I’m imagining that as he stepped down off the curb, his foot struck some ice and he was thrown off balance, unable to recover.  By the time I neared him, only seconds later, he had gotten to his feet, and with his body no doubt bruised along with his dignity, was already across the street.  The sight of him falling stayed with me all day, and in my mind, I still see him going down. It happened so quickly; it would have almost been impossible for him to stay upright.  

Balance.

In the middle of this week, after a delay due to the recent cold and snowy weather, the company we hired to put up Christmas lights on our tall front lawn tree, arrived.  Jim and I used to decorate our trees ourselves when we lived on the acreage.  It was almost a full-day activity.  We had over ten trees we liked to adorn with bright lights.  Our driveway was lit up, as were trees on the front and back lawns.  In our final year living there, we knew we were reaching our limit in terms of how many more years we could decorate the trees ourselves.  It had nothing to do with the number of trees, or the cold, or the length of time it took.  We simply could no longer reach the highest trees, even with the hand-crafted extension Jim jimmied up on the sixteen-foot extenda-pole!  So, when we moved into our new-to-us house in the city and saw the over thirty-foot-high tree on the front lawn, we knew we had more than met our match!  Hence the hiring of the light installation company. 

They were just getting started when I pulled into the driveway after my short but successful shopping trip.  I noticed them unhooking long ladders; one of the men was pulling on a harness and some fancy boot grips.  My home office is at the front of the house and when I came in and got to work, I couldn’t help but periodically sneak a peak at the action on the front lawn.  My breath caught when I looked out to see one of the installers almost at the top of the tree; the other high up on a step ladder with his own extension pole, passing the strings of lights to his partner.

Balance.

In our final class of yoga on Thursday, our most wonderful instructor, Mona, was setting us up for a pose.  She said, ‘Don’t worry if you lose your balance.’   In my mind I wondered what she meant.  Balance was required for this pose.  We needed balance.  She continued, ‘If you lose your balance, just stop and regain it, and start again.  You won’t be able to do the pose properly unless you have your balance.’

Balance. 

There it was again.  All week it there have been signs of it in my life in one form or another, but Mona’s comment really brought it home for me.  When we first think of balance, what comes to mind is often a mental picture of us trying to do many things, all equally well, all at roughly the same time.  We may even use the expression, ‘I have so many things to balance.’  And of course, each of us know this is almost impossible.  When I think of balance in this way, it brings on a feeling of urgency, and anxiousness and as sense of ‘I just need to get this all done’.  None of this is what I strive for in my life. And yet, I do strive for balance. 

Mona’s comment spotlighted that this is not what is meant by balance.  Balance is how we ground ourselves.  It is how we get centered and focused on the task we are about to undertake.  Balance has a physical component, but much more important than the physical, is the mental awareness required.  When we are only concerned with ‘getting it done’, we often rush headlong in, attitude askew, awareness of others turned off, and adrenaline on high alert.   It is only when we are finished our mad dash to the end of the task, that we pause.  If we are very lucky, we then take the time to notice how our wonderful ‘balancing’ has impacted others.  If we are not so lucky, we keep pushing ahead with our list of important things, leaving behind us collateral damage.

This Christmas season there will be many balancing acts available to us.  There are parties to attend, deadlines to meet, gifts to buy, friends to visit, families to host, games to play, houses to decorate… the list goes on and on.  Rather than trying to plow through each one, noting the check mark in my coil notebook as a sign of success, I’m going to change things around.  Before starting on a task, or two or three as the day demands, I’m going to take a breath and think about what spirit or attitude I’d like to adopt as I approach my busyness.  I’m going to find my balance before attempting the pose. 

No doubt I’m going to wobble.  I’ll expect this, then I won’t be so upset when the wobbling appears.  It will be as though it’s a normal part of things.  As Mona said, ‘Don’t worry if you lose your balance.  Just stop, regain it, and begin again.’
Wise words from the master.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘What needs my balance?’
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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 how to find balance.