I had to stop at the mall this week, not to do some shopping, but to attend to an appointment I had in one of the offices there.  The parking lot reminded me that it really is December.  Walking into the mall reminded me that it’s time to get my act together.  My last month has been filled with work commitments and a wonderful weekend away with my family.  Not much time has been spent shopping, or even thinking about shopping for that matter.

When I entered the mall this week, I headed straight for the down escalator, as my appointment was on the lower level.  Coming up the escalator at the same time was a woman carrying a few shopping bags.  As she approached the top of the escalator her largest shopping bag began to rip.  It started near the handles and as she tried to juggle the other packages to free up her hands to save the large bag from spilling, the bag let go.  Her purchases spilled out.  Luckily, she had arrived at the top of the escalator, and with no one behind her, she and I easily gathered up her things.  The bag was not salvageable, so she had to make due, leaving the mall with her arms full of her purchases.

I’ve thought of this brief encounter several times this week. 

If we stop in any mall and just watch the people passing by, we can notice people with all kinds of shopping bags.   I enjoy trying to guess what’s in the bags; not the exact things, but in general.  I always wonder what they are carrying.  Some carry just one little bag.  Some have a million little bags, each from a different store.  Some have a large bag, that they might fill with smaller ones.  Some are heavy and some look light.  Some are plain, and some look like they were taken right out of a Hallmark movie.

Every one of us carries shopping bags.  Some days they are filled with treasures; things that are light and easy to carry.  When we carry bags like these, our load does not burden us.  Rather our bags are filled with plans and dreams, or wonderful memories we hold dear. 

Other days are bags are heavy.  It’s hard to even get to the car, bus, train or plane with them, and they certainly don’t fill us with energy or wonder.  In fact, sometimes we cannot even find a place to put these heavy bags down.  We carry them around all day and night, finding it hard to get any relief from the carrying.

Still other days our bags are neither feather-light or lead-heavy.  Instead, they are simply overflowing, even splitting open with things falling out.

It’s impossible to tell just by looking how heavy any one of these shopping bags really is.  It would be easy to think that those who carry those small pretty bags have no trouble at all lifting and carrying them.  It’s equally easy to prejudge someone with a ripped bag, things spilling everywhere, imagining that they too are like their bag – kind of out of control and overburdened.

In truth, we have absolutely no idea.

This year is no different from any other.  Everyone is carrying around invisible bags.  Some are heavy, some are light, some plain, some pretty, some too much, some not enough.

In our family, we will be carrying a new bag this year.  We don’t quite know how to carry it.  Our nephew, Anthony, was taken from us far too young this past summer.  It’s a difficult time of year to carry the contents of this bag.  My sister, Mary, Anthony’s mom, was telling me that she had been out for a walk one evening this past week and ran into an older couple from their neighbourhood.  She sees this couple often and over the years has spoken to them many times.  They asked Mary if it had been their son who had passed away. They had seen the obituary in the paper.  Mary replied that yes, it was Anthony.  They then told her that they too had lost their adult son, his wife and their two small children in a car accident twenty-nine years ago. 

This couple has been walking around with this precious package for many years.  No one would guess what they carried in it.  Mary had no idea, but it took very few words for them to understand the weight of each others burden.
Meanwhile, here in Alberta, Ben and Andy spent the day with us on Friday.  Ben, who misses very few details, noticed a brown Amazon box in my office.  He wondered aloud who it might be for.  I explained it was for a little boy who comes from a family who doesn’t have enough money for many toys.  He knows about this family we help each year.  Then he spotted another package.  Again, he asked.  That one is for Grampa, I told him.

I could see some worry starting to creep in.  Finally, he said, ‘It seems like there are a lot of packages here, but none are for me.’  I smiled and told him that in fact, there are several packages here for him but I’ve hidden them all, so he doesn’t spoil the surprise of Christmas.  The worry in his face eased.

This is the tricky part of this blessed season.  It’s important we continue to find the joy of the season and celebrate its simple wonder.  It’s important to help the children in our lives feel the magic of the season.  But we will also notice people at the top of escalators, at our place or work, or in our own families, needing a hand to just manage all their shopping bags and packages.  And at the same time, we understand that many people carry heavy, heavy, packages.  Most often, these packages are completely invisible to us.  We have no idea.  Even when we do know what is being carried, it’s impossible to carry those packages for them. 

What we can do this season is simply notice packages, those both visible and invisible.  We can ease up on our judgement.  We can avoid adding to peoples already full bags.  We can walk beside.  We can notice ways to help and follow through.  We can smile.  We can have compassion.  We can spend time. We can be kind.  We can love.  

May your packages be light this week, and may you find time to ease the weight of those carried by others.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘I wonder what’s in that shopping bag?’
​
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 gently watch for heavy shopping bags.
 
 
 

Being a mathematician, I’m intrigued by the circle from a mathematical perspective, but really, only for so long.  In the last week, however, circles keep finding their way into my regular life, and I find myself newly intrigued.

My yoga instructor, Mona, switched things up at the end of October.  For our Halloween class, she had us place our mats in a circle, facing inward.  We had candles in the centre to really set the mood.  What was supposed to be a one-time thing, has turned into a new way for us to be in the class.  With the mats in a circle and us facing each other, the difference in energy in the room is completely different, better.  Instead of us each simply coming to class, facing forward, and being self-centred, we became a group.  It’s rather amazing.  Mona hasn’t switched how she delivers the class.  We don’t chit chat with each other during class.  We are still each self-centred.  Yet somehow, we have become a group.  There is a feeling that we care about one another, rather than us simply occupying a space together. 

This week we also had our Chinook Country dancer’s Christmas party.   This marks the end of our fall season of lessons, and marks the beginning of our Christmas performances.  The party was wonderful.  We had the hall filled with all the dancers, mingling and dancing together.  One tradition at this party is that each year about ten dancers secretly prepare a special dance that they perform at the beginning of the party.  This year, I was part of that group.  Our song was… wait for it… Come on Barbie.  We practiced for weeks and arrived in full Barbie regalia.  From Birthday Barbie, to Golf Barbie, to Workout Barbie to Western Barbie, to me, Construction Barbie, we danced our way around the stage to cheers and laughter and clapping.  Afterward, I was changing out of my Barbie work boots into more comfortable dance shoes when I heard the announcement for our dance called Fishers.  I LOVE this dance.  I love the music, and the flow of the dance, but most of all I love that we almost always perform it standing in a circle; two concentric circles actually, one large circle on the outside facing in, and a smaller circle on the inside facing out.  I usually stand in the outer circle.  From there I love the view I have of all the dancers in our group. 

Upon hearing the first notes of the song I quickly shook off my boots, put on my runners and joined the circle.  For three minutes I breathed in the incredible energy of this group.  Smiling across and around the circle at the other women brings such a flood of emotion to me.  I have a feeling of being part of something much larger than myself, something special and powerful.  It feels like we have safety and support in this group.  I feel like we are each seen when we are in this formation; seen as individuals, seen as human beings all walking together, seen as friends, and seen as supports for one another.  I wish I had the right words to describe this magic. 

I had one other circle experience this past week.  I was working in Ontario with a small group of leaders.  Around a table we sat for four days.  The energy here was the same.  We were working, and yet we were bound together in the work, and with each other.  In this group too was support, a common purpose, and a kindness extending well beyond professional ‘niceness’.

It cannot be a coincidence that all my different groups, ranging from five to twenty to seventy, all contained such great energy, and that all left me with such a feeling of deep belonging.  I’m beginning to think it has something to do with the circle.

When we organize ourselves in circles, it’s hard to remain isolated.  It’s hard to pretend we don’t notice others.  It is hard to avoid being seen.  There is a strong feeling of connectedness, perhaps even a feeling of responsibility for caring for the others who stand with us.

This has led me to think about the importance of circles in our lives.  We often speak about our circle of friends, or our circle of colleagues, or our circle of acquaintances, or our circle of influence.  At the same time, we often behave as if we are standing in rows, all facing forward, rather than sharing a circle with these people.  When we ‘stand in rows’ it’s easy to not see.  It’s easy to remain self-focused.  It’s easy to feel isolated.

I propose that every once in a while, if we stood, or sat, or danced, in a circle with each of the groups in our lives and did nothing more than look at one another for a few minutes, we would improve our connections, our productivity, our feelings of belonging, our self-worth, our commitment to caring, and our strength as a community. 

This weekend I plan to sit in another circle.  Our family is gathering for a pre-Christmas get together.  I can hardly wait to sit and look across the table at each of us as we share meals, play games and talk.  It’ll be a good chance to catch up, to hear about the busy lives of everyone, and to remind ourselves of how lucky we are to be part of this precious circle.

December and Christmas are rushing toward us.  May you find time to be with and to appreciate each of your circles. 

My inquiry for you this week is, 'Who is in my 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 and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create meaningful circles.
 

I’ve been lucky to have some extra time with our little Grandjoys this week.  Their mom and dad have been busy with Parent/Teacher interviews in the evenings allowing us some school pick-ups, suppers together, extra playtime and even a sleepover.

No matter how much we enjoy our time together, these two active little brothers can still have moments of bugging one another.  We remind them about sharing, and playing together, and once in a while, when one takes something of the other’s, I might say, “Put that down.  It’s not yours.”

This week, I’ve realized I too can benefit from a version of this same reminder in my life.

I’m heading off to do some work in Ontario next week.  For about a year, I’ve been working on a project with several women’s shelters there.  This trip may be the final one for this particular project. 

I love working with these women, these women who devote themselves to other women, to their safety, to supporting their choices, to their well-being.  I don’t work on the front line of this organization.  I work with the Leadership Team, in service to them, to their leadership and to their vision for not only their organization but for all women.  Sometimes my work looks like leadership training, sometimes like visioning, sometimes creating organizational operations, and this time, a combination of all.

Although my role does not include carrying out the plans made, I cannot help myself from becoming emotionally involved in the work.  My heart, or soul -  in this case I’m not sure how to differentiate, cannot help itself.  It simply joins in the process.  It takes all my self-management to stay in my role, to know where my best value is, and to carry out my job.  But I still carry some of the weight of the stories I hear about the women served, and those of the women devoting their lives to this service.

I would do well to remind myself, ‘Put that down.  It’s not your rock to carry.’

When we were hiking this week, one of our topics of conversation centred around how we each somehow mistakenly believed that once we reached a certain age, our worries would disappear along with our smooth skin.  There wasn’t any debate about the truth of this.  We were wrong.  Not just a little wrong.  Really wrong.

While we were smart enough to recognize our wrongness, we had more trouble pinpointing the exact cause of our current state of worry.  After all, in our earlier years, we each led busy lives.  We each had plenty of years where we were responsible for keeping a lot of balls in the air.  We navigated careers, raised children, cared for aging parents, welcomed new members to our families, volunteered, and dealt with illness, injury, and relationships.  Somehow during that time, we also managed friendships, hobbies, and households.  On paper, those should have been the years most filled with heavy lifting.  These more recent years should feel lighter.

The problem is they don’t.

We hiked and we pondered, and we climbed over many, many rocks.  I finally came to this; achieving wisdom may be as simple as us understanding we do not have to carry all the rocks.  There are rocks all around us, just begging to be picked up.  Each of those rocks needs to be carried, but not every single one of them needs to be carried by us.  We would do well to get very skilled at knowing which ones are ours to carry, and which are not.  To recognize when others are carrying heavy loads, and not add rocks to their pile.  We should remember that once in a while someone else needs help with one of their rocks.  But often, when we simply choose to pick up a rock that is not ours, and worry over it, it does not help the true owner of the rock at all.  What might help them is our steady presence, and support.  We all have rocks to carry. Sometimes we need the gentle reminder, ‘Put that down.  It’s not your rock to carry.’

My inquiry for you this week, is ‘What rocks are mine to carry?’
​
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 choose the rocks to carry.
 

Earlier this year I was driving home from a dance performance when one of my dancing friends (who shall be nameless for her protection), told us about a little comment her daughter had made years before when she was a teenager.
The two of them had been getting ready to go out somewhere.  The mom, my friend, was choosing nice clothes to wear, putting on some makeup and doing her hair.  Clearly, she was taking too long for her teenage daughter.  As she put on the finishing touches, her daughter asked, “Why are you bothering to do that?  You had your day.”

As unnamed friend finished the little story, the rest of us in the vehicle sucked every bit of air out of it as we gasped in horror!  Had our day???

WHEN?!

And WHY DIDN’T SOMEONE TELL US?!!!

Once we all exhaled, we laughed uproariously together.  Yes, this of course would be how a teenager would view their mother.  From their point of view, we have clearly ‘had our day’.  We’d had our chance to be young.  To look in fashion.   To wear the latest trends, and to be ‘cool’.  We’d had our chance to hang out with friends, and to be ultra self-conscious about ourselves, wondering if we fit in at all.  We’d definitely had our day.  Unfortunately, none of us could tell the others when it had been.

As we drove along, thinking of all sorts of ways we had and had not ‘had our day’, through the side-splitting laughter, there were also hints of deep thought.

What if we HAD had our day?  It was possible after all.  What if ‘our day’ had happened while we were busy raising our children, working, and trying to keep everything together.  What if it had happened when we were still trying to figure out what we believed in, and how we fit with the world.  What if it was when we were studying hard in university?  What if we really had had it and had missed it?

As we talked together, we agreed that whether or not we’d ‘had our day’, we believed we still had at least one day ahead of us that might just be ‘our day’.  What would it look like we wondered?  Would we recognize it when it was happening or is it possible we might miss it again.

I’ve thought about this so much since then.  When I look back upon my life, even when I search through my photographs, there are none, not even one, labeled, ‘Your Day’.  And yet, I know I’ve had my share of spectacular moments. One of those might have happened within ‘my day’.   I just cannot, for the life of me, pick out which day was my day.

As I look forward to my next years, I wonder which day will be ‘my day’.  I wonder how I will know.  I wonder if I’ll recognize it, or if I’ll have to wait several more decades until someone much younger reminds me again that ‘I’ve had my day’.

Most of us recognize, in real time, when it is not ‘our day’.  These kinds of days have a feeling to them, a feeling as though if anything can go wrong, it will.  Everything feels just slightly off.  It’s as if we are one gear out of synch.  But the days that are ‘our days’ are not quite so easy to recognize in real time unless we know what to look for.

Here is what I now know about recognizing ‘my day’.

For the most part, ‘my day’ is never going to show up on the calendar as ‘This is Your Day’.  Rather ‘my day’ is any day in which I live in a moment of joy.  Sometimes my moment is brief.  It’s important for me to be alert, and present, for these moments can be so fleeting. 

My moments of joy are the moments that fill me up.  They make me feel.  They are often shared with people I love.  They have no rules around them.  When it is ‘my day’, I might be leading a workshop where everyone connects to the work, and where I am at my personal and professional best.  Joy. 

Or I might be toboganning down a ‘mountain’ with two-year old Andy.  Joy. 

Or carrying him back up that same mountain.  Actually, the moment of joy is not so much the carrying part but when he asks me, right as we come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, ‘Gramma, can you please carry me up the mountain?’.  Joy.  I cannot think of a mountain I would not carry either him or his brother up.

‘My day’ sometimes feels like a great conversation, like the one I had this week with another one of my friends as we talked about our ‘Gramma worries’.  Joy. 

‘My day’ can be me hurrying to put the finishing touches on a meal, and stopping to listen to the sounds of all the different conversations between the people in our family.  Joy.

‘My day’ can be dancing to a brand new-to-me, chart topping song, one that our dance instructor Reba J, did not think for one minute we were too old for.  Joy.  I especially know it’s my day when we dancers face each other, and catch ourselves with huge smiles on our faces, knowing we belong to something so, so special.  Joy x 2. 

‘My day’ can be hiking up a mountain.  Not the whole thing, but the parts when we stop to hear … nothing at all.  And the parts when we find ourselves either in rich conversation, or tears of laughter.  Joy. 

‘My day’ can be visiting Shirley on her farm with Ben and Andy.  Here ‘my day’ consists of the boys climbing up into the grain trucks and ‘delivering zebras to the zoo’.  And picturing the combines all lined up together as Shirley describes the day last week when kind neighbours arrived with machinery and trucks to help get the last of the crops off the fields before the snow came.  Joy.

It’s definitely possible that I’ve already ‘had my day’.  But on Friday we’ll be visiting Shirley with Ben and Andy and I have a strong hunch that too, is going to be ‘my day’.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Is today your day?’
​
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 notice ‘your day’.
 
 
 

It’s been a back and forth couple of weeks.

Last Sunday morning we had a call from our daughter Kaitlyn.  Ben had awakened with what looked like an eye infection, a cap off to the cold he had been fighting, so she was off to the walk-in clinic with him.  After a couple hours of waiting, the easy diagnoses was made.  It was in fact an infection and the dreaded eye drop insertion began.   After getting settled nicely back at home, she put Andy down for his nap.  When he awoke, he was having trouble breathing and he had developed a cough with the telltale signs of croup.  Croup is an infection of the vocal cords, voice box, windpipe, and upper airway of the lungs.  It’s not to be messed with.

Knowing this, Kaitlyn bundled him up and quickly headed back to the doctor, this time to Urgent Care.  Thank heavens for good medical care.  They ended up there for hours, but by late that night they were back home, with Andy’s airway opened thanks to the wonderful world of oral steroids.  This was quite a contrast to many years ago when Kaitlyn had croup as a baby.  We rushed her to the hospital where she was kept for a few days in a croup tent.  There were no oral steroids, just oxygen administered consistently in a tent above her crib to help with laboured breathing.

While Andy’s breathing improved, he was still quite ill with a bad virus (or two or three as suspected by the doctors).  To add insult to injury, by the time Kaitlyn arrived home with Andy, she too had started to show signs of having some kind of virus and had lost her voice.  By the next morning, she too, was down with one of the many respiratory viruses circulating.

By Tuesday night a corner started to appear. She felt they might be rounding it, and she could return to work, and Andy to his day home.  Those arrangements were made.  But by early morning, sweet little Andy was now infected with his own eye infection.  Another phone call to us and back to the clinic we went with Andy while Kaitlyn went to work. The doctor who saw him this time prescribed antibiotic drops, listened carefully to his lungs, and recommended he stay home for a while and to watch for worsening symptoms.  By noon that day, Kaitlyn was too sick to stay at work so back home she came.

And so it went.  Back and forth. 

Friday there was one more visit to the clinic for Andy to have his breathing checked again.

In the midst of it all, with the temperatures dropping, and the roads too slippery for non-essential travel, I took the opportunity to do some ‘back and forthing’ of my own.  Part of it involved thinking back on my leadership, noticing what parts of it have served me well, and looking forth into my next leadership opportunities, to make decisions about how I will choose to be.  While some of my thinking involves my leadership as a professional, most of it has landed on my personal leadership; leadership of myself. 

Leaders are, by definition, those of us responsible for our world.  That includes me.  And you.  Understanding this, it’s a good idea to take time every once in a while, to examine my leadership, both the reality of what it is now, and the vision for what it might become.
 
My reflections have involved my past, both distant and more recent.  Back and forth I’ve gone, sometimes with chuckles as certain memories come to the surface, and sometimes with unexpected tears of emotion appearing on my cheeks.
One of my writings was about an experience I had in university.  I considered trying out for the track team when I was entering my third year.  I’m not sure I would have made it, but the fact I was considering it surprised even me.  After all, I was a head-down, work-hard student.  As I wrote about this, I examined why I had not tried out.  The truth is I thought (at the time I ‘knew’) it would not be seen as a favourable thing to do by certain people who I loved.  University was, after all, about academics.  That’s all it took for me to choose to not do it.  I don’t remember trying to change anyone’s mind.  I don’t even remember feeling that badly.  I just had a strong feeling about not putting my wishes before those of others.
Putting others first is not a bad trait.  But when used to the extreme, or without much thought, or even just as a habit, or worse, as a way of hiding from potential failure, it’s a good recipe for missing opportunities, and for not following passions.

As I looked back and forth, back on that experience, and forth on other events in my life, I could see a pattern of me playing safe in life when I thought the stakes were too high, particularly when I thought I might ruffle feathers.  I know and respect many ‘feather rufflers’, but looking back at my own life, I recognize that at best, in many ways, I often simply gave those feathers a little pat, often doing more smoothing than ruffling.

Sometimes when we look back and forth, especially when we risk doing so through a very clean lens, we notice that we repeat many behaviours over and over again.  We dress them up differently, give them new settings, new wardrobes, sometimes even adding new characters, and making new rationalizations, but at the end of the day, we repeat familiar patterns in our lives.

As part of my reflection, I continued to look back and forth, noticing that as the years grew, my feather ruffling improved.  Even so, I wonder what opportunities await me now that I might still, automatically, without any thought at all, dismiss out of habit.  And I wonder what opportunities I might just seize, what feathers I might be willing to ruffle.

When Kaitlyn looks back on these past two weeks of back and forth, back and forth to the doctor, to the clinic, to Urgent Care, and to work, I’m guessing first she’ll just be wishing she never has to experience weeks like this again.  She’ll be wishing she doesn’t have to miss any more work and that she doesn’t have to feel guilty about doing so.  I strongly suspect, though, that as time passes, and she looks back on her life with those two little boys, and forth to their more grown-up years, she won’t have one single regret about the time, care and love she gave them. If a few feathers were ruffled in the process, I suspect they’ll look wonderful in her cap.

As you look back and forth on your life, I hope you find some beautiful feathers you were willing to ruffle in service to your leadership.  I know there are more waiting to add to your cap.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What feathers am I ruffling?’
​
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 choose which feathers to ruffle.
 
​

This week as Ben and I were waiting for an appointment, he introduced me to some of Chris Hadfield’s videos from his time in the International Space Station.  These are short little clips of astronaut extraordinaire, Chris Hadfield, doing everyday little things in space.  In one he shows us how he brushes his teeth, he makes a peanut butter sandwich in another, and in yet another he wrings out a water soaked cloth.

Ben is fascinated by these, as am I.  It’s the first time I’ve seen the intricacies of space presented in such and interesting and easy to understand way.  For me, NOT a science geek, to be so enthralled is a first.

This week, while I haven’t spent any time at all thinking about the possibility of me going into space, I have spent some time thinking about firsts, and being first.

It’s an obsession our society seems inflicted with, this being first thing.  When I was growing up, the entire world watched, collective breath held, as we waited to see who would be first in space.  Would it be the Soviet Cosmonauts, or our neighbours, the American Astronauts.  Then, I suppose out of fear that one side or the other would certainly not be first, the contest broke into several sub-contests.  Who would be first to get to the moon?  Who would be first to land on the moon?  Who would walk on the moon first?  And in later years who might re-enter the atmosphere and land more like a plane rather than splashing down in the ocean?

History, ancient and modern, is filled with stories of humans and their quest to be first.  Today we read stories about incredible feats of firsts; the first person to fly solo around the earth, the first woman to fly a plane, the first free standing tower with an observation deck at the top, the first freeze dried food, the first antibiotic, the first person to earn one billion dollars, the first basketball/soccer/hockey player to reach a milestone in the statistics of their sport, the first woman to run an official marathon.

We breed this into our children, this idea of being first.  Who will be the ‘first’ to smile, walk, talk, bike, run or read.  Some kids couldn’t care less.  Life for them unfolds according to their own schedule and they don’t pay much heed to the pressure of others.  Other kids would not even hesitate to knock over a few playmates on their way to being first at the water fountain or being first in the recess line.

When I was in my final year of high school, all my friends were talking about university.  Jane wanted law school, Tracy was headed for medicine, Jan was intrigued with Urban and Regional Planning.  I had never really considered a life beyond high school.  High school graduation was the goal in my family. The more I listened to my friends, the more I wondered if university might be a possibility for me too. 

However, there was one major hurdle.  My parents were not enthralled at the possibility.  I hadn’t exactly asked them outright, but I’d sat through enough conversations, possibly lectures, at the dinner table where Dad, a factory worker, shared his disgust at ‘these guys’ they brought into the boiler room, ‘these guys’ with fancy degrees, most of whom 'couldn’t even change a tire'.  We all knew for sure  that a university degree was a lot of money to spend to not even learn to change a tire.

When I summoned up the courage to ask my parents if I could go to University of Waterloo to study Math, the response was not a flat out no, but it was lukewarm at best.  I believe it was, ‘If that’s what you think you need to do.  You know we can’t help you.’  I have no idea what gave me the courage to push forward, to order the calendar from which to select my courses, to figure out housing and my schedule, and apply and be accepted.  I suspect knowing my friends were doing the same thing as they applied for their programs, normalized it somewhat.  But for a girl who was NEVER called a rebel, it was a huge step for me.  My parents could not help me financially, but they did sit with the large book of courses and tried to help me sift through the ones I needed to take.  And of course, Dad taught me to change my tires.

For me, the goal was simply to study Math, and to become a Math teacher.  An unintended consequence was that I became the first member of my family to attend university, and perhaps even better, in doing to, to reassure Dad that I was not going to think I was too good for them anymore.  That, in fact, was his unspoken worry; that I’d outgrow our farm and our family.  It turned out, he became proud of me, and I never outgrew either the farm or family.

I've never had a burning desire to be first.

But.

I do have a great admiration for those who dare to walk through fear to reach a goal, sometimes becoming first in the process.

At this stage of life, I’m not in a hurry to be first at many things.  I’m not in a hurry to reach the end of my life first.  I’m not in a hurry to be first in most lines.  I’m not in a hurry to be first to stop doing activities I love.  I’m not in a hurry to stop trying new things.  And I’m not in a hurry to be the first to try every single new thing.

There are so many ways we can be first.  When Ben and I sat and watched Chris Hadfield, it was completely apparent that Mr. Hadfield is passionate about what he does.  I do not believe he chose the exploration of space so he could wear a blue, first place ribbon, on his chest.  I do not believe he chose to create videos so he could claim he was the first to make them.  I think he chose his passion, space exploration, because he simply loved it,  and then he fully committed to it.  The part where he became first, was simply a lovely side effect. 

I hope I too can be passionate enough about who I strive to be, that I’ll have the bravery needed to be follow those passions and in doing so to perhaps accidentally become first at some things.  I hope I can be brave enough to be the first to apologize when it’s needed.  I hope I can be the first to encourage someone else, even if it means they end up  ‘better than me’.  I hope I can be the first to say, ‘I’ll help’, or ‘How are you?’.  I hope I’m first to open my heart to new adventures and new friends, and also to be the first to be grateful for the relationships that have served me so well thus far in my life. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I being first?’
​
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 be first.
 

Each Tuesday, weather permitting, I take part in a Tuesday Trek, with three of my friends.  Tuesday Treks are hikes, hikes in the foothills and mountains of the majestic Rocky Mountains.  These are precious days to each of us in our group.  The value of the hours spent together is impossible to define.  There is no dollar value to be certain, and even the value on our physical and mental health is hard to calculate.  But this we know.   Our lives are indisputably better because of this time spent together.  Time spent slogging uphill, hashing out worries and dreams, laughing uproariously at our own hilarity, and breathing in the beauty all around us.  Inevitably, our hikes also involve many, many pauses for taking pictures.

I’m not a particularly great photographer but still, I’ve loved taking pictures ever since I was old enough to buy myself my first camera.  In those days, we used film.  The stuff that came in the little rolls, that had to be inserted and fed into the back of the camera, and then once enough pictures had been taken to complete the roll of either 12, 24 or even 36 pictures, had to be removed to be sent away to be developed.  In my case, we lived in the country, so I had to mail away my rolls of film.  Sometimes, several weeks later, when the developed pictures were returned, also by mail, I’d be surprised to open the package and see a few pictures that might have been taken a full year earlier.  We never considered ‘wasting’ pictures.  If only nine pictures from a roll of twelve were taken during a holiday, the remaining three (or sometimes four if we were lucky enough to get a bonus frame) were saved to be taken on the next important occasion, usually the next summer holiday! 

This ritual of film buying, and development continued long after Jim and I were married.  We used to have a little habit of, when the photos came back from the lab, which at that time had been upgraded to one-hour service, scanning the photos for ‘rippers’.  Rippers were any photos where, according to ourselves, we looked awful.  We would literally say, ‘Ooooh, that one’s a ripper’, then take the photo, rip it up and dispose of it.  We never called a photo of someone else a ‘ripper’, nor we we allowed to rip up a photo of someone else.  The fun was all in only noticing ourselves.

This of course is what most of us do.  Even though we’ve progressed to the modern technology of digital photography, when we take our snapshots, we often quickly glance at them, specifically honing in on ourselves.  When we don’t like what we see, we click on that handy little garbage pail icon in the bottom right corner and rid ourselves of the evidence.
This week I’ve spent some time looking at and thinking about pictures, specifically about the ones with me in them.  No, I haven’t been scrutinizing them to see where I look the best, after all the landscape is so forgiving there is plenty of room for less than perfect human models.  Instead, I’ve been thinking about how I would like to see myself when I look back at the picture I’m creating of my life.

The thing is, we don’t need to wait for the photos to be developed or reviewed in order to eliminate the rippers.  We can deal with the rippers of our life in real time.  

Each of us has the capacity to imagine the picture we have of our very best selves.  We know who we are striving to be.  We know our values, whether they be family, hard work, success, financial stability, integrity, adventure, security, generosity, or any of the endless values we have to choose from.  We also, when we are at our very best, can notice when we are being true to those values close to our hearts.  We are completely aware when we are not living our lives in alignment with our precious values.

It is in those moments when we get that ‘off feeling’, when it is as if we are standing on a balcony looking down at ourselves and truly noticing our behaviour and our impact, and recognizing we are not being the person we want to see in our pictures, that our behaviour is not giving us the impact we desire, that we have the split-second power to shift.  We have the chance to notice a ‘ripper’ in the making, and stop it long before it is developed, and the envelope opened for all to see.

Even little kids can be taught to think before they act.  It takes them a few tries to learn to self-regulate enough to stop and think before doing.  But they can do this and so can we.  We alone have the capacity to create the picture of who we want to be in the picture of our lives.  We cannot always paint in the surrounding landscape.  We do not always have full choice over all the details in our lives.  We do have full choice over how we show up, over who we are, and over who we are being.  The best thing about it is not only do we have the choice, we also have the ability to choose this over and over and over again, making subtle changes as we go until the picture is exactly right.

When I look over our pictures from last Tuesday’s Trek, I am lucky to see the gorgeous scenery in each of them.  Other than making the choice to get out of bed and hike up Prairie Mountain this past week, none of us had a thing to do with that incredible landscape.  What we did have choice about was how we could be seen in our pictures.  I notice in all of those containing humans, that there is joy, interest in one another, a readiness for adventure, and interest in and compassion for our fellow travellers.  They are pictures I am proud of.
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 catch rippers.
 
 

We spent last weekend in Yukon with Greg and Cara.  This was a long overdue trip to celebrate Greg’s successful completion of his PhD.  The pandemic, followed by the North’s caution about opening up after Covid, followed by life in general, sidetracked us from this trip.  Finally, this year, we committed to making it happen.  The big dream was to stand under the big Yukon night sky and take in the glory of the Northern Lights.  I’ve seen them before when we lived on our acreage.  But there was something drawing us to try to witness them in their homeland.

Alas, it was not to be.

The Northern Lights were, in fact, very active all weekend.  We, in fact, were poised to see them.  We stayed at a place called Inn on the Lake, about halfway between Whitehorse and Carcross, in the middle of the sparsely populated lake community of Marsh Lake.  There is no light pollution there.  The location of the Inn provided the perfect viewing spot.  Everything was perfectly orchestrated for success.  Except for Mother Nature.  She must be feeling the unease of the rest of the world, for she has blanketed the Yukon and Alaska with uncharacteristic cloud for almost two weeks. 

There were moments in each day when bits of blue sky would peak through.  We’d have a couple of phones active, tracking not only the solar flares that indicate strong Northern Lights, but also cloud cover, possibility of rain, and temperature, so hopeful for a glimpse of the spectacular Lights.  We had all the gadgets at our disposal.  One night, it looked like there was going to be a brief window of possibility around 3:00am.  We set alarms in each of our suites and Greg and I met outside to check out the sky.  Sure enough, there was a break in the clouds.  But the almost full moon was so bright, there was no chance for the dancing Lights to shine down.

I was disappointed that my image of us seeing the Northern Lights, first right from the car on our drive from the airport to the Inn, and then each following night at the inn,  was not realized; the beauty of those lights was, after all, the main focus of our trip.

Beauty is not always found exactly where we are looking.  Beauty does not always look the way we expect it to.  True beauty does not always align with our imagination’s ideas.  And our expectations are often realized in ways we never expect.

So it was for us last weekend.

We had a most wonderful time in Yukon.  Jim and I had a brief glimpse of this magnificent place in June when we were there for a few short days for my bike race.  Greg and Cara have never been.  Yukon isn’t glamourous in the commercial sense of the word.  The restaurants are not, for the most part, gourmet.  The lodgings are comfortable, but not like those found in a fancy resort.  The people dress in clothes designed to move and work, not designed for fashion shows. 

Yet Yukon holds a beauty not found in many places.  We found its beauty.  Not in the night sky, not under the colours of the Northern Lights, but in every other place we looked.  We found beauty in the early mornings, looking over the calm waters of Marsh Lake.  We found beauty as we played a game of three-person crib, as six tundra swans, first appearing as a bright white line, soared close to the waters’ surface toward the shore.  Then later that morning as two foxes played together on the shore.  There was beauty in the incredible fall leaves, still hanging on the trees on the drive along the Alaska Highway to Skagway, and in the spectacular mountain vistas along the way.  We literally gasped at the beauty of two large black bears, looking completely at home in their vast backyard.

This weekend we celebrate Thanksgiving.  You may or may not recall that there isn’t much I love more than a beautiful clean countertop.  This weekend I’ll be expanding my view of beauty.  I suspect I’ll find it among the piled up dirty dishes, reminding me how lucky we are to have the beauty of our family around us.  I’ll find it in the exuberance of two little boys as they try to contain their energy at such an exciting family get together.  I’ll find it in laughter and perhaps even in tears.  How lucky are we to have a home where both are welcome.

Last weekend I expected to find myself standing under the night sky marvelling at the Northern Lights.  I did find myself under the night sky.  At three o’clock on Saturday morning when Greg and I met outside to check the sky, we stood there together for a few minutes.  The magnificent moon shone brightly, obscuring any hope for our viewing of the Northern Lights.  But it was still magical, standing there with my son in the silence of the land. 
That’s a little moment of beauty I’ll treasure forever.

My inquiry for you is, ‘Where is the beauty?’

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 out how notice beauty.
 
 
 
 
 
 

When Ben was about three years old, any time we were talking about an idea for doing something, he’d pipe up and say, “We can do that!”

It became a mantra in our home and with some of our friends.  If we were talking about going for a hike, or doing housework, or planning our next day, one of us would inevitably pipe up and say, ‘We can do that!’.  I hadn’t forgotten about it, but it hasn’t been such a common expression lately.  Ben of course is on to new ideas and sayings and somehow, we’ve just let it slip past our daily vocabulary too.

Last weekend as we were in Banff, enjoying the sunshine, beautiful fall leaves, and mountains, and cheering on the thousands of runners participating in the Melissa’s race, I felt a wave of nostalgia as I realized how much I missed running.  When people, usually with puzzled looks, used to ask why in the world I did it, I always knew my answer.  It was so simple.

Because I can.

I ran because I could.  Running for me was my meditation, my place to work out the puzzle pieces in my head, my place to challenge myself, and to feel peace.   I ran in the early mornings, when the sun was either not quite up, or just giving me a glimpse of its glory.  I ran in the spring days when the brand-new fawns were standing with their mamas.  I ran in the bitter cold winter, when coming home, I delighted to see the frozen ice on my eyelashes.  I ran in races with thousands of others, feeling the joy of their companionship, and I ran alone on country roads, feeling the peace of nature.

It has been extremely difficult to give up running, this thing that is a big part of my identity, even though I understand my right knee simply is not on board to continue.  As I cheered on Kaitlyn, Greg, and Sus on Saturday, I thought to myself, “I cannot do that”.  It was not an easy thought to think.

This is not a new thought, but the more seasons that pass by, the more I fully realize this to be the truth.  As the runners entered the finishers chute, and we cheered our crew to the finish line, I didn’t have too much time to brood.  By then, Ben and Andy were pretty much done with cheering for all the legs and shoes passing them by at their eye level, and they wanted to play.  Ben asked if we could go for a walk in the woods.

We can do that, I thought.

Getting ‘lost’ in the woods with our Grandjoys, and ‘discovering’ new paths to explore is also good for my soul.  I can’t quite sort out the puzzle pieces in my head with all the questions coming my way from them, but it certainly brings a sense of peace.  Interestingly, while there, I never once thought of the running, which just moments before, I had missed so much.

I’ve come back to our playful old thought, ‘We can do that!’, many times in this past week.  It’s a wonderful expression really.  When it is offered with just the right tone; with a twinkle in the eye and a smile on the lips, it can make us aware of all we really can do, and it lightens the load of doing it. 

On Sunday morning, Jim asked if I’d like to go for a bike ride.  I didn’t say it out loud, but in my head immediately came the thought, ‘We can do that’.  On Monday I asked Jim if he’d like to join me on my visit to see my friend, Graham, still in the hospital.  ‘We can do that’, Jim replied out loud.  On the way, Jim remembered that Graham loves vanilla milk shakes and asked it I’d like to stop to get one to bring him.  We can do that, I replied.  When we were at the hospital, Graham asked if we’d go for a walk with him while we were there.

We can do that.

It’s easy to think about all the things we cannot do.  When we are young, we languish over all the things we cannot yet do.  When we get to a certain age, we mourn all the things we used to be able to do but cannot do with such ease any longer.  Sometimes our seemingly shrinking worlds feel very real.  Yet at any age, on every day, there are limitless things to which we can respond, ‘We can do that.’

We can approach days with curiosity.  We can offer a smile.  We can reach out to others.  We can try something new.  We can offer praise.  We can give compliments.  We can tackle our checklist.  We can witness nature.  We can sit with a friend.  We can take a chance. We can walk beside.  We can say yes.

On Sunday, our dance troupe was invited to dance for the cast of the Cirque de Soliel show, Kooza, at their after-party.  It was a last-minute invitation but our leader, Reba J, with her unshakable belief in us, replied, ‘We can do that!’.  Each of us received her invitation.  All of us who possibly could, even some who had to come home early from their weekend away to make it work, responded, ‘We can do that!’.

Dancing under the clear sky, moon shining down on us, I never gave running a thought.   As we danced, we kept catching each other’s eye, and between songs would whisper, ‘Isn’t this so incredible!?’  Our knees didn’t ache (yet), our minds let go of everything we cannot do, and we simply danced together in joy. 

We can do that.

This week I hope you find yourself smiling as you go about your life, noticing all the times you get the chance to say, ‘We can do that.’  It’s life changing.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What can you do?’
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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 how to find out how ‘You can do that’.
 
 
 

Today is the Melissa’s Road Race in Banff.  I’m not running it this year, but we’re still going to be in Banff, cheering on our son, Greg, our daughter, Kaitlyn, and Greg’s brother-in-law, Sus.  It doesn’t seem so long ago that our kids, too small to enter this race, were there cheering me on.  Now, one full circle later, I get to cheer as they compete. 

This is an absolute favourite race of mine.  Every part of the day is fantastic, from getting up in the dark to make the trip into the mountains, watching as the first rays of the sun illuminate those majestic rocks in the west, to parking and listening to the racers as they try to stay warm and strategize their race, to cheering as the runners pass by on the road, to listening to the announcer as each runners name is announced as they cross the finish line, to sitting on the grass post-race, listening to the live music provided.  I love it all; every last second of it.

I think if I was put under a tremendous amount of pressure and asked to give my absolute most favourite time of this day, I would have to say it is listening to the announcer at the finish line, welcoming each finisher by name over the loudspeaker.  I always have to fight back tears at this part. 

When I was running, there was something so validating about this moment; this moment when each of us who were participating, were simply noticed, and named.  I often crossed the finish line with tears in my eyes.  Many people mistakenly thought I must be either hurt, or simply so glad to be done.  But neither of these were true.  I loved the running part of running.  But I really loved something about that name-calling part.

Greg and Cara were telling us that when they went to Penticton to cheer on their friend, Derrek, in the Ironman Canada competition last summer, they were brought to tears at the finish line too.  In that competition, as each finisher approached the finish line the announcer boomed, “(the competitors name).  YOU. ARE. AN. IRONMAN.”   I have never seen this particular race, but I can imagine the emotion here, the emotion of the competitors as their months of training are realized in success, the emotion of their supporters as they celebrate the victory of a loved one, and the emotion of simply being noticed and named.

When we arrived into this world, each of us were noticed, and named by our parents.  The noticing and naming were given in love.  Our names were said so preciously those first times, as those already inhabiting our world got used to saying it, and as we learned to associate it with ourselves.  I was bestowed the name Elizabeth, after Sister St. Elizabeth, my mother’s favourite teacher, who happened to be a nun.  For all my elementary school days I was only called Elizabeth.  In fact, my mother forbade me to answer to anything else.  The only exception was that my brother, Daniel, just a couple of years younger than me, could not manage the whole mouthful of my name so he called me Littlebit.  Eventually Dad joined in and Littlebit stuck; but just with Dad.   My brother eventually mastered the full four syllables, and fell in line with everyone else.

I think this emphasis on my name, made me sensitive to the names of others.  I became a noticer.

When I was teaching school, I had a little ritual I performed about eight times each day.  On the first day of classes I would ask each student which name they preferred to be called, and I used it from then on.  Then, at the beginning of each class, as each new group of students would enter my classroom for their math lesson, I would stand at the door, just outside of the classroom and welcome them each by name.  ‘Good to see you Jasmine, good morning Rob, I’m glad you’re back Jackson, how are you feeling Emma?’, and so on.  I always thought it was important that each of them knew they were noticed and heard their name spoken in welcome at least one time in each day. 

These days I have many names; Elizabeth, Liz, Lizzie, Mom, Aunt Liz, Aunt Elizabeth, Gramma, Seven, Mrs. Critchley, and even Lizard, by one dear friend who finds it to be hilarious.  It has been rumoured I have a strict preference for Elizabeth.  Like with most rumours, this one has no basis in truth.  I’ve often been asked what I prefer, and I’m always a bit baffled.  I just don’t know what I prefer.  Actually, what I do know is this; I prefer to be called the name that most sounds like love when spoken by whomever is talking to me.  For my sisters, that would be Elizabeth.  For my brothers, it’s most often Liz.  For Jim’s family, it’s Liz, or Aunt Liz.  In my family there is a mixture of Aunt Liz and Aunt Elizabeth.  I, like everyone else, simply want to be noticed and named.

Most of the lessons I learned in school have provided me with a sound guide for how to live my life.  But one of the lessons we were taught was to NOT name call, and this is a rule I freely break, and rebelliously encourage others to break also.  It’s important that we not only name call, but that we do so in a way that allows others to feel noticed, named and loved. 

On Saturday I’m going to practice some name calling in Banff.  I’ll even be loud.  I hope you too find some time in this upcoming week to do some loving name calling of your own.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is my name calling?’
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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 how to find out how to name call.