Little Andy and I were out for a walk one morning this week.  He has just found his walking legs and he loves to use them.  We had already taken a ride in his little black truck, meaning Andy steered and lifted his feet while I pushed!  For our second loop, I switched to the wagon, pulling it from the front while Andy pushed from behind.  My idea was that should he tire out, I could easily sit him in the wagon and pull him home.  I shouldn’t have worried.  He could have walked all day.
As we wandered along with Andy pushing the wagon, an around-the-corner neighbour, out checking her garden, was delighted to see the sight little Andy made as he walked along. She said hello to him, and commented we were smart to get out before the rain started.  I agreed and then she added that we’ve already had a lot of rain.  Again, I agreed and made some small talk with her while Andy checked out the feel of a soft evergreen bush.  She paused for a moment and then, looking around at the lush green lawns and the beautiful first flowers in bloom said, “The aftermath is really beautiful, isn’t it?”

Her use of aftermath in this way has given me great pause for the last few days.  I’ve always only used this word to describe carnage.  When the massive windstorm hit our gorgeous hiking trails last Fall, we spoke of the aftermath of the storm, meaning the devastation that was left behind after the storm had passed. When the floods of 2013 struck, the aftermath was, I thought, the terrible things left behind by the power of the storm.

I’d been thinking the aftermath was only the bad stuff.  I never gave much thought to the idea that aftermath could be a good thing, a beautiful thing even.  But it turns out that aftermath is really just the aftereffects of an event, usually a significant unpleasant event.  It’s the event that is significant and unpleasant.  The aftermath is simply what is left behind.

No one gets to judge for us what constitutes a significant, unpleasant event.  Of course, most of us can agree on the big stuff.  Natural disasters won’t get much pushback – they clearly qualify as events with an aftermath.  Yet so too can office meetings, traffic jams, rejections, unkind comments, missed opportunities, embarrassments, and personal loss.  The key is that they are not only unpleasant, but that they are significant.  To us. 

Most of us have lived long enough to have experienced several, if not many, unpleasant events.  All of us who have, have stood in their aftermath.  Sometimes we stand there stunned.  Stunned by the devastation.  Stunned by the feelings.  Stunned by the unexpected turn of events.  Sometimes stunned by the physical evidence of the event.  When the experience is unexpected or shocking enough this is our natural, and reasonable reaction.  The time we linger in this land is not prescribed.  It can last only moments or for months.  Here, we are certainly in the aftermath.  And yet, even once this time passes, we continue to be in the aftermath.

In this new land, possibilities reveal themselves.  Where we once only felt numb or shock, we can begin to see new possibilities.  In the aftermath, we can appreciate the growth resulting from the rains, the beautiful lawn and gardens of our neighbour, the communities rallying together, the relationships made stronger, the commitments to one another solidified, and the goals and dreams made more vivid. 

This perhaps is why there is a second meaning of aftermath. In the farming community, aftermath refers to a second growth, a rowen. 

What a hopeful concept.

To think there could be a second (and third and fourth) chance for our own growth, especially after disappointment, or loss, or even catastrophe is so promising.  It’s what allows us to continue to dream, to make plans, and to pursue dreams, knowing that while there may be ‘significant, unpleasant events’ in our futures, so to will there be some beautiful aftermaths; walks with precious tiny boys, just finding their walking legs, giving ways to chance meetings with wise, new-to-us neighbours.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the growth in the aftermath?’

It’s the end of June and for the second year, I’ve decided to take a little break from this blog.  Not from writing though, for I have a couple of other projects on the go.

May you have a wonderful summer, with no significant, unpleasant events, and with lots of opportunity for new growth.

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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to grow in the aftermath.
 
 
 

Last week I commented about the ‘glorious rains’ quenching the thirst of our parched lands.  I generously noted how we’d missed our hike but didn’t mind given rain has been prayed for by every farmer in Southern Alberta.

Perhaps I was a bit premature in my excitement.  Perhaps I got carried away before I fully knew what the rain gods were capable of, for this week they unleashed their full force on our city and surrounding countryside dropping more rain in a couple of days than we usually receive in a month.

I missed most of it, watching from afar as I facilitated a leadership retreat on the shores of Lake Huron.  While each day, I awoke to calm, glasslike water, a clear blue sky and temperatures rivaling the hottest days of summer in Calgary, my family at home awakened to torrential rain.

The forecast for the rain came just before I left the city and caused great unease among the residents. The flood of 2013 has not yet left our memories.  2013 was an unexpected and frightening time.  Like it was yesterday, I remember so well having the morning off work that day to drive Jim to his six-week check up after his second open-heart surgery.  This one, while open heart, was not to fix his heart.  Nine months earlier he’d had a quadruple bypass surgery.  Just days after that initial surgery, all the wires used to close his sternum failed, bursting the wires into tiny bits inside him and leaving the sternum healed but not together.  This surgery was to remove the hundreds of bits of wire left inside him, and then to close the sternum with four long titanium rods.  Our appointment was on that June day in 2013.

The appointment was kind of exciting.  We had looked forward to the day.  Jim was feeling well and we fully expected he’d get the go-ahead  to drive again, and that he was out of the woods in terms of his unjoined sternum.

It was raining as we headed toward the Foothills hospital, but no flood warnings were issued.  It felt like a rainy June day.
Only a couple of hours later, we dodged heavy rain as we made our way back to our car with a clean bill of health.  As we listened to the news, we couldn’t believe what we were hearing; bridges were washed out, rivers overflowing their banks, towns were cut off from other towns, large trees and boulders were being swept down swollen streams and the residents of small towns and large cities alike were being evacuated.  It took us a long time to really register what we were hearing.

While Calgarians and Albertans are a resilient bunch, that flood tested and shook every one of us.  Yes, everyone pitched in to help.  Yes, there were stories of heroics and incredible kindnesses.  Yes, there were things to be thankful for.  But for those directly affected, it was devastating. For the rest of us, it unsettles us to this day.

So, last week when Jim told me about the rainfall warning and potential for flooding, I, like all Albertans, felt a worry go through me. This year, the snowpack in the mountains is exceptionally heavy, heavier by far than in 2013, and the rain was expected to be just as heavy.  Yet as I write this, while gentle rain is still falling, and despite the fact the rains have come, torrential at times, and the rivers are swollen, the floods have not come.

It's hard to believe. The conditions were all there, yet the waters were contained.  It’s unbelievable. And yet not.

2013 was disaster.  Literally.  But once the imminent crisis had passed, once the waters had receded and there was only sand, silt and mould, unlivable homes and unstable building foundations, and uprooted trees and boulders to deal with, every municipality and district affected got to work to make changes so that, heaven forbid, should the crazy conditions align once again, we’d be much better prepared.

There was some grumbling about the cost of the mitigation.  After all, the event of 2013 was billed as a ‘once in a hundred years’ event.  What were the chances it would happen again?  Yet for the most part, the vast majority were on board and mitigation went ahead.  Thank goodness it did.  This week we were spared.  Certainly, some outdoor events had to be cancelled, but by and large, all that was endured was rain and wind.

I’ve been thinking about the contrast in those two weather events, the one from 2013 and the one from this week, clearly not one hundred years later.  I’m thinking most of us could borrow a page from that book.  Luckily, most people never have to deal with a severe disaster.  But when we do, we want to do everything in our power to make possible a different outcome the next time.

While we may not have to deal with severe disasters, almost every single one of us does deal with micro-disasters, in our lives.  Perhaps not the kind where we’ve set our hair on fire, for these kinds teach us quickly how to avoid them.  But the kind that feel less life-threatening are easy to repeat.  The kind where we offer opinions that aren’t needed, or when we hurt someone’s feelings without meaning to, or when we put meaning to someone else’s actions that are not accurate, or when we miss the important meaning of what someone is trying to say, or when we sabotage our own success at something by repeating familiar behaviours, all the while hoping for a different result.

I’m thinking of the pride, and perhaps relief, being felt by our elected officials this week.  Pride that their hard work, careful planning, and willingness to change, paid off.

Most of us have potential impending micro-disasters heading our way. We’re human after all.  Most of us, should we take a few moments to reflect, could easily change the outcome of these with very few minor changes and at little cost to ourselves.

Perhaps we’d do well to take a page from the incredible response we saw in 2013 to make a lasting positive change in our own lives.

Stay dry, my friends!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is this helping me avoid ‘disaster’?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to avoid micro-disasters in life and work.
 

I didn’t hike this week.  We had a glorious rain Monday, Monday night, and into Tuesday morning.  I was disappointed in missing the chance to be in the mountains, but I was delighted that our farmers have finally received some of the rains they have been desperate for.  I won’t hike next week either as I have a work commitment.  Luckily, I am certain the mountain we planned to climb will still be there once I’m ready to go back to it.  It may look different on the surface, but it will be there.

While I wasn’t marching up any mountain this week, I did take time to think about them.   I was looking at some of the photographs we’ve taken over this year and was struck by how different a mountain can look season to season, and yet, how underneath it all, it remains the same.

Sometimes it wears a coat of snow, giving it a stark contrast to the blue sky.  Soon it just goes wild and dresses itself in a riot of colour.  Sometimes mountains are covered in trees, sometimes barren and rocky. 

But underneath it all, under the snow and wildflowers, beneath the trees and shale, the mountain remains; unchanging, steadfast, dependable, certain.

Last weekend we attended the Celebration of Life for my brother-in-law, Bill.  My sister Barb, Bill’s wife, and her family, planned the perfect event.  It was held at our family farm, a place where Bill loved to visit. As his Alzheimer’s worsened, this was a place he felt at home and found some peace.  Last Sunday afternoon was an afternoon Bill would have loved.
Besides the perfect setting, the company was just who Bill would have loved to visit with, family all of us, Bill’s and Barb’s combined ‘kids’, Bill’s extended family and our extended family.  Barb asked four different people to speak. Each of them knew Bill in a different way.  Each had been in Bill’s life in a different season.  None knew what the other would say.  Each of course, had their own personal memories and recollections of their time with Bill.  What stood out for me was that although the stories, the characters and events, were different, each of them highlighted a remarkably similar theme.  No matter if we were hearing about Bill as a young boy, or him as a friend, or father, or stepfather, or brother-in-law, or husband, it was so, so clear.  Bill was the mountain.

He was the same with every single person in his life.  Kind and gentle, and ‘on your team’, was Bill.  Bill could have been at a cottage, at work, at home, or away on a fishing trip with his brothers-in-law.  It didn’t matter.  Bill was Bill.  He didn’t make adaptations in his personality to fit the occasion.  He always showed up as himself.  Kind and gentle, every time.
What a tribute this is.  What a wonderful way to be.  To be so much yourself that even being covered with new places, people, situations, life-events, and challenges aren’t enough to cause you to change yourself.  To be the mountain.

I thought about this on the long flight home.  I’ve continued thinking about it all week.  I want to say I’m the mountain too.  I want to say I’m so secure in myself and sure of my values that no matter what gale blows, or snow falls, or flowers bloom, I don’t waver.  But once in a while I do.

Certainly, there are many places in my life where I am the mountain.  But there are also times when my ego or pride, or fear get in my way of simply being myself.

I’m committing to work on this.  I can’t think of anything much better than having people trust that when they are with me, I am not only fully myself, but I am the me I am most proud to be.  I am the me I have chosen to be.  I am the me who when the snow melts off, and the clouds lift, and the wildflowers end their season, I can be counted on to still be me.

When I look out on the mountain ranges we see as we hike, I’m learning the names of some of the individual mountains.  What is hard about this is how many mountains there are.  What is easy, is once I learn the shape and placement of a mountain, I know with certainty, she will be there the next week, with exactly the same shape, in exactly the same place, standing with exactly the same amount of self-assuredness, welcoming all to be at home with her.  She doesn’t bend and twist herself to find acceptance from others.  She knows who she is, and she stands tall and proud.

I’d like to be the mountain.

Go softly, Bill.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I being the mountain?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to find out how to be the mountain.
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Jim spent many hours this week constructing new bluebird boxes.  Luckily, he has some good friends to share this project with.  It’s a familiar ritual at this time of year; the garage is emptied of cars, the bikes and strollers and wagons are moved to a different location, and the saws and worktables are set up for production.  This past Tuesday and Wednesday, the assignment was to create enough birdbox kits for each student in the Outdoor Education option at Millarville school to have one to assemble.  The students were then each going to build their own bluebird nest box from the kit Jim, Daryl and Dave assembled for them in our garage.  Once assembled, the students could choose to paint their boxes or not and donate them for one of the established bluebird trails or keep them for placement on their own property.

Jim had gone over to the school the week before to teach the kids about the bluebirds, how they migrate and come back to our area each year, nesting in boxes along the Bluebird Trail, to lay their eggs and start new families.  Millarville is located along this migration path, the Bluebird Trail, but of course many of the students would never have realized how far these little blue birds, such a familiar sight in our springtime, might have travelled.   Jim said they were enthralled with learning about how he puts the tiny little bands on the legs of the bluebirds so their migration, and lifespan can be tracked and used to help keep the species alive and thriving.  It wasn’t many years ago when this particular species faced extinction.

I suppose it’s possible some of the students had never even noticed a bluebird before, even though they very likely fly in and around the school grounds.  For us it’s hard to believe a person wouldn’t have noticed these gorgeous little flying creatures.  When we lived on our acreage, also along the Bluebird Trail, the bluebirds were one of our favourite sightings, and a first sign of spring.  Going for a walk, or driving in our car, seeing a pair perched on a power line or fence line, always brought us to a halt as we marveled that these beautiful small creatures had somehow made their way from as far away as Mexico in the south, and some on their way to as far north as the Yukon.

On the very day Jim and the boys were making up bluebird box kits for the students, I was high on Mount Hoffman with my hiking friends.  It was one of those magical days.  We had a plan to stop on top of the mountain for our lunch.   Brenda and I had been there before but this was a first for Lynne and Pam.  It’s one of my favourite places.  Near the top, above the treeline, Lynne stopped to take a picture of a beautiful, tiny, wildflower.  It was growing in front of a rock.  As I had passed the rock, I thought the designs on the rock were interesting, but never really stopped to examine them.  Lynne however, with her sharp eye for all things of beauty and interest in nature, commented on how incredible it was that the lichen could create such beautiful designs on the rocks. 

‘Lichen?’, I thought to myself.  Not wanting to seem uniformed, or unobservant, I took a closer look at the rocks all around me.  Where I had seen what I thought were simply interesting lines in the rocks, were clearly evidence of tiny little organisms growing out of the rock.  I had carelessly (and obliviously) walked right past this incredible piece of nature.  As I looked closer at the lichen, I realized that all around me were other tiny forms of spring life.  We were treated to many species of wildflowers trying so hard to grow against all odds.  These tiny wee beauties stay close to the ground to avoid the wind, and at this time of year the warm sun and spring rains give them just enough nourishment to bloom.

I like to think I’m observant.  I definitely have my antennae primed for observing people, and apparently, I just assumed that skill had bled over to observation of all things.  The little lichen has humbled me. 

As we took our fill of pictures, sat atop the mountain, had our lunch, and breathed in the mountain air and the beautiful scenery, I had some time to think.  How many times have I missed what has been right around me? How many times have I walked past moments of opportunity and of joy?  How many times have I stepped right over the suffering of others, assuming that what I was seeing on the surface was the truth of what was really going on?  Perhaps even worse, how often have I stepped right on something precious to someone else?

The lesson on the mountain was perfect this week.  It was gentle and unforced.  It was offered with no expectation for anyone to receive it.  It’s been there for as long as those mountains.  Just like the students at Millarville receiving the bird boxes were ready, I too was ready to learn.  They will mount their boxes on their fences and watch as pairs of bluebirds arrive and try to decide if the location is safe to nest.  I suspect they will now watch for these beautiful small bluebirds every spring for the rest of their lives, just as I shall watch for lichen and wildflowers, dreams and feelings, disappointments and sorrows, and chances to welcome new friends.

Nature is a wonderful teacher. This week the student was ready. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What are you ready for?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be ready.
 

I’ve been teetering on the edge of ‘too much’ this week.  When I was teaching, ‘too much’ was a familiar way of being this time of year.  End-of-school-year extras, added to the regular reaching load, added to planning for next year, assignment changes and regular exhaustion all made May and June feel like ‘too much’. 

But I’m not teaching anymore and here it is, the end of May and here I am once again on the edge of too much.  It might just be my normal after all those years of routine. 

No one thing has brought me here.   Day by day my calendar has more and more entries, each requiring my full attention at least for a certain amount of time.  I try not to think about one thing while focusing on another.  Between work, a couple of days with our Grandjoys, keeping in touch with aging parents, preparing for our busy dance performance season and regular everyday life, the feeling of too much is whispering to me.  Not enough for me to change a thing, but the whisper reminds me to take notice.

This week we’ve been mourning the loss of my brother-in-law, Bill.  Bill has struggled and suffered with Alzheimer’s disease for more than a decade.  His gentle, determined spirit served him well and humbled all of us who witnessed his, and my sister, Barb’s journey.  It’s very hard to say goodbye to Bill.  This disease was too much.

There has also been a trip to the cardiologist for Jim and while it’s a ‘regular’ visit, none of it feels all that regular when medications are adjusted, and we remember we are approaching the ten year mark since Jim’s heart attack.

When I lay it all before me, I recognize it could be anyone’s life.  Different details perhaps, but we each have our too muchness.  It’s all just regular life, which of course can feel like too much.

That’s exactly the feeling I had on Thursday.  The weather was beautiful, and we decided to take the boys to the lake to play.  We’d been there the day before and discovered that Andy is going to love the water as much as his big brother does.  On that day we were expecting to play on the playground and then dip our toes into the lake, just to prove it was much too cold to swim yet.  I should have remembered that Ben’s last day of swimming was October 26th, a day when it was about 10°C outside and the water was 9°C.  So that is how we found ourselves at the beach, with no swimsuits or playthings, with Ben right in the water and Andy and I ‘walking’ along the shore in ankle deep ice water!

On Thursday we got smart and prepared fully for a beach day.  Andy’s nap was going longer than normal so Ben and I headed off on foot, him on his strider and me towing the wagon filled with beach paraphernalia.  A couple of hours later Jim and Andy arrived, driving over with the stroller, the dingy and some dry clothes, according to plan.  While we were excellent planners in terms of all the stuff, our timing planning was definitely off.  It was all just too much.  Too much stuff, too much to fit in after a late nap, but also too late to change it once the promise had been made.  Andy wouldn’t have cared, but Ben couldn’t wait to see if two brothers could fit in the dingy.

After a very short time at the beach with Andy and Jim, we knew we had to pack up to get home.  As it was, we would be late, and we had just heard there was a major traffic delay between our house and theirs.  And that is how it came to be that the best solution we could come up with to get all the people and stuff home was for me to push the stroller with Andy, while Ben used his strider to come along.  When I type it, it seems so lovely.  A gramma with her two grandsons coming home from a day at the beach. 

I’ll adjust the focus for you.  Andy was covered in sand and still in his swimsuit.  We hadn’t dared take the few minutes to change him since Ben was finally dressed in dry clothes and ready to leave.  If we’d changed Andy, we’d have had to start all over again convincing Ben this was a good idea.  Andy’s hat was lost so he wore a much too big ball cap of Ben’s, down over his eyes. 

Ben was fully clothed but just about a third of the way home he remembered his bike seat hurt him because it was too low, so he asked me to carry it.  And the walk must have felt like a hundred miles to him.  So, there we were, me pushing a stroller, carrying a bike, and convincing Ben it was just around the curve, knowing we were headed into bad traffic, we were late, and I likely would not make it to my dance class, when an older-than-me man approached.  He had his pickleball racket and was in his gear for a good game.  When he saw us, he gave us a big smile and said in his Italian accent, “Ah, a walk with family.  There is nothing so precious.”

Now.  Precious was not the adjective I might have chosen right then.  Still, I smiled back and agreed with him.  As we continued the truth of his words hit me.  I had been thinking this was too much for that exact moment.  And yet it really was not enough.  I will not have enough time with these little boys.  They will grow so fast and find their own friends and interests.  I will long for another day just like that day.

The same goes for the other things in my life.  Of course, I don’t want Jim to have to go to a cardiologist or for Bill to die, or for us to have to learn life without him.  But it is not too much.  It is the price of admission for a life filled with wonderful relationships, worthwhile and fulfilling work, interesting and rewarding hobbies, and precious family to enjoy.  I think of some families in Texas this week who would give a lot to have ‘too much’ to carry for their kids.  I think of so many friends who long for a chance for one more conversation with an aging parent, and others who wish for meaningful work.  I remember how lucky we are to have such a difficult time saying goodbye to Bill; not everyone is blessed with such a brother-in-law.

I will remember the words of that man, likely a neighbour of mine, for a long time.  Perhaps forever.  I suspect I’ll use them (sometimes perhaps with sarcasm) when I do feel overwhelmed, to remind myself to be where I am, not ahead of myself in traffic or at a dance class that hasn’t yet begun. These moments in life are precious. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Precious time or too much?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to turn too much into precious time.

The Calgary Flames have made the playoffs!  Not only that, as of Thursday night, we are in standing squarely in the middle of the legendary Battle of Alberta.  There is no middle ground here.  Loyal fans and playoff-only fans alike have resurrected their jerseys.   From board rooms to restaurants, there is a sea of loyalty showing up all around this province.  On Thursday I had a bit of a runaround afternoon.  I stopped at the grocery store, the license registry, the physiotherapist, and the jeweler.  It was all hockey, all the time.

It’s wonderful really.  Daryl Sutter, head coach of the Flames, and man of very few, often only one or two, words, reminded us before game one of the series that it didn’t really matter who people cheered for, but that the most important thing was this series was bringing people together.

I watched Game One on Thursday.  Jim and I cheered as loudly as those at the game in person.  Besides the incredible talent on the ice, two other things struck me.  One was the sea of red jerseys in the Saddledome.  Of course, there were plenty of orange jerseys too, but somehow in the panned-out version of the crowd, they all blended together to look the same; as they should have, for everyone there was cheering for their favourite.  The second thing was the number of people in the crowd singing our National Anthem along with George Canyon.  This makes my heart sing.

Earlier that day, half-way across our country in our nation’s capital, Prince Charles and Camilla, along with an appreciative crowd of spectators watched as the men and women of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police performed the Musical Ride in honour of their visit to Canada.  According to a personal account from a couple of my family members, it was a spectacular afternoon.  I can believe this.

Watching these officers, dressed in their beautiful red serge uniforms, atop spectacularly talented horses, weave together and perform their precision maneuvers, as majestic music accompanies their every move, is rather indescribable.  It brings such pride to those in the audience.  Even more, it has a way of bringing people together. 

I’ve been lucky enough to see this musical ride a few times; several times on the Stampede grounds, only metres away from the Saddledome, and also at Spruce Meadows equestrian facility where on Thursday evening, just hours after the musical ride had finished, and just an hour before the first puck dropped at the Saddledome, the premier of our province, having shown poorly in a leadership review, announced he would resign.  On a newscast later that evening a reporter mused, ‘It will be very interesting to watch how Jason Kenney wears this loss going forward’.  What a brilliant way to frame this.

Each of us wear the stories of our lives.  The question of how we wear them struck a chord with me, perhaps because of the obvious signs of wearing I saw on Thursday – the jerseys and the Mounted Police uniforms.  We often focus so much on what we are wearing, we forget to ponder how we wear it.  It’s easy when it’s a uniform or a prescribed outfit.  I wear my Flames jersey with pride, and honestly also just for some fun.   When RCMP officers put on their uniforms, there is a code of conduct put in place at the same time.  We have a code of conduct for wearing our dancing outfits, and yet I also wear mine with some extra emotions; there is pride, but there is something more too.  There is a statement of stepping into bravery with this uniform, of embracing a willingness to take risks and of continuing to grow. 

It's more difficult for us to wear the other things in life.  How do we wear our losses, our victories, our sorrows, our pride, our dreams, our disappointments, our fears, our love, our insecurity, our bravery?   When we fail, how do we wear this?  Some choose anger, using it to push others away or to blame them for their part in the failure.  Others, in the same situation may retreat, disappearing for some time.  Others gather support and figure out how to proceed with grace.
When we feel pride how do we wear this?  Do we boast to those we meet, skipping over the hurt feelings we may cause, or do we keep it to ourselves, never letting others share in our accomplishments?

How do we wear our dreams?  Do we say them aloud so others might see whether we accomplish them or not? Do we wrap them up and keep them secretly inside ourselves so no one else knows? Do we ask for help in accomplishing them?  Do we use them to help others accomplish theirs?

These things are not made of cloth.  They don’t have logos on them advertising our commitments and our code of conduct.  We can’t slip them over our heads and use them as a protection, or as a buffer or substitute for our own personal actions, beliefs or integrity.  To make it more difficult, our upbringing and culture have informed us about ‘acceptable’ ways of managing many of our emotions.  We have to wade through all the messaging we’ve received to arrive at the way we choose to wear our lives.

When I shop for clothing, I look for two things.  I want the item to look nice on me of course.  But much more importantly, it has to feel right. When I put it on, I need to feel like myself, the best version of myself.  I’m trying to do this with the less tangible parts of my wardrobe too; my victories, my failures, my hopes, my dreams, my health, my aging, my competence, my weaknesses.  I want to wear them all, and feel like I’m wearing my best self.

In the meantime, over the next week, I’ll slip on my Flames jersey and cheer with abandon.   Go Flames Go!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How are you wearing that?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how wear your best life.
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We had a most incredible hike this week.  As is often the case in our province at this time of year, we experienced sunshine, bare paths, snow covered trails, cloud, warm sun, cool breezes, frozen creeks and babbling brooks all within a few hours.  It’s never boring! 

This week, due to the variable weather we experienced, we chose to stay away from routes taking us to the peaks of mountains, or to exposed ridges.  Instead, we opted for a beautiful, moderate route, in between two mountain ranges.  We followed a creek up the lower west range, then took a connecting trail to the eastern mountain, and followed its creek back.  It was a great choice.  While I most often yearn for the views from up high, this week I was completely content with the beauty of the valley. 

The trail linking the two creek beds gave us a bit of a hill to climb, and to the surprise of absolutely no one, the snow we’d received the day before still lingered here, protected by the huge forest trees.  From the look of the footprints we could see, only three other people had travelled this way since the storm.  One set of larger footprints had traveled both directions across the link, and two other sets appeared to have walked together.  While I’d be happy to not see anymore snow for this season, I do love hiking in it.  There are so many tracks and footprints, each telling their own story.

As we chatted about some animal tracks we couldn’t readily identify until we got back and set them before our expert, Don, who immediately knew they belonged to a cougar, Lynne stepped in one of the large human tracks and immediately slipped a bit. 

“Those aren’t the tracks for me”, she said.  “Sometimes the footprints in front of us are perfect and sometimes it’s best to stay as far away from them as possible.” 

Just like in life, I thought.

With the deep snow having fallen about forty-eight hours earlier, followed by a warm day, then a cool night, the impression made by the hiker who had come before us had been clear to see and to step into.  However, the base of the print, the part Lynne put her foot in, was a solid sheet of ice.  Lynne knew immediately this was no place for her feet.

Sometimes in life it’s best to follow the tracks someone else has made.  We don’t all need to figure out new ways to solve a formula or make chocolate chip cookies if there is a perfectly good recipe before us.  I often love to follow an existing set of footprints when I’m trying something new.  If someone else has laid a path for me, I don’t need to break the trail for myself.  I don’t need to expend energy thinking about every single step.  If we’re starting a new company, or working on our first project, or raising our first child, having a guide with footprints to walk in is so helpful. 

On the other hand, sometimes following in someone else’s footsteps makes our journey more difficult.  Sometimes the actual prints have turned to ice, making each step slippery at best, and unsafe at worst.  Those steps that were once perfect for someone, have become old and outdated.  Sometimes others’ footprints are too far apart, or too close together to be comfortable for us.  They throw our gait off, and we spend our energy trying to stay upright rather than on where we are going.  We find ourselves out of synch with ourselves; even our bodies can respond by getting out of alignment.  We have no creativity in this place.

Brenda and I, having hiked many times in the snow, have occasionally found ourselves grateful to follow footprints when the snow has been knee deep and higher. It greatly cuts down on our effort.  Yet, we’ve also discovered that even when these footprints are invaluable to propel us forward, sometimes after following them for a time, we’ve looked up only to discover they have not led us to where we had hoped to go!

We all have good instincts when we give ourselves the gift of trust.  I’ve found when I trust myself and use all the tools I’ve acquired on my own journey, I can find my perfect rhythm.   Sometimes it involves gratefully walking along in the footsteps of others.  Sometimes I need to break my own trail.  Sometimes I just need to walk beside footsteps that have come before me, or sometimes along side those being created at the same time as mine.

I also know this.  Looking back gives me great feedback.  It helps me notice my path, see my missteps and offers advice for my next journey.  So too, I’ve learned that whether I’m following someone else’s steps or making brand new ones of my own, I need to glance up occasionally to make sure that when I’m finished, I’ve arrived where I’d imagined I’d be.
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I also try to remember that someday, these footsteps of mine, might be followed by someone else as they are journeying.  I hope to leave some steps worth following.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What footprints am I following?’
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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to create footprints worth following.
 

Sorry.  I couldn’t resist the title.  Sometimes a girl’s just got to have some fun!

A few weeks ago, Ben asked Jim to show him how he could juggle.  Kaitlyn had been telling Ben Grampa could juggle, after they had seen a picture of it in a book they were reading together.  When Ben came over for a visit, he was curious as to what juggling looked like in real life.  Don’t be so quick to want to learn, I thought to myself.  Someday you too will have many things to juggle.  Ben of course, was delighted with what he watched.  Jim made a fine production of tossing the three balls in the air in a manner fitting a Vegas act.  Or at least a driveway performance.

I can’t remember exactly what prompted Jim to learn to juggle many years ago, but I do remember him having a book, and a set of juggling balls.  I remember him learning the first very basic juggling trick, and then day by day, expanding his repertoire until he had a good number of tricks in his pocket.

Juggling can be broadly defined as the ability to manipulate more objects than you have hands for.  Juggling three balls is considered to be the entry point for juggling.  With a bit of practice, four, five and even more balls can be added.  The surprising thing about juggling is this, it’s not dependent on being ‘smart’.  It’s one hundred percent a motor skill activity.  In fact, thinking gets in the way of good juggling.  The trick is to let your body memorize the feel and pattern.  The body does all the work.  You can simply enjoy being an observer of yourself and your skill, rather than a critic or worrier.

As you are learning to juggle, the actual item you juggle is important.  Using bouncy balls, for instance, simply leads to endless frustration.   After all, there is going to be some ball dropping in the early stages, and if you have to run around trying to grab your precious balls as they bounce away, the fun soon runs out.  Jim began with squarish-shaped balls.  They had the same feel as bean bags and they landed right at his feet if they fell.

As I relived this memory about juggling and thought about Ben’s fascination with it, I couldn’t help but think about how each of us is a juggler.    Mothers especially, are fine jugglers.  Almost every Mom in the world has said, or thought, ‘I feel like I’m trying to juggle too many things.’  Often this thought is followed by, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to drop something.’

Here’s the thing.

We do try to juggle a lot of things.  Lots of times, we carefully think out exactly what we can manage, and then life happens, and we find ourselves with more balls in the air than we feel confident with.  In keeping them all moving, which is the only way to prevent them from falling, we have not one second to consider which ones are the most important.

Some of the balls we juggle are pretty durable.  These ones might land at our feet, but they don’t shatter.  Most often, we can leave them where they lie, or we can pick them up once we have a free hand, or we can let someone else pick them up and add them to their cascade.  But some of the balls we juggle are made of the finest crystal.  These ones are irreplicable.  If we should drop one of these, there is no turning back.

When we think about our life-juggling, the trick is not to pick all the balls out of the bag and try to keep them in the air, but to identify the most precious ones and make sure we keep those ones from ever hitting the floor. 

For me, the most precious balls are my relationships with Jim, our children and grandchildren.  I also treasure my relationships with my siblings, and friends and other family members.  My health has been a precious part of my life, and I try hard not to drop this ball.  At times my work commitments are precious, and in the years since I left teaching, dancing and hiking and singing have joined my precious-list.  Once in a while, I have to set one of these balls down, but I pick them right back up once I have the others under control.  Chores and doing things to please others have a lower priority, sometimes these balls not only drop, but roll away. I don’t chase them.  An important thing I’ve learned about precious balls is it isn’t the amount of time they are in the air that is important, rather it is the way in which I handle them.  When I toss and catch them gently and with care, they don’t seem to mind that they are not always part of my juggling act.  On the other hand, when they feel like they are just lumped in with every other commitment and activity I do, they lose their feeling of preciousness.

This weekend is Mother’s Day.  I’m planning to only juggle my most precious balls this weekend.  I know I’m lucky to have so many of these in my bag.  My wish for you is that you recognize and make time to treasure your most precious balls too.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mamas!  Grab your precious balls.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What balls are most precious?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to identify precious balls.
 

Our hiking group doubled in size this week.  Ok, it really only increased by 1/3, since Lynne officially joined three weeks ago.  This week we welcomed Pam.  We know for sure these two are great additions due to the fact we’ve picked some challenging terrain and still managed to have a great time together.

Having more members in our group not only helps discourage bears and other critters from coming too close, it also creates new friendships and opens our minds to new stories and ideas.   Our hike this week was close to six hours, so we had plenty of time to get past the pleasantries and onto some more interesting topics.

Pam is a great outdoors enthusiast.  She didn’t share everything she does, but we could easily tell from her additions to the conversation that not much moss grows under her feet!  She did share she is a sticker enthusiast, and in her words, ‘Give me a sticker, and I’ll do anything!’.  She keeps a calendar of the things she does to keep active.  At a quick glance, she can tell when she’s a bit short on stretching or strength building.  She doesn’t put pressure on herself to do a certain amount of anything.  But I strongly suspect that not one week, likely not many days, go by without a rainbow of different coloured stickers being put on her calendar!

It shouldn’t have been a surprise then to find out about the gift she created for her brother to celebrate his retirement.  He had told her what he was looking forward to once his work commitments ended.  He wanted to spend more time skiing for pleasure, after having been a ski instructor for years.  In fact, he wanted to ski fifty times in the first season.  He wanted to golf fifty games in one year.  He wanted to hike fifty times.  And he wanted to enjoy the beautiful sunsets and holiday in one of his favourite southern states.

So, Pam gave him a large jar, and four bags, each containing fifty different coloured poker chips.  Each time he participated in one of his chosen activities, he added the poker chip of the corresponding colour to his jar.  In theory, by the end of the year, the little bags would be empty, and the jar would be full of colourful chips!  It came as no surprise to me that it was.

Since our Tuesday hike, I’ve been imagining a jar on my desk.  First, as a little data gathering experiment, I thought it might be interesting to simply set it out and let it reflect what I am currently doing.  I could add different coloured beads or poker chips to represent things I do.  Then, seeing the visual of the life I’m creating, I could make adjustments.  As I pondered my plan, I could already get an image in my mind.  It wasn’t very pretty!

I was imagining how my jar would fill up quite quickly.  The trouble was, there would be an awfully lot of ‘neutrals’ in there.  There are a lot of things I need to do in a week that don’t fall into the category of fun.  Some of them even feel, and look, like work.  I would likely use dull colours to represent these.  I’d hate to use a turquoise blue bead to represent dishes! As I continued to think of all the ‘boring’ beads I would put in my jar, I recognized that while I’d end up with a full jar, I’d missed the point Pam so eloquently made.

Every one of us has more jobs, responsibilities, and obligations than we have hours in the day.  These, while completely necessary and important, are not the things that fill our jar.  The jar-fillers that Pam recognized for her brother, are the things that give our days joy.  They are the things that bring us closer to who we long to be deep down.  For some of us, a beautiful bead might represent an entry in a journal, or a dessert created.  For one man I know, a blue bead in his jar would represent time spent with the gorgeous bluebirds he bands and monitors.  My dad would have had a fish shaped bead for every day he was able to put his rod in the river.  My sister might have a musical note-shaped bead for every day she has the chance to sing.  There was a time, not so long ago, I would have loved to put a running shoe-shaped bead in every time I completed a run.

I’ve wisely given up the idea of using a jar to get a snapshot of my current life.  I don’t need it.  I will, of course, continue to do my ‘must do’s’.  Instead, I want to borrow a page from Pam’s book of stickers, and her poker chip jar for her brother, and find a way to document the ways I honour the bead-worthy things in my life.  Whereas my jar of jobs depleted my enthusiasm, the idea of a jar to document the time I spend honouring my passions is exciting.  It’s also a system for keeping me accountable to myself.  If these things really are my passions, it would be nice if my life could reflect this.

I will find coloured beads to represent dancing, hiking, and singing.  I’ll have special beads for the days when I am lucky to have time with Ben and Andy.  Now that the weather is turning to spring, I’ll pick a bead to represent biking.  I'll have one for reading.  And sewing.  One for quilt-creating and one for kitting. And one for meditating, camping and adventure- seeking. I’ll need a bead for days spent in nature. And a particularly beautiful one to represent time spent with our children. And another for time with people who fill my bucket. 
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I loved that Pam’s brother knew how many times he’d like to do each activity.  I don’t know this exact number for any of my activities.  However, I think there is substantial value in choosing some number, rather than just allowing my life to unfold, and hoping I am sprinkling in nice beads.  I’ve noticed the years slip by when I’m not paying attention.  I think I’d rather have to buy a bigger jar, than get to the end of the year and notice the beads in my jar look lonely.

Oh yes, I’m also, absolutely going to buy a few extra beads, some not assigned to any particular activity.  They will be a spectacular colour.  These will be for my yet-to-be-discovered passions, and perhaps for those I thought I was too old for.  What a year I will have had if I see some of these beauties sprinkled throughout the collection in my jar.  

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What beads will fill my jar?’

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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to choose the beads for your jar.
 
 

Our neighbourhood sits on the edge of a major thoroughfare.   As we leave the neighbourhood to travel east or north, we have to cross over the beautiful Bow River.  The Bow is the major river flowing through our city.  It’s easy to understand why early settlers would have stopped here and made this place home.  The river, winding its way through the modern city is beautiful.  In every season it delights residents here with its changing beauty.  It also makes for challenging travel, especially when old bridges that once safely moved traffic of all kinds from one side to the other, need to be replaced.  This is the situation at our end of the city.

There are two bridges crossing the Bow in our location, one for vehicles going east and one for those going west.  The east bound bridge was the original.  When it was first built it was designed for two-way traffic. Then a few years ago, the bridge was twinned, making the original bridge for eastbound traffic only, and the new one for those heading west.  For the past year, the east bound bridge, the original one, has been under construction.  The old bridge has been removed, and sometime in the next year or two, a new one will take its place.  Meanwhile, the westbound bridge is working overtime to allow traffic to flow in both directions.  As with all road construction projects, there is pain involved for commuters.   The speed limit is diminished, the lanes are narrow, and alas, the drivers have not become any more patient.

Mostly, this project provides us with minimal disruption.  If I happen to have to use it right at the peak of the rush, in either the morning or evening, I can figure on adding a few minutes to my trip.  Mostly, I’m unaffected, except on the days when I’ve had Ben and Andy here for a day of joy.  On those days, no matter how hard I try to plan, we manage to just get everyone out the door and buckled in, only to find we are driving down the on-ramp, trying to merge, just as the rest of the city is trying to get home after a long workday.

Normally, Jim and I would sigh.  Perhaps even complain.  We might wonder aloud, ‘How long does it take to build a bridge?!’  Yet on these days, these joy-days, we are lucky to be exposed to a new perspective.

Ben LOVES vehicles.  He loves them.  He loves every single kind of vehicle.  He makes no judgement about brand, or status, or cost.  He simply appreciates each of them.  And so, if Ben is in the car when we start down the ramp onto the backed-up highway, while our instinct is to moan, his is to take delight in how many wonderful, different vehicles he notices.  A flatbed carrying an ambulance?!  You don’t see that everyday!  A jeep with the wheel on the back!?  Perfection!
When Ben is in the car, we fill our time with noticing and pointing out interesting vehicles. When he is not with me, I’ve begun to enjoy not only seeing interesting vehicles that I might tell him about, ones I’d never had given a second thought about before, but I also now find myself thinking about bridge building.  Not just the concrete and rebar-enforced type of bridges, but all the kinds of bridges we build, and cross, and cross back, and sometimes destroy, in our lives.

When I first began to think of bridge-building in this new way, I conjectured the pandemic hasn’t been a time that has encouraged bridge building.  We’ve each found ourselves on islands, trying to figure out how to keep ourselves and our families safe.  If we didn’t completely destroy the bridges leading to and from ourselves, most of us figured out how to at least pull up the drawbridge and keep it up for some time.

As I let that thought sink in, knowing isolation is not good for we humans, I worried I might have carelessly wasted precious years of my life, having my drawbridges fixed in the up position.  But I also realized that while my people drawbridges (those old familiar well-worn paths) may have been up for awhile, I’ve built and crossed many, many new bridges during this time. 

Bridges are built every time we try a new activity or learn a new skill.  Bridges are built when we have new thoughts.  They are built when we meet someone new.  They are built when we try a new style or attempt a new project.  They are built when we call, text or email a friend or colleague, or a not-yet-friend or colleague.  They are built when we hike a new trail, or hike with new people.  They are built when we take a new course.  Or wave at our neighbour.  Or have days of joy with our grandsons.  They are built when we do something kind for someone else with no motive of getting something in return.  Or when we overlook an imperfection.  All these things lead us to new, often beautiful, places, accessed only by crossing bridges.  Sometimes we build the flimsiest of bridges to start.  We lay a two-by-four, or log over the chasm, balance our way across and check to see if what was on the other side was as enticing as we had thought it had looked from our vantage point.  If it turns out we love what we see, we cross more and more often, eventually building a sturdy bridge.   Before long, we don’t even think about balancing as we go, we travel sure-footed and with confidence.

Sometimes what we check out doesn’t match our dream or our need.  In those cases, we return to the original side, either leaving the bridge in place for someone else to use as we move on, or tearing it down.  Either way, we grow for having crossed it at all.

We have endless opportunities to build bridges in our lives.  The building of them can be slow and often cause disruption to the familiar pattern of our life.  And yet, the finished project, the smooth travel across the newly constructed bridge, leads to yet more possible bridges and holds endless potential gifts.

And so, it has come to pass, I’ve taken a whole new view toward this bridge building project near my home.  Where I once saw this bridge building as a nuisance, I now appreciate its value.  I enjoy my leisurely trips across it.  I am excited to discover the unconsidered possibility on the other side. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What bridge are you building?’
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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 expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations and for conducting leadership reviews. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to build bridges.