Happy Canada Day!  I realize I’m a couple of days late, but I’ve forgiven myself already as I love to celebrate our magnificent country as often as I can.  This year, like for every other family in Canada, Canada Day, and likely all the other days of summer will not feel like those of other years.  If Covid has taught us anything, it is that life can shift in a moment.  I’m missing my regular Canada Day festivities, which always provide a kick off to the rest of the summer.

Our dance group normally dances at Heritage Park to celebrate Canada Day.  It’s one of the spots that annually hosts a citizenship ceremony, and we are always delighted to see our newest Canadians looking so proud at its completion.  This year, there were no live ceremonies, but there was a very moving virtual ceremony for nineteen of our newest Canadians, from coast to coast.

I had been looking forward to a couple of biking events this summer. One was a trip we had planned to Nova Scotia.  I’ve long had listed on my ‘Life List’, Bike the Cabot Trail.  June 15th was to have been the date I took my first pedal stroke along that majestic, iconic road, along with my brother, Daniel, Victoria, my friend Rhonda and her husband, John.  Jim had very generously volunteered to be our support vehicle, eliminating the need for us to bike with anything more than water and a light jacket. 

Rhonda, John and I had also signed up to bike the Ride to Conquer Cancer, in July.  This would have been Rhonda’s and my third year to participate in this.  It felt especially poignant this year because while several people I’ve biked for in the past have recently received excellent news regarding their health, several others did not live to see this summer.

Needless to say, I’ve been feeling a bit lost without a couple of good goals to anticipate.  Luckily, there are some creative Canadians out there, who have been working on ways to fill in the gaps for people like me.  About a month ago, my brother, Daniel, sent me information about a new race, The Great Canadian Crossing.  It really caught my eye.  About one hundred years ago, I was taking my first leadership course, and was tasked with the job of creating a list of 50 – 100 things I’d like to do in my life.  One thing I wrote on the list was to bike across Canada.  As the years have passed by, and the Trans Canada Trail didn’t exactly materialize the way I had envisioned it, I was beginning to think this would be one of the few things on my list I have not done. 

Yet!

This new event, The Great Canadian Crossing, is an event starting on July 1, 2020 and finishing on July 1, 2021.  The goal is to get across Canada.  Participants can run, cycle, walk, snowshoe, ski, or do a combination of all or some.  I’ve chosen to bike.  I haven’t quite figured out exactly how I’m going to tackle it.  We can see the distances for each province and territory and virtually complete them in any order we wish.  We can bike outside or on trainers in the basement. 

I do know I’d like to complete all my miles outdoors.  What I haven’t figured out is if I can finish before the snow flies, or if I’m going to need to save a couple of provinces for next spring.   No matter what, I’m excited.  And I’ve been training.  I love to bike in our local provincial park that boasts hundreds of kilometres of bike paths.  I also absolutely love taking the car ride to the mountains and putting on a few miles there.   This year I’m even more motivated to take the couple of hours needed to get there.  One of the secondary highways, usually crowded with cars filled with tourists heading to see beautiful Johnson Canyon, has been completely closed to vehicular traffic.  Bikers are free to cycle it’s full fifty- kilometre length and back, or go just a few kilometres and bike back from there.  There is plenty of room for every age and ability of cyclist.  My plan is to take advantage of this road at least once per week. 

Last week when we were cycling along this beautiful stretch of highway, Jim and I noticed that although we were working, it didn’t feel like we were climbing.    As we biked along, we discussed how far we would go.  We knew we would be more tired on the way back, simply because our legs wouldn’t be as fresh.  We were a bit concerned that when we turned around, we would be facing more hills than we wanted.

As it turned out, when we turned for the trip back, we found ourselves cruising along at a much faster clip than we had managed on the way out.   It seemed impossible.  What we hadn’t noticed on the way out, was we were consistently, gently climbing.  It was so consistent as to feel just normal.  It was only when we had turned, that we realized the extra effort we’d been making.

As we cruised along back to our vehicle, I thought about how life is like this too.  Often, we get so caught up in what we have to do in our daily lives, we don’t realize the extra effort we are expending.  The climbing begins to feel normal; not necessarily good, but normal.  We keep giving more and more effort.  Unlike Jim and I, who only had to turn around to get relief, usually the rest of us don’t even recognize when we are climbing.  We certainly often don’t have the luxury of turning around.

Most of us will encounter plenty of hills and even mountains we need to climb in our lives.  I believe we are all capable of climbing.  I even think completing a climb gives us a sense of confidence, of accomplishment.  When I think back on ‘climbing’ times in my life, things that have helped me the most were twofold.  Sometimes I needed to have people help flatten out the road for me.  This has come in the form of having others help with the ‘doing’.  Most of the time, though, I’ve managed pretty well with the doing.   What I have found to be even more helpful was to have a good riding partner, to have someone to listen, sometimes to talk, and most often to just be.  Finding a partner like this, feels a lot like turning for home.

As we head into this summer that is ‘not like the others’, let us notice the hills, gentle and steep, others are climbing, recognize the ones we are climbing ourselves, and find ways to partner up to help us get back home.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What kind of climbing partner am I?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to make climbing easier.
 

Next Friday, in any normal year, would be an important day in the City of Calgary.  The first Friday of July always marks the start of the famous Calgary Stampede.  The kickoff to the Stampede is the Stampede Parade.  It’s an event attended by hundreds of thousands of locals and tourists.  It’s jam packed with an incredible variety of participants, from floats, to horses, to horse drawn carriages, to marching bands, to cultural groups, youth groups and dancing groups.  Our dancing group, the Chinook Country Dancers has been a mainstay for many years.  Since I joined the dance group five years ago, the Stampede Parade has been one of my favorite events. 

Alas, the Stampede parade, along with almost all other major events in our city, our country and even our world, have been paused until at least next year.  To say I’ve been longing to put on my red shirt, black skirt and dancing boots, would be an understatement.  I think all the girls in our group are still checking their messages for the one that says, “You won’t believe it but the parade is ON!”  We know it can’t happen, but we long for it just the same.

As I was checking my emails for the fabled one from the Stampede Parade, I noticed an email from our friend, Annie.  Annie’s husband, Herb, and I started teaching on the same day, at the same school.  Herb was teaching music.  He was to be the new band director for students from grades six to nine.  I was the new math teacher.  One would think this would be an unlikely combination for a friendship, but here we are, thirty-nine years later.  I still have such a profound respect and admiration for this man.  I have been very, very lucky to have crossed paths with Herb.  We didn’t teach together for all of those years.  About half way through his teaching career, Herb shook our school community to its core when he announced he was moving to a different school, one in High River.  The man who taught right across the hallway from me for the first half of my career, left a quietness behind him that could not be filled.  We filled the band room again with several wonderful instructors, but the Herb part was irreplaceable.  In a wonderful little happenstance of life, years later, my daughter got her first teaching assignment at Herb’s new school and she taught several years with him. 

Annie’s email was to let me know that Herb was retiring this year, and she was organizing a surprise event to mark the occasion.  It was to begin with a parade in High River and end with a get-together at their art studio.  I had plans to watch Ben on Friday, and knew the get-together would not work for us.  But I could easily drive to High River with Ben and safely be a part of the retirement parade. 

As I thought about my upcoming outing, I spent some time thinking about ‘lessons’ Herb taught me.  He didn’t know he was teaching me.  Herb is just one of those people who always shows up as the best version of himself.  What Herb taught me about life comes in handy these days.  I don’t know how Herb became wise.  I do know he was wise when I met him, and he is wiser still today.  Herb has always understood, and lived with, the belief that there is just as much life to be enjoyed leading up to the ‘big moments’ as there is in being present for those big moments.  Herb brought the same amount of enthusiasm to washing the gym floor as he did to conducting the concert band at the year end concert.  I never knew Herb to rank things, nor did he rank people.  He didn’t seem to think one job, or one person deserved more status than the next.  Whoever was in Herb’s presence was the most important.  Period.

Of all the things Herb taught me, the thing I value the absolute most is that I could, and can, count on Herb to be Herb.  He is one hundred percent himself all of the time.  He is joyful, hard-working, smart, talented, inclusive, understanding, fun, honest, and humble. 

On Friday morning, Jim blew up balloons, and I wrote messages on my car with erasable markers.  We found some streamers to bring along to help attach the balloons.  We tried to explain the idea of a parade to Ben, who of course is far too young to understand. 

Parades are designed to be showpieces; they highlight the very best of cities, towns, and in this case, a person.  I’ve never seen a parade where the positive effort put forth by the participants wasn’t obvious.  Parades celebrate the best of us.   It was the absolute perfect way to provide a send off to Herb, a man who always gives the very best of himself.   I couldn’t wait to see all the different ways people would show up and show off the best of themselves for Herb.

It turned out that Herb’s surprise parade was perfect.  From the fire trucks to all the love pouring out of the rest of the vehicles, it was the perfect send-off for this very special man.

The Stampede Parade will not happen this year.  I will dearly miss it, and all of the other Stampede dance performances we usually love to participate in.  But participating in Herb’s parade has made me think.

What would it be like, I wonder, if each of us could think of our lives as a parade?  We would choose our own float, and we would choose the people to march with.  We would contemplate exactly what traits were the ones worthy of being on display.  We would show up as the best version of ourselves.  We might practice our skills and share our gifts freely with others.  We could play music that reflected our souls.  We would dress to highlight our strengths and not spend so much time worrying about weaknesses.  We could encourage our fellow parade participants to bring their best selves and we could delight in their unique gifts and talents.  There would be room for everyone.  We would wave at the spectators and invite them to join in next time.  We would have photo albums bursting with memories.  And at the end of the parade, we would be peaceful, knowing we gave our absolute best.  Just like Herb.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘How does this improve my float?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to design an inspiring float.
 
 
 

The past ten days have brought some great relief to me.  We are still in the midst of a pandemic, but some restrictions have been lifted; enough to allow my life to start to feel a bit more normal again.  Over the past days, I’ve started to be able to spend time with little Benjamin again.  After three months of only seeing one another using Facetime or Zoom, being together again is like having new life breathed into me.  We’ve had dinner with our kids.  Seeing them in person is such a joy!  There is something about the energy of live visits that cannot be replicated with technology.  I was able to spend a late sunny afternoon golfing with Jim and our friend, Jan, to celebrate her birthday.  And this week I went for a magnificent hike with my friend, Brenda.  All still taking precautions.  Yet, I feel like a new person.

For months, it is as if someone has been standing over us shouting, ‘LOOK OUT! Don’t touch that’.   ‘LOOK OUT! Don’t stand there.’  ‘LOOK OUT!’ Don’t go out.’  LOOK OUT! Don’t walk that direction.’  ‘LOOK OUT!  Don’t buy that’.  ‘LOOK OUT!  Don’t visit with them’.  ‘LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT!’

LOOK OUT! 

To quiet the voice, we stayed home, we followed the rules, we physically distanced, and we prayed it would end.  We did it because it was the right thing to do for the health of our society.  This is not, however, a recipe for a healthy life.  It was simply a diet we had to put up with for a time.  We’ll likely have to hop back on and off it a few more times before we get it figured out.  All I know is it has been so refreshing to not be bombarded with LOOK OUT! so much this week.

When Brenda and I decided to go hiking on Tuesday morning, we chose to continue listening to the LOOK OUT! warning as we drove individually to the trail head.  But once there, it was easy to slip into a comfortable two metre distance apart as we made our way up the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and the LOOK OUT voice disappeared.  We’ve had a lot of rain this spring.  The forest is brilliantly green, the little wildflowers are bursting with bloom and the air is fresh.   The muddy ground meant we really had to watch our footing in places and we each found ourselves with a ‘soaker’ a time or two on the way.  Every once in a while, we could look away from our feet and out over the view.  ‘Look out there’, we might say.  And we would pause to take in the beauty.  When we reached the summit (for the first time, since we got a bit turned around and hit it again later!), we stopped and plopped down on the soft ground for a snack and rest.  We didn’t really have to say much.  It was perfect just to sit.  And to look out! 

Look out!

This kind of looking out felt so different, so much better than the LOOKING OUT I’ve been doing for the past three months.  As I sat with Brenda, I recognized I need this too.  I need to look out, to look outside of myself, to look toward others, toward opportunities, toward possibilities and to see a world larger than my own.  The view looking out from our little mountaintop reminded me of all the things waiting for me when the pandemic is over.  From this perspective, I could feel hope replacing some of the fear.

As we made our way back down the foothills, and we began to tire, we automatically began to recognize we had to take extra care with our steps.  It would be so easy to have a mis-step, to stumble or to fall.  If we noticed a bit of rock or rough terrain, we would remind each other gently to ‘look out’.  As my mind quieted, I also thought of how we are needed to not only warn each other to look out, but also to take it upon ourselves to look out for others.  This kind of looking out feels like a whisper to me.  It is done inside of ourselves and comes from a place of kindness and love.

When we look out in this way, we are taking a few seconds to do something to put the needs of others above our own needs.  Sometimes this takes no longer than a second.  Sometimes the effort is more sustained.  Looking out can be a phone call.  It can be a smile or a wave.  It can be noticing we haven’t seen someone in a while and checking in on them.  Looking out can be the bracelet I received in the mail from my sister; the one engraved with ‘Whenever you feel overwhelmed, remember whose daughter you are, and straighten your crown’.

Looking out can be standing up for someone who is unable to do so for themselves.  Looking out can be standing with someone.  Looking out can be listening quietly.  Looking out in this way does not give us power over someone else.  In fact, it helps leave the power with the person we are looking out for.  By looking out for others we allow them to become their very best.  We allow them to focus on blossoming. It takes nothing away from us, and adds greatly to the world. 

This week, as I’ve watched little Ben, I’ve been doing lots of looking out.  I’ve had to look out for his safety as we’ve explored new playgrounds.  But I’ve also tried to look out to see the world from his point of view.  We’ve looked out at bulldozers filling dump trucks and cranes lifting heavy loads.  I’ve loved all of it. But more than anything, I’ve loved looking out for him.  I love thinking of little invisible ways to help him feel successful, to help him feel safe and secure so he can explore his world, to feel confident, and to become himself.

The LOOK OUT!’s we’ve had during the pandemic needed to be in place.  They too, were designed to allow us to have the chance to live to experience our best lives.  Looking out from mountaintops and  from car windows allow us to see what is possible.  And gentle looking out, reminds us we are not alone on this journey and we are all better when we are each our best.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘LOOK OUT!? Look out!?  or Look out?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to look out.
 

Last week was one I dubbed, ‘The Week of Finishing’.  I’ve been working away on a few different projects over these past few months.  Last week I could see that several of them were in line to come to their conclusion.  I will NOT be saying I have been grateful for this pandemic.  However, had it not been for the time alone we were mandated, I doubt very much the finish line would be in sight for a couple of these large undertakings.

Some were easy.  I always do spring cleaning anyway, so this year I just had free time to work away at it.  While I can’t say our house is perfect, it’s certainly as perfect as it would be any other year after spring cleaning.  So that’s one.

I will whisper the following: ‘I think I have scanned the last of the photos!’  I’m whispering because I have a sneaking suspicion that when I open up my cedar chest upstairs, the one I did not spring clean, I have a feeling I may stumble upon a few straggling photos.  I’m ok with that.  The album upon albums I was trying to get through are complete.  At some point I’m going to count up all the photos, but for now let’s just say there are tens of thousands of them.  Eventually, I’ll sort through their new digital versions, discard the ones of no meaning and of poor quality, and create some meaningful books.  But not right now.  I’m totally satisfied with what I have accomplished here.

The other project I’ve been working on for the last few months is a quilt for our daughter and son-in-law, Kaitlyn and Matt.  About 5 years ago, when Kaitlyn had graduated with her B Ed degree, we celebrated by taking them on a one-day excursion to Churchill, Manitoba to see polar bears.  There is a narrow, three-week window from the end of October to mid-November when the bears gather on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, waiting for the ice to ‘come in’ so the bears can travel on it to get to their hunting grounds; the open water where they can fish for seal.  During this time, excursions are organized out of a few Western Canadian cities to travel to our majestic far north to safely observe them without disturbing them.  Out on the magnificent tundra it feels like being on safari.

As I was trying to figure out what to feature on my quilt for Kaitlyn and Matt, I realized I wanted something meaningful; something that would stir a memory.  I looked through my pictures of our polar bear excursion and found one I thought could serve as the base idea for the quilt.  Jim helped me by tracing the small picture of a mother polar bear and one of her cubs onto a piece of graph paper.  I then created a large sheet of grid paper, one the size of the finished quilt top.  I copied the design from each little square onto the big squares, transferred this onto a lightweight fabric to use to attach the material, and then set about creating.  Using hundreds of strips of coloured fabric, the bears, and then the northern lights came to life. 

I finished the top of the quilt about three weeks ago and sent it off to my quilting friend Janet, to work her magic with her long-arm.  This is a fancy machine used to quilt the top of the project to the batting in the middle and then to the backing.  Janet is incredibly creative and I was excited to see what she had in mind for my quilt.  When it arrived back to me, it did not disappoint.  Between her swirls in the sky to remind us of wind and snowflakes, to her colourful stitches to magnify the northern lights, she hit the nail right on the head.  Her quilting is magnificent and I was thrilled with the result. 

The final step to the project was to add the binding.  This is the little border that covers all the raw edges and gives the quilt a framed look.  It isn’t difficult to do binding.  I prefer to machine stitch it to the front of the quilt and then hand-sew the back using an invisible stitch.  The only little tricky part is when you attach the binding, you have to start somewhere and end back at the same spot.  This means that when you get back to the beginning, you need to tuck the raw edge of the beginning part into the ending part to hide the raw edge.  This is how I’ve always done it and it has always looked just fine.  However, I watched a little YouTube video of a method that eliminates having any tucking at all.  The binding ends up being one continuous piece that fits perfectly. 

The technique looked manageable and I thought I could do it.  The only scary part was cutting the fabric at the end.  It’s a ‘cut of faith’.  If it’s done wrong, well, I’m not sure.  I guess I’d have to start all over again.  My problem didn’t end up being the cut.  It ended up that my spacial awareness failed me and I twisted the binding when I sewed the pieces together.  Out came my stitch ripper and I tried again.  On the second attempt, I got the binding untwisted, but the length of the binding was off by just a hair.  I knew that with a little finesse, I could make it look pretty good; certainly, good enough that no one would notice.  So, I did.  The problem was I knew it wasn’t quite right.  Again, I took out the stitch ripper.  The third time was a charm.  A perfect fit.

That one hour of sewing and stitch ripping and sewing again, has given me a lot to think about this past week.  I hope that quilt brings Kaitlyn and Matt good memories for many years.  I’ll be proud of the finished product forever.  It took me less than an hour to correct my mistake, and it would have been absolutely adequate without my ‘fixing’.  I’ve been thinking about how many interactions I have had, how many little conversations, that have gone really well, but that I’ve walked away from knowing that had I spent just a few more precious minutes, could have had an even better outcome.
We all have these.  We have those meetings and conversations we come home from and when asked how they went, we reply, ‘Pretty good’.  I wonder what the answer could have been if during the interaction, we had decided to rip out a few stitches and made it clear we wanted to get things really right.  I have lots and lots of conversations that I can leave at ‘Pretty good’.  But there are some relationships, some people in my life, for whom, ‘Pretty good’ isn’t actually enough.  These people and these relationships deserve the effort it would take me to notice my miss-steps, go backward and make things right.

As our province eases some restrictions, we are going to be able to have more in-person conversations.  These, undoubtedly will be with important people in our lives who we haven’t been able to see for months.  I’m going to pack my proverbial stitch ripper with me.  After all these months apart, if I have a chance to talk in person, I want to be able to say it went better than ‘Pretty good’.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What stitches could I remove?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to become a masterful stitch ripper .
 
 

My heart has felt heavy this week.  I find it almost impossible to watch the news, and yet, I know blocking it out and pretending it’s not happening does not make me part of the solution.

For almost two weeks now, the fissures that were always present in the United States, have cracked wide open, spilling out the not-so-cleverly disguised racism that is present every day, not only in that country, but in this country and in many, many countries around the globe. They have also exposed countless examples of humanity.  Sadly, these, in no measure, overshadow the agony being experienced by millions.

I almost chose not to write a blog this week.  I am, after all, a middle-aged white woman.  I am not an expert on racism.  I have not experienced racism.  And I sometimes believe it’s important to know when to keep your mouth shut.  I had no idea what to say.  However, two small happenstances, have given me the little push I needed to not just close my proverbial door and ignore the feelings swirling inside me, but to try to sort them out for myself.  One was a post made by my friend, Gail Jacob Barker.  Gail is a fellow Leadership Coach, but this is not how I know her.  I only learned of our coaching connection when I facilitated a workshop for the Women’s Rural Resource Centre.  Gail sits on the Board of Directors of this organization.   Gail is a person of colour.  Gail is wise, thoughtful, compassionate, and has the ability to calmly sort through chaos and bring new perspectives to the light.  She’s brilliant.  Brilliant.  She wrote a wonderful piece on why it is important for white people to engage in conversations of race, and she has helped me understand how I might begin to navigate these waters.

The other nudge came from my friend, and former colleague, Norma Dogger.  Norma sent me a little message saying, ‘You may never truly know how much I look forward to your writing every week because of the profoundness and impact that it has.  Thank you, dear friend!’

So here I am again, trying to get my thoughts to make some sense. 

Before I felt the two nudges, I’d been thinking of the idea of vaccines and this pandemic; the one that has not gone away even though it has become somewhat of a sidebar on the news since George Floyd’s senseless murder, subsequent protests, and then violence, have taken its place in the headline.  So, I’m going to go back to my original thought for a minute.

In waiting out this pandemic, we hear over and over again that even though our numbers of active cases are dropping, and fewer and fewer new cases take their place, we will not be out of the crisis until a vaccine is found.  Millions of dollars are being directed toward this research and the best minds are employed on the task.  I for one, will be lining up for my dose once a safe vaccine is found. 

The way vaccines work is by training the immune system to recognize and combat pathogens.  To do this, certain molecules from the pathogen must be introduced into the body to trigger an immune response.  This is why scientists around the globe are examining this Corona virus, breaking it down and trying to figure out which specific molecules will provide the key to the vaccine.

As I’ve listened to the news this week, more than once I’ve had the thought float through my mind that we could also use a vaccine to combat racism.  At first I was thinking it should be something that protected people of colour from experiencing or feeling the impact of racism.  This of course, does not address the issue at all.  In fact, it pushes the responsibility onto someone other than me.  It’s part of the problem, this thinking is. 

As I think of how vaccines work, I think what we really need is for the rest of us, we white people and those of us with privilege, to receive the vaccine for racism.  The solution is not that the racism continues and the people affected simply become immune to the impact.  The solution is that a change happens within those of us with privilege, on a cellular level, so we immediately recognize our own behaviours and patterns of thoughts, see how they are influenced by systemic racism and consciously stop those thoughts and behaviours.  Our minds need to recognize how we contribute to this problem and how we can stop it.  If the vaccine was truly effective, over time, and it would not take long, our bodies could rest.  Our minds would no longer rush to be on high alert, defending our positions and justifying years of collective, inexcusable behaviour.  Less and less and less, would we think about racism as something that is ‘out there’; instead we would take responsibility for our part in the system we are perpetuating, and work to change it. 

When the pandemic hit Canada, I was taught what the symptoms were.  I know how to recognize it. Via news stories, I saw what it was like for the victims to fight it.  I’ve been given tools to give myself the best chance not to contract it.  More importantly, I’ve been given tools to understand how I can prevent its spread, how I can be part of the solution, and not contribute to the problem.  I know if I do this well, and for long enough, either a vaccine will be developed, or the disease will grow tired of us being so diligent and move on. 

I know what racism looks like.  I know what I feel when I witness it.  Via news stories I see what it is like for the victims to fight it.  I know there will not be a vaccine to stop it.  I also know we have every single possible solution to this within ourselves.  I for one, am looking for my own little vaccine inside of me.  I am challenging my thinking, I am reading and learning, and I am thinking of how to create ways in my daily life to become part of the solution.  I do not need an outside vaccine for any of this. 

As my friend, Gail, so eloquently said, ‘…as a white person, your voice is essential within the dialogue AND it's not the most important voice. In other words, you need to add your voice to the rallying cry, while at the same time ensuring that your voice doesn't over-ride the voices of BIPOC. You need to join the choir, and not be the soloist. Being silent makes it hard to know where you stand on the issue. Are you an ally or not?...’

It seems to me we are fighting two pandemics.  Both make it hard for people to breathe.  Both have solutions within human hands.  Neither is ‘someone else’s problem’.  I will continue learning how to add my voice, and more importantly my actions, to do my full part in irradiating both pandemics.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I being an ally?’

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 absolutely no expertise in immunology but she’s learning how to play her part as one person, with one voice, in this wide, multi-coloured world.  Contact Elizabeth to learn how to best play your part too.
 
 
 

Jim and I finally decided we had reached the ‘more-likely-than-not’ safe season for planting our garden.  We bought our plants early this year.  Last year we felt like we’d missed the boat on many of the good ones.  But although Alberta is the land of sunshine, we can also quickly become land of snow or land of frost, neither of which encourage early spring planting.  

Our gardens are not large, at least not in comparison to what we had on the acreage, so the task was quick.  My photo challenge, on the other hand, has been anything but!

I’m digitizing all our photographs in an attempt to turn them into manageable chapters of our lives that will be accessible to our children.  About ten years ago, I got a great start on the project when I made photo books of the twenty-ish years of raising our kids.  Since then I’ve wanted to scan the rest of the pictures too, the ones from Jim’s and my earlier days, and days even earlier and later than those. I have scanned and labelled thousands of pictures.  I’ve almost reached the bottom of the last two bins! 

This week, as I was scanning our school pictures, I came across an old post card.  On the front was a picture of the main stadium of Olympic Park in Montreal.  On the back was a short message written to me by Whitey Sheridan.  Whitey was an iconic figure in the running community in Southern Ontario.  In 1976, I really had no idea exactly how iconic he was.  At the time, our country was preparing to welcome the 1976 Olympics to Montreal, and I somehow qualified for, and was allowed to enter, the Junior Olympics.  I say somehow, because these practices occurred during the springtime, planting time on the farm, and with ten children in our family, and one van, our parents were not in the habit of ‘driving us all over the countryside’.  My sister Shelley, and brother David, were also part of the Junior Olympics, which I think helped greatly in the decision to drive us to practice. Shelley was a better runner than I will ever be.  I just got lucky to hitch a ride and be able to participate.

I remember Whitey well and I’ve mentioned him over the years as a cultivator of my love of running.  He was our coach; a middle-aged man, with a shock of white hair, and a passion for running and training others to run.  He was a task-master, giving me perhaps my first taste of the effort it would take to become good.  Once our Junior Olympics had come and gone that spring, Whitey continued his coaching adventure all the way to the Olympics where he was involved with the track team.  I haven’t been able to track down his exact involvement with the Olympics that year.  I do know that Whitey himself came close to competing at the Olympic level when he finished third at the 1948 Olympic trials in Montreal.  What I do know for sure is what he wrote on the little post card he sent to me that summer. 

Hi.  Busy with preparations for games and getting ready for opening tomorrow.  Seen many athletes.  Keep it up, it’s great to make a team.  Regards, Whitey.

I had forgotten all about that postcard.  I had forgotten I had ever received it.  For forty-four years I have packed it around the country, from house to house, in a bin with photos, never, ever realizing I had it.  And yet, when I read it, it was so familiar to me, as to be a part of the very fabric of my being.  I recognized it instantly, as if it were an old friend who had changed, and yet not changed at all.  What Whitey did for me was to plant a little seed.  I’m not sure I recognized, when I was a teenager, the effort Whitey went to send this card.  I assume he sent one to each member of our Junior Olympic Team.   This was a man, busy at the Olympics, the night before opening ceremonies, who took time to write a little card of encouragement to a girl who loved to run. 

I never saw Whitey again.  I remembered him but I didn’t really think about his impact on me.  And yet, a little seed had been planted.  Over the years, whether I consciously thought about it or not, the seed grew into a love I gained for the sport of running, and into a series of travel adventures and opportunities to race.  He somehow allowed me to believe ‘I could’.  What a gift that seed was.

This morning I was out for a bike ride.  I talked to the knee clinic yesterday and I’ll just say they are not as hopeful as I am that I may run again.  If I had to guess, I’d say they were a solid ten percent.  I’m hanging in at around 80%.  So, as I continue to rehab, and strengthen, I bike.  I rode up behind a father and his young daughter on the bike path.  I’m guessing she was about 5 years old.  She was riding her two-wheeler along the path in front of her dad.  It was very obvious this was new to her.  She wobbled as she worked hard to keep her little bike on the right side of the yellow line.  I didn’t want to startle her so I settled in behind the dad until I could figure out when it might be safe to pass.  The dad sensed my presence and just continued to bike along behind his little girl.  He was watching her carefully, but not offering any more advice than was absolutely necessary.  When we came to an open stretch of pathway, I quietly asked him if he thought it was safe to pass – I was actually quite content to ride along behind and watch her progress but I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.  The dad quietly answered that yes, it was ok.  So, I did.  And the little girl was delighted that she stayed on ‘her side’.  And I wondered if the father had any idea of the seed he had just planted.

This dad could have done a lot of different things.  He could have suggested they stop, to let me pass.  He could have given her an alarming warning that someone was going to pass.  He could have reminded her to ‘be careful!’.  He did none of this.  What he did was allow her to be an equal biker, on a public path.  She had every right to be there and to be biking.  She had every right to go her speed.  She had every right to occupy her full space.  What her dad did, was plant a seed in her, to let her know she is just as worthy as anyone else to be on the path, following the rules like everyone else.  He let her know she is capable and he trusts her.  I loved it.

We are all restricted these days.  There are lots of new rules to follow and to get used to.  But there is no restriction at all on seed planting.  In this time of spring, as Whitey did so long ago for me, and that father did for his little daughter, I challenge each of us to find a seed to plant.  We may never, ever, think about it again or see its fruition. I know from experience though; seeds can be life-changers.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What seed am I planting?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn become an impactful gardener.

This week there have been hints that several professional sports leagues are trying to figure out ways to bring their games back to the fans.  Due to Covid 19, all professional and amateur sports have been postponed at best, and have had seasons cancelled at worst.  My understanding is that all teams are suffering financially, and that any portion of a season that can be salvaged will help.  I’m guessing the players, too, are anxious to get back playing the sports they love so dearly.  Many of them are continuing to train while they wait, to hone their skills, to watch old tapes of their performances and to figure out how to improve.

I’m a sports fan.  I’m not sure I’m the stereotypical fan, but I am a fan.  I don’t have one absolute favourite sport I follow, but I do appreciate sport and the athleticism and commitment it takes to be at the top of one’s game.  I love watching playoffs in almost any sport and when the Olympics are being broadcast, I’m a fan of everything.

I’ve coached quite a few teams over the years.  I didn’t ever start out as an expert, and truth be told, I never finished as an expert either.  But whether coaching soccer, cross country, basketball or track and field, I loved taking coaching courses and certifications, and I loved to learn not only about the game but about what made the players tick.

One part of coaching that is always challenging is assessing which players to have on the court, field, or track at any given time.  The coach needs to be able to figure out which players are ‘on their game’, which ones play well together on a lineup, which ones needs a little pep talk or reminder of a play, and which players need to sit on the sidelines for a bit.   In my experience, no player liked the sideline, but most of them benefited from it at some point.

The reasons for taking a player out of a game, for sidelining them, can be complex.  But really, it boils down to this:  if a player is unable to execute what the coach has asked for and what the team needs, they are asked to step away from the game,  figure out what adjustment needs to be made to their play, and then wait to get back in for another chance.   This happens in all sports, to all players.  Sometimes it is the coach who has the advice the player needs, other times the player uses their introspection to figure things out for themselves.  The great players are able to make such adjustments quickly and without taking things too personally.

When I was coaching and would remove a player from play, before returning them to the activity, I’d check to make sure they had figured out what they needed to know to be more successful the next shift.  The goal was always to have the player re-enter the game feeling like they could be more successful, and that they had more insight into their own game.  It’s never nice to be on the sidelines, but there is nothing quite as sweet as returning to a game feeling, and playing with more confidence and purpose.

These days, we’ve all been moved to the edges of the game we love, the game of life.  We’ve been taken out of our game, and are stuck on the sidelines watching.  We watch through Zoom, through Facetime, through television, videos, YouTube and any other form of visual medium available.  Most of us want to shout, ‘Put me in, coach!  I’m ready to go back.’  Unfortunately, while soon we will likely be put back into the game, this is one time the coach is not going to tell us what to do when we do go back.   That would be far too easy.  Oh, we will have ‘coaches’ tell us some of the mechanics we will need; things like how many people can be in a restaurant at a time, whether to wear a mask or not, when it might be safe to hug and when we can gather to watch professional sports.  But the real learning will come from within each of us.  As we sit on our sideline, we each have some soul searching to do to decide what our game will look like when we re-enter.  We each need to figure out if what we were doing pre-pandemic was working best for our own game.

There is very little I have liked about the restrictions we have all faced during this pandemic.  I do appreciate the need for the restrictions, and I have been very willing to be compliant.  But I don’t like it.  What I have come to appreciate, though, is the time I’ve had to sit on the sidelines, to think about my game, and to decide which parts of it I’m happy with, and which parts need some adjustment.  I’ve had time to think about which line I play best on, and which line I really don’t need to play on at all.  I’ve had time to think about how my actions impact others, either helping them with their game, or not.  I’ve had time to think about the impact others have on me.  I’ve had time to think about the position I’ve been willing to play, and whether I want to try out for a new position or keep the one familiar to me.  I’ve had time to think about what I will be saying yes to, and what things I can leave for others.

Players have to trust coaches to put them back in to the game at the right time. Right now, while we say, ‘Put me in Coach!’, we also know our sitting time might last a bit longer.  When we do get the tap on the shoulder, may each of us be ready to return to play our best game.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where does this fit in my best game?’

Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to maximize your time on the sideline.
 

All week long, windows have been entering conversations and showing up in my life.  For me, this is always an invitation to take a closer look.  Usually I can easily see what I’m meant to see.  I’m going to have to sort through my experiences with windows to see if there is something there for me.
 
Initially, windows surfaced in conversation was when I was talking to my mom, early in the week.  She broke her hip in late January, had a major surgery to repair it, and was discharged from the hospital just days before the Covid 19 pandemic hit Canada with its force.  Since then, she’s been at home, on the farm.  My sister, Shelley, stops by each day for several hours to help her out, and one of my brothers brings in food and treats on the weekend and has an appropriate physically-distanced visit in the back yard with her.  The rest of us visit by phone.  Other than a very few other people stopping by, this has been her life for months. 

When I was talking to her this week I asked jokingly, ‘Did you do anything wild this week?’  She replied, ‘Well, I did! I went to Shopper’s Drug Mart with Shelley.  I stayed in the car while she went inside.’

My mother is a person, who, if she was in her normal life, would not even mention this trip to Shopper’s Drug Mart as an outing.  She is an active woman and her outings usually involve going to the YMCA for exercise class, attending book club or bridge, walking with a friend or driving to my sister’s place for a visit.  And yet, this week, Shopper’s Drug Mart made the cut.

Mom and I talked about how uplifting even a little drive like this could be.  She talked about how nice it was to watch out the window as they drove, seeing the countryside as it has made its usual transition to spring.  That little window of the car, gave her a view to the bigger world; one she has been missing.  It allowed her to see possibilities.  It filled her mind with some new thoughts for awhile. 

I’ve also been talking about windows with several friends lately.  All of us are parents with grown children, some of us are grandparents.  Each conversation has swerved into someone mentioning how almost unbearable it is to see their children and grandchildren through windows, and not be able to be near them.  All of us have seen pictures on the news of families visiting seniors through windows at seniors’ centres.  While the television or Facebook version of this gives the appearance of being heartwarming, what we don’t see is the tears after the visits.  We don’t see the heartbreak caused by the pane of glass separating loved ones. 

No amount of ‘think of what people went through in war time’ helps this.  The window feels like the bars of a jail cell, and we are the captives.  In the end, of course, we all agree; while our hearts hurt not to be able to have our normal interactions with our family, having the memory of the view from the window is well worth the heartache we might feel and is a great reminder of what will await us when the restrictions are lifted.

Kaitlyn, our daughter and a teacher, has been online teaching through the pandemic.  She was invited to her school on Thursday afternoon.  They had organized a ‘parade’ to acknowledge the final day of work for several of the support workers and the librarian.  Students and their families were invited to make signs, decorate their cars and ‘parade’ past the school to wish these staff members farewell.  The teachers were to socially distance outside the school, on the parade route, so the students could see the staff, and the staff could wave to the kids.  I’m guessing it was joyful, and uplifting, and heartbreaking and sad; feelings we have each experienced in these last few months.  Windows give us room for all of those feelings.

Windows allow us to see in, and to look out.  They let us take time to think about things inside ourselves; our thoughts, feelings and dreams.  They give us the room to have new ideas, see comforting faces, create new dreams, and take our minds off our daily, predictable routine. 

All my thinking about windows this week, reminds me we are always in choice.  Windows, that can be seen as jail bars, can also be seen as protection, and as portals to incredible views.  When I get stuck this week, I may take a little drive and look out the window.  I may even spot a Shopper’s Drug Mart!

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I viewing my window?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching, and a pretty decent window cleaner.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to maximize the view from your window.

School may not be in session right now, but there certainly is no shortage of new vocabulary to learn.  Several months ago, I wasn’t familiar with Covid, social distancing or physical distancing.  Personal protective equipment was ‘a thing’, but not really for the general masses.  Quarantine was a familiar word, but more as a concept than a lived-experience.   Definitely, most of us were not uttering the buzz phrase ‘new normal’ multiple times each day. 

New normal.

I’m hearing this expression over and over and over again.  It has a certain feeling about it.  It’s as if whatever we are going to be experiencing in the near and medium-near future, will not be what we are experiencing now.  And to add to its already loaded meaning, it sure doesn’t sound like it’s something we should be looking forward to. 

I’m not quite sure why, so I’ve spent some of my ‘walking time’ this week pondering exactly what it might mean to be headed toward a new normal.

My first thought is if we are going to have a new normal, then we must have an old normal, and perhaps we are living in a current normal.  The problem is, there has never really been a time in history, either in the history of the world, or in any of our personal life history, when we could definitively say, ‘This is the time of normal.’  This is the point in time when everything is going exactly to plan.  Everything is stable; so stable so as to define it as normal.  If there has been such a time, I missed it.

I too, am concerned about how we are going to transition into our next phase of the Covid 19 pandemic. I’m not sure how it will look as small and large businesses begin to re-open, as we are loosed from the social restrictions we now face, as we begin to re-gather in groups both large and small, as we learn to hear a cough without feeling a sense of panic, as we pass people on walks or in the aisles of grocery stores without either yielding a wide berth or making a judgement on their lack of doing so.

I’m not sure exactly which day I will feel perfectly confident that we can get together with our children and with little Benjamin, without any of us going home fearing we may have inadvertently infected each other.  When Greg and Cara moved to Calgary last Fall, Jim and I were so excited that after nine years of Greg living in another city, and four more before that stretch, we would now be able to spend special family times with them.  So far, Jim’s birthday has come and gone, as has Easter, our anniversary, and Kaitlyn and Matt’s birthdays.  This weekends Mother’s Day isn’t likely to boast a crowded dining room table either.  I guess this is our current normal.  Because this same situation is playing out in every family across the country, we are all likely wondering this:  If this is our current normal (and it’s not that nice), how bad will the impending new normal be?!

With Mother’s Day weekend approaching, I pondered this idea of new normal and I’ve had some clarity.  When we were expecting our first baby, Kaitlyn, we had absolutely no idea what was ahead of us.  Of course, we read what experts were saying on the matter. We tried to envision what our home and my work life might be like.  I thought I understood what my relationship with Jim would be like, and what my friendships would be like.  I suppose we were imagining we were going to lose our normal life and we were trying to conjure up our new normal. 

Interestingly, other women who were having babies at or around the same time were also having similar thoughts.  They could no more imagine their futures, than could I.  Each of us was given a different baby.  Some were great sleepers, some wouldn’t nurse, some were colicky, some smiled early and often, some made strange, some walked early, some we thought might never walk.  Each of us lived a ‘new normal’.  None of us questioned it.  None of us expected the others to have an experience exactly like ours.  We all simply assumed that our lives would change, and we would adapt to manage it.  And we did.

When we were expecting Greg, we went through the same thing.  I even recall crying, wondering if it was fair to bring a baby into the world who I incorrectly imagined I could never possibly love as much as I loved our firstborn.  I was terrified of what our new normal might be.  Luckily, within seconds of meeting Gregory, our new normal was better than we ever could have dreamed.

If we flash forward about 18 – 20 years, it would be safe to say we not only adapted, we may have overachieved.  I haven’t met many parents who found the transition of their children growing up and moving out and on to be an easy one.  Yet if our pre-children life was our ‘normal’ one, one would think it would be the easiest transition in the world to go back to living life as we did pre-kids.  If someone gave me the chance to go back to my ‘normal’ life, my pre-children life, I would never even consider it.  The gifts I received in my ‘new normal’ far exceeded any ‘normal’ life I had once loved.

I suspect our ‘new normal’ with this pandemic will bring us similar unexpected, unplanned, unforeseen, un-read-about, unpredicted blessings.  While I fully understand that those families who have lost a loved one during the pandemic will never find a new normal to replace the life lost, I’m hopeful that for the rest of us, our new normal will be so incredible we will never wish to go back to ‘normal’.  I already see signs of this.  People have slowed down and genuinely want to have little conversations with each other.  People have begun to open up with their feelings, instead of hiding behind the endless busyness of our ‘normal’ lives.  We are doing some deep thinking about what is important to us, and about how we want to spend our precious time.  We are reconnecting with old passions and hobbies.  We are noticing nature.  We see and hear more beautiful musical and artistic creations.  We are discovering we are more alike than different. 

I would like nothing more than to be able to gather my family around me, to be able to book a flight to a dream destination, to dance with my dancing sisters, or to stop in at a store for just one single item.  But I will wait. I will be happy to wait if it means that the new normal I’ll find when the waiting is over is half as wonderful as the new normal I found when my waiting to be a mother was realized.  As I recall, that waiting seemed endless too.

This week, may you find peace in whatever new normal arrives in your life.

​Happy Mother's Day.

My inquiry for you is, ‘What is normal?’

Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to embrace your new normal.
 
 

This week I’m in quarantine.  The real quarantine. Not self-isolation, not physical distancing, not wear a mask and wash my hands.  Quarantine.  I’m awaiting my call from AHS with the results of my Covid-19 test.

Don’t panic just yet.  I’m pretty sure I’ll be Covid free.  But I’ve been fighting a bug for months and my doctor suggested doing this test to at least eliminate this possibility.  I’ve mentioned that if I do have Covid 19, I will likely be given the dubious title of patient zero.  I will also go down in history as having the longest ever case of it!  Luckily, our province has set up an environment whereby testing is easy.  I’ll rest easier once I get my results, but in the meantime, I’ll be grateful to be able to have had testing.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been captivated by some of the emerging leaders in our country.  Not only am I thankful for the leadership they provide, I also find myself observing the traits they exhibit that make them so effective in their roles.   I’m trying to figure out how to incorporate their qualities into my personal life.

The leaders I find myself most drawn to are the ones leading with calm, accurate information.  They don’t waste time casting blame and pointing fingers.  They look at the most current data, make calculated decisions based on the best data they have at the moment, and put a plan in place.  They somehow manage to do this with a sense of warmth and compassion.   In Alberta, the leader doing this is Dr. Deena Hinshaw, our chief medical officer of health.  To increase her effectiveness even further she follows her planning and execution with clear and thoughtful communication of the plan. It is so much easier to get people on board when we understand why we are being asked to do something.  When things are simply mandated, without explanation, it’s easy to get our hackles up and want to push back; just because we can.  The second thing Dr. Hinshaw and her team are doing, and this is the one I’m practicing on myself, is, once the plan is executed, they do not assume the work is done and move on.  Instead, being competent leaders, they look at the impact of the plan, they look at the new data arising, and then they go back to step one, once again to look at the new most current data, make a calculated decision, put a plan in place, observe the impact and results, and repeat.

I think a mistake many of us make is to implement a new habit or routine or rule, and then forget to check back in after a certain time to see if we are obtaining the results we had hoped for.

This week in Alberta, Dr. Hinshaw, is making several significant changes to the rules restricting Albertans.  The first is, in light of the horrific flooding in Fort MacMurray, she lifted social distancing measures to allow the citizens of that city, and other volunteers, to work effectively together to sandbag critical areas of the city and to distribute emergency supplies.  I haven’t heard one single person (mind you, if you recall, I AM inside my house and get all news from television) complain that this isn’t fair.  No one is saying that if the residents of Fort Mac can have this measure removed, so should we all. 

The measure in Fort MacMurray is caused by a new emergency that in effect trumps the Covid19 emergency.  It is a completely different situation than the rest of us are dealing with.  Residents of our province easily understand that it needs different measures until the crisis passes. But there is a second changing measure that is even more incredible.  This change is being implemented in a place where no new emergency exists.  This is in our senior’s residences.  These places have been the hardest hit by the pandemic.  The combination of a vulnerable population, and the close quarters in which they live have provided the ingredients for the perfect storm.  It surely has been storming inside those residences.

It made perfect sense to lock down these facilities, to control who goes in, and to control the movement of the residents within.  And yet this week, Dr. Hinshaw announced she is changing protocol.  She, and her team, noticed an unintended consequence of the plan they implemented.  Even though their plan was based on the best data they had, they are observing recently that the isolation measures are taking too great a toll on this already vulnerable population.  Instead of stubbornly sticking to the original plan, new measures will allow for some restricted visiting, albeit outside, limiting visitors, observing the two-metre rule, and wearing masks. 

I could jump for joy seeing this kind of leadership at work.  And as I jump, I have time to wonder how effective I am implementing this kind of leadership in my own life.  How often do I make a plan, implement it, and just stubbornly see it through to the end, without stopping to observe whether it is actually the most effective plan, or if it is having consequences I never imagined or intended.

Species that do the best at surviving and thriving, are those that learn to adapt to changing environments and conditions.  At the beginning of this pandemic, I used one of my tried and true coping strategies: make a list, start on the list, check off items, complete the list.  That worked fairly well for about two weeks.  The third week, my excitement was slipping.  So, I copied my list onto a new sheet of paper.  I assumed a fresh sheet of paper meant a fresh start for me!  It didn’t help.  I had to take a minute and notice which parts of my plan were working and which needed a few tweaks.

Over the past 5 weeks, I’ve learned something.  I’m ok with a slower pace and a shorter list.  I would NEVER have believed this a few months ago.  My life was filled with go, go and more go.  Because I was comfortable with that, I liked it.  The new pace of my life reminds me of driving through a playground or school zone.  In playground zones, I’m forced to slow down so I will more likely notice and react to unexpected situations – children crossing the road, balls rolling onto the street, kids swerving on their bikes etc.  Chances are, if I didn’t have to slow down by law, I would continue to drive through these zones at my usual clip, and while I hope I’m a careful enough driver not to do any lasting damage, I suspect I would miss a lot.  I notice more when I drive slowly.  And I smile more at the little kids playing there.

So too with this enforced slow down on my life.  My whole life has become a playground zone and my latest plan involves going slower and being more observant.  In doing so I notice new things. I like to think I took a page from Dr. Hinshaw’s book, observed the results of my initial plan, gathered new data, made a new plan and put it in place.  As I move at my new, possibly temporary, pace, I’m trying to notice the impact it’s having on me and others.  I’m almost enjoying pretending to be a mini Dr. Hinshaw as I carefully gather scientific evidence of my new strategy.  I can only hope to have her grace in being willing to notice when my actions and behaviour are not effective in helping me move toward becoming who I hope to be.

Thanks Dr. Hinshaw.   You’re keeping us safe and teaching us grace.  We’re lucky to have you.  I’m hoping we will come out of this pandemic not only more grateful for our excellent health care system, and those who work in it, but also with a new template for how we can each be effective leaders.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘What would Dr. Hinshaw do?’

Elizabeth is a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society.   She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. She has particular expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to fine tune your leadership skills.