I was working in Ontario last week in a pretty little town in Middlesex County.  My work there this time spanned a few days.  A quaint boutique hotel, The Clock Tower Inn, had been recommended to me and, hoping to support the local economy and community, I made my reservation.

The hotel did not disappoint.  Once home to the Federal Postal Office, the historic, 1889 building has been restored to its former glory.  Currently it is a perfect blend of modern luxury and history.  Each of the eight rooms has an individual character.  Each is named for a member of royalty.  I found myself residing on the third and top floor in the Prince of Wales room. 

Following one of the days of work, I decided to take a drive around town to pick up a few things I needed for the following days’ workshops.  My motives were threefold;  I needed the items, the sky was quickly darkening with threatening storm clouds making the prospect of a later run unappealing, and by making the stops on the way back to the hotel, I could avoid too many trips up and down the fifty stairs that led to my room!

My timing was not perfect and I ended up dodging the rain as I ran from the car to the inn, but for the most part, I managed to stay fairly dry.  Later in the evening, warm and dry in my room, all preparations made for the following day, I tucked in to bed.  The rain had stopped but there was a steady drip, drip, drip that I could hear outside.  When I exited the building in the morning, I could see that the dripping had eventually filled up one of the downspouts that eventually overflowed creating quite a lake in the parking lot. 

It dawned on me that while one drip doesn’t pack much of a punch, a steady drip, drip, drip can have significant results.

When the business part of my trip was complete, Jim joined me and we headed to Ottawa to visit with my brother who has recently made that city his home.  Our weekend was filled with touring some of the incredible museums and seeing the sights our Capital city has to offer.  One highlight for all of us was a surprise my brother had planned.  His current office is situated on grounds shared by the stables and training facility for the famous RCMP Musical Ride.  Little had we known, that one of the jobs assigned to the magnificent horses of the musical ride, is to pull the carriage used when members of the Royal Family visit Canada.  My brother arranged for us to be passengers in the carriage on one of the training rides.  The horses need to be disciplined to not only manage crowds of people, but to remain perfectly still as people board and disembark from the carriage.  As the driver of the carriage told us, ‘It wouldn’t do for the horses to startle as the queen was climbing aboard’! 

As we were driven through the incredible winding streets of Rockcliffe Park, gazing at magnificent homes occupied by ambassadors from around the world, I observed our driver’s interactions with everyone he met.  Each time we met a vehicle, whether it was simply passing us or it had pulled to the side of the road to give the horses a wide berth, (and also to snap a picture) the driver raised his crop, waved, smiled and said thank you.  Drip, drip, drip.  With every single encounter, our driver added a drop of goodwill to the reputation of the RCMP.  With each encounter I witnessed the smiles and I could feel the approval of everyone we met; approval for the beautiful sight of the black horses and the carriage, but also the approval of this well-known symbol of Canadian ambassadorship.  

As we drove along for close to an hour and a half, we chit chatted to the driver about many things.  Jim asked him if he ever experienced any drivers who were frustrated with the presence of the horses.  In his response, I’m sure the driver could have told us of several less than polite encounters.  Yet, his response continued to give evidence of the conscious way he chose to represent his organization, the RCMP.  “Most people just love to see us”, he replied.  Not once did he ever hint that his job was less than rewarding. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Each of us is steadily dripping.  We are dripping messages about how we value ourselves, how we like to be treated, how we react to the unexpected, how we feel about issues.  We drip with our faces, with our body language, with our words, with our integrity, with our behaviour and with our values.  When we drip a ‘no’ often enough, others will assume that we most often drip no’s.  When we give and give and give and are never willing to receive, most people will stop trying to give back to us.  When we show up on time, when we say we will, most people will assume we drip reliability.  Most people, upon observing us, won’t jump to a conclusion about us after only one drip.  But once they observe a stream of drip, drip, drip, they will quickly jump to their own conclusions. 

Teenagers are famous for dripping eye rolls and heavy sighs.  For the most part, these are forgivable; they are, after all, still trying to figure out who they want to be when they grow up.  For the rest of us, those who are already grown up, the luxury of being careless with our drips is not one most of us can afford.  It’s hard to convince someone we really are not dripping after the lake has suddenly formed.

The parking lot lake at the Inn, formed by the drip, drip, drips, did not create a permanent geological formation in the ground.  On the other hand, the driver of the carriage, Scott, likely did create some permanent impressions in the people he met.  He certainly left a wonderful impression on us.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I dripping?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to locate and maximize your drips!

I always miss living in the country, but at this time of year in particular, I long for the sights, sounds, smells, and most of all, the feel of the harvest season.

I love the warm afternoons and the cold crisp nights.  I love the colours of the morning sunrises and the splendor of the sunsets over the mountains.

I love the trees as they change from their summer wardrobe of green to their fall colours of yellows, oranges and reds.  I love the fall foods and the familiar smells of apples baking in pies, and soups simmering on stovetops.  Some years, when I am really on my game, I can transport myself back to my childhood, to my Grammie’s kitchen to the scent of beets being pickled and corn being made into relish. 

Even though the pace of this season can be hectic with activities and schools all celebrating their own New Year, there is still a sense of gentleness about us.  Cozy sweaters and jackets remind us to care for ourselves and to take time to examine our crops and our harvest.

When I was biking through the foothills last week, we crested a hill and were treated to a most spectacular vista; a rolling field, dotted with hundreds and hundreds of large round bales of hay.  There were three green tractors working together to finish off the fall job of baling hay.

This might be my most favourite sight of all; farmers, most likely neighbours and friends too, working together to reap what one of them had sown early in the spring.  No doubt when this field was finished, they’d have a little chat, maybe go up to the house for some lunch and then move on to the next field.  This picture of the tractors, bales of hay and fields, represents the best of what it means to be a friend, a co-worker a neighbour, a support and a fellow-traveller. 

I don’t know the word for this feeling.  Contentment comes to mind.  As do peace, community and kindness.

Farmers don’t have a lot of choice about when they will harvest their crop.  The weather of the seasons dictates the planting, the watering, the tending and the reaping.  During the Fall season farmers take the final tally of their year’s work.  Some years, despite every effort on their part, despite proper planting and watering, despite loving care, the crop does not fulfill all of its potential.  Other years, the farmer may not be as attentive and yet still yield an abundant crop.  Always, the farmer harvests what she can, considers possible changes and has gratitude for the fruits of her labour.

What a most valuable lesson for the rest of us.

We often get so busy with the quick pace of life we have created for ourselves, we forget to stop and notice the little seasons of our lives, and to give thanks for our abundant harvest.  Some of our seasons are obvious, like those in which we raise our families.  During these, there are some natural harvesting moments when we stop to look back; before a child enters school for the first time, when we hand over the keys to the family car to a sixteen year old, when a seven year old loses teeth, or when we accompany a daughter or son on their walk up the aisle.

However, many of the seasons we have are less obvious and it’s easy to let them pass us by without ever even getting on our tractors, taking a trip around the field and noticing the fruits of our labours.

When a friend unexpectedly drops by or gives us a call, it is easy to think about the interruption this is to our carefully planned day, instead of noticing that it is really the reaping of the seeds of friendship we have sown.

When a co-worker stops by our office to ask our advice, it is easy to let our minds wander to the idea of how we will have to work late to make up the time, rather than enjoy the harvest of trust we have planted. 

When we are invited to a social event, it is easy to imagine it as a command performance, one that is cutting into our precious personal time, rather than noticing that the connections we planted long ago, are only now bearing their fruit.
This past month, our son Greg put the finishing touches on his final thesis for his PhD.  He and Cara have moved back to Calgary. It has been a long, long time since Greg lived in our city.  Cara has never lived here.  As I was thinking about their arrival, and the wonderful change it will bring to our family, I ‘hopped on my tractor’ to take a little evening drive to look over my crops and appreciate our harvest. 

I am so grateful to have our whole little family nearby.  The seeds of this family were planted in many corners of our country, from Nova Scotia to Alberta.  For now, they have taken root and are growing here.  I am most grateful to be able to enjoy every part of this, both the parts I had a hand in watering, and the parts that have been most graciously shared with me.

Both of our children have married partners who are supportive, kind, loving and present.  Both come from families who have welcomed our children into their families. I will never have the words to express my gratitude to Cara’s mom and dad, Sharon and Dan, for becoming Greg’s family and for providing him with endless family moments to be part of while he lived close to them in Ontario.  This is a harvest I can take no credit for.   I did not plant the seeds of their kindness, but I am very, very blessed to get to share in the harvest of their love.

Sometimes we have an abundant harvest we can share with others; sometimes we cannot possibly harvest our whole crop by ourselves and we need help; sometimes we can help others get their crop in before the weather changes; sometimes we are lucky enough to allow others to share their harvest with us.

May you take the time to appreciate the yield of your crop this harvest season.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I harvesting?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to appreciate the harvest season.
 

 

This week I took a little tumble off my bike.  I know.  It’s almost exactly one year since I broke my foot while on a biking trip, and this week, while innocently, and not spectacularly, biking the final few kilometres home from a ride, I found myself on the ground doing a quick body scan to assess the damage.  Luckily for me, the damage is almost all superficial.  The ego will take some time to mend.  And my confidence is shaken a bit.  But really, the impact was minimal.

Then on Sunday, when we were out at a walk to raise awareness about Bladder Cancer, supporting our good friend Bryan, Jim and I ran into Ed, an old colleague of ours.  The impact was huge.

Ed taught with Jim, early in Jim’s career.  He was the only bread winner in his family, and to make ends meet he had a little side job of selling and installing built-in vacuum cleaning systems. Early in our marriage, when our kids were really little, we hired Ed to install one of those systems in our tiny, new-to-us, home. 

Ed and his wife Lorraine, have an adoptive daughter, Jennifer.  I don’t recall how, on that evening thirty some years ago, the conversation turned to adoption, but I do recall this exact part of it:

Ed:  If Jennifer ever wants to find her birth mother, I will help her.  I have something I want to say to that woman.

Me: (Silence.  Maybe even a bit of breath holding.)

Ed:  I’ll tell you what I’d tell her.  I’d tell her, “Thank you, for giving me the most precious gift in the world”

I have to say, I had tears in my eyes.  I was speechless.  This was likely the first time I had realized that a person could choose their perspective.  Those few seconds of conversation had an enormous impact on me.

When I saw Ed last weekend, I reminded him of that conversation from over thirty years ago.  I told him what an impact it has had on my life.  Ed thanked me for reminding him and we had a most wonderful conversation about our lives and how we impact one another. 

Each of us impacts our world many times each day.   It is easy to pretend this is not so.  It is easy to imagine that sometimes we just operate in a bubble, and that if we mind our own business, we will have no impact on others.  This is simply not the truth.  We each have impact.  Each thing we do has impact.  The secret is to be aware of our impact on others and on situations.  We become more confident, and more humble, when we recognize that each thing we do, or do not do, has an impact.

When I first became aware of this, I found myself feeling a bit paralyzed.  Knowing everything I might do has an impact, caused me to assess each of my actions.  When I thought about going to any event, I realized that whether I arrived early or late, gently or loudly, stressed or calm, thoughtful or spontaneous, bearing gifts or just a smile, right on time or not at all, I would have some impact. 

The choices we make matter.  How we live matters.  How we show up, matters.

It’s overwhelming stuff.

Some relief comes with noticing that having impact does not mean we have to judge our impact.  We do not have to figure out if it will be positive or negative.  We do not even have to be fully responsible for our impact.  We simply need to acknowledge that no matter how we act, we will create an impact. 

I can think back to many times when I have disagreed with someone, sometimes in a professional setting, sometimes at home, and I have become silent.  I have not offered my opinion.  I always assumed that by doing this, I was not having an impact on the situation.  I thought I was being Switzerland.  In some cases, I even thought I was really good at this.  I thought I was hiding my feelings with great skill.  I now recognize that even my silence, my Swiss-like behaviour, had an impact.  My feelings were likely leaking out of me as easily as air moves through the holes of Swiss cheese.  I’m trying not to judge or assume what that impact might have been.  It could have caused the other person to create a story in their head to explain my withdrawal.  It could have been a relief to them that I was not talking.  It could have given someone else a chance to speak.  There are endless things it could have been.  But the one thing I know for sure it was not, was nothing.

On Sunday, as Ed and I continued to talk, he told me that even though he was grateful to Jennifer’s birth mother for allowing he and Lorraine the joy of adopting their baby, as the years went on he began to understand the impact it must have had on her, a young woman who had just surrendered her child.  He said, ‘We were so wrapped up in our own delight at finally having a baby, I never once stopped to think about the toll it had on her.’ 

Ed then shocked me when he told me, ‘I did get to thank her, you know.  In fact, Lorraine and I became very good friends with her.  Did you know she spoke at Lorraine’s Celebration of Life this past year?’

No, I had not known.  But somehow, I was not surprised.

Ed understands impact.

When Jim and I chose to support Bryan by participating in the walk for Bladder Cancer Awareness we had an impact.  When Greg and Cara joined us, they had an impact.  When Bryan and Lynda were delighted to see us, it had an impact.  When Bryan’s oncologist showed up at the event, that had an impact.  

I’m beginning to recognize that while I may not always know the impact of my actions, I can at least always be aware that each of my actions will certainly have one. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What impact am I having?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice your impact.
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

Last month, biking in the Ride To Conquer Cancer, Rhonda and I had lots and lots of moments when we would pass other riders and plenty of times when other riders would pass us too.  Each time, as we had been instructed to do, the passing rider would call out, ‘On your left’, before they pulled out the left to pass.

This lovely, consistent phrase, commonly used by cyclists, avoids having the biker being passed from being startled.  It can very unnerving to suddenly see something close to you in your periphery vision as you cycle along, focused on the road ahead.

On the afternoon of the first day of the ride, we heard the familiar, ‘On your left’ call from a male voice.  We continued cycling and before we had made too many more pedal strokes, a tall, conservative looking cyclist passed us, carefully watching traffic and obeying the rules of the road.

It was only when he got in front of us, when we could see him from behind, that we noticed his socks and the message they bore.  While his riding shorts were classic black, and his jersey non-flashy, or memorable, his little, six-inch socks blew us away.  They were neon in colour; green to be exact.  Printed on the back, in what we believe was his own hand writing were the words:

Do Epic Shit

Pardon my language.  I usually choose to use my other English words when writing this blog.  But a direct quote is a direct quote.  And quite frankly, I can’t think of any other phrase that would reflect either what he meant or what our reaction was.

Our response was immediate joy. 

Joy.

Immediately.

Rhonda and I kept cycling and didn’t talk about those socks until later.  But when we did, we both felt exactly the same.  We just loved the idea.  And we especially loved that the message came from someone, who although we do not know them, from all other appearances, seemed to be a fairly cautious, play-by-the rules kind of guy.  And perhaps it was poignant that we should see this message during the Ride to Conquer Cancer, both of us recognizing how lucky we are to be able to participate. 

I’ve been thinking about this phrase since then.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to measure what is epic.  And to know how much epic is needed in my life.

This year, I’ve offered to spend my Fridays with little Benjamin, our grandson.  Ben is now 20 months old.  I LOVE my Friday’s with Ben.  When Kaitlyn returned to school after her maternity leave in January, I asked her and Matt if I could have Ben for one day each week.  It wasn’t that they needed my help. They have wonderful care for little Ben.  It was that I wanted to develop a good relationship with my grandson.

Building relationships with children, happen when we create consistent, predictable, regular times to be together. Having a safe space and doing things together helps too.  This makes sense to me.  When children know they can count on us to show up for them regularly, when we say we will, they learn to trust us.  I’m pretty sure this happens with every age of person.   It doesn’t feel epic, but it does feel right.

I’ve spent the vast majority of my life being consistent, reliable and predictable.  I have never regretted it, but I have often watched others not operating quite the same way and I’ve wondered if I was missing out on something.  Something epic.
What I am concluding is that there is kind of a Yin and Yang to this; a bit of a push and pull.  

When I first decided to do a long bike race I was training alone.  One day, about a year-and-a-half ago, I texted my friend Rhonda to see if she would join me on a once per week training ride.  Rhonda and  I had never biked together and although she did like to bike, had never gone more than about 30km at once. I was training for my first Gran Fondo.  Rhonda quickly agreed and so began our Tuesday long rides.  Those consistent, predictable, regular rides, that at first kept us both wide awake the preceding Monday nights worrying whether we could manage the distances we had planned, turned into longer and longer rides.  More importantly they turned into times together we both came to cherish. 

And late last summer, and then again this summer, they turned into some epic moments when we completed two Gran Fondos, an incredible ride from Canmore to Jasper, and the Ride to Conquer Cancer.

I think it is only when we create a relationship, built on a foundation of consistency, reliability and predictability that we are able to trust one another enough to create our epic moments.

And so it was that this last Friday, I arrived at Ben’s house at 7:00am as planned.  He and I read for a bit and played with his cars.  We made our traditional scrambled eggs and he helped by adding the grated cheese at the end.  His nap was unremarkable.  We hiked in the park and found a slide to climb up and slide down.  He napped in the afternoon and then we played cars.

Really, it was another perfect day.  We have a wonderful relationship together.  I cherish it.  I doubt there is a bystander in this world who would rank what Ben and I do as epic.  Perhaps conquering a slide on your own is epic when you are little.  Perhaps mastering sitting on little chair all by yourself is epic.  Perhaps just the gift of being together, consistently, predictably and regularly, is epic.
​
When Rhonda and I went cycling this past Tuesday, our first time out in nearly a month, we weren’t in a race.  We didn’t have fancy jerseys, there were no cheering fans and we did not come home with a medal.  We rode through the foothills, leaves turning their fall colours, snow capped mountains to the west.  Epic. 

And holding little Ben in my arms while we added the cheese to the scrambled eggs and then on my lap while we read his book about his family? Epic.

My inquiry for you this week is ‘How am I creating an epic life?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching.  She most often uses polite language!  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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to notice the epic in your life.
 

This past Wednesday marked the 18th anniversary of 9/11.  It shocks me that eighteen years can have passed since that sunny Tuesday, September morning when our world changed.   Like so many others, I know exactly where I was when I first had the inkling that something was very, very wrong.  I remember the conflicting feelings of horror, disbelief, and later even gratitude; gratitude that I was not there.  I remember understanding that I needed to provide a place of stability for my students who were also hearing bits of news and who had no way to make sense of any of it.  Offices in Calgary, the hub of the oil and gas industry in Canada, were evacuated.  The world we had come to know, had turned on its head.

One of my colleagues was my friend, Betty.  Betty’s son, Mark, who is also my friend, was working in New York City on that day in 2001.  I recall the waiting and endless waiting until Betty heard from Mark.  I reached out to Mark to ask him about his experience of that day:

‘The building I was working in was across the street from the two Trade Centers and the windows from the trading floor looked out onto the two buildings. I can remember the sound, noise, vibration, type feeling from when the first plane hit. What is also quite vivid is the reaction of the people in the office. There was almost a quietness at first as everyone tried to process what was going on, followed by some visceral reactions. I tried to gather a consensus of what we should do (this was right after I checked my trading position to make sure I was long silver and gold) and was met by a lot of indifference, people weren't sure whether we should leave the floor or not. It didn't take me long at this point to take the stairs down. As we were trying to find our fellow colleagues in the mass of people and confusion the second plane hit. At this point I didn't even know that there were planes creating these impacts. From the angle that I was located I only saw the explosion and assumed it was a bomb and terrorist event of some nature. My reaction at this point was "What's Next?", The New York Stock Exchange popped into my head and I thought it was likely best if I got out of the downtown core. I spent the next few hours walking with some friends to Upper Manhattan. I also remember that cell phones weren't a staple yet in 2001 and the ones that were around were having a hard time finding a signal that day. I did manage to borrow a phone and reach my parents to give them word of my safety. Up to this point I know there was fear involved, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't but you're really just reacting to the situation and there isn't much time for fear or emotion. Then when you hear your parents voice on the line it takes you to another place and the reality of the situation instantly becomes clear.  Those are the memories that have left the deepest etchings in me.  Despite my proneness to depression and anxiety, I don’t feel my psyche suffered any chronic affects from this experience.  Ironically, it was through the Invictus Games and being inspired by the courageous women and men who lost virtually everything as a result of 9/11 where I initially saw the light that has significantly helped me on my own path to healing and recovery.’  

This week, as I was trying to process some of the new leadership ideas I learned at the course I took last weekend, I saw a post that Betty had put on Facebook.  I believe the original is called ‘All the Little Things’.  You’ll get the idea:

The head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten
Another man was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn’t go off on time
Another was late because of being stuck on the NJ turnpike because of an auto accident and his life was spared
One missed his bus
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change
One’s car wouldn’t start
Another went back to answer the telephone
One had a child that dawdled and didn’t get ready as soon as he should have
One couldn’t get a taxi
One that really struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning.  Before he got to the towers, he developed a blister on his foot.  He stopped at the drug store to buy a Band-Aid.  That’s why he is alive today
Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a ringing telephone … all the little things that annoy me, I think to myself, this is exactly where I am meant to be at this very moment.
 
Without a doubt, this piece of writing causes me to stop.  I have so many, many examples to pick from of times in my life when I have been annoyed (and sometimes even something stronger than annoyed) because I had planned for things to go a certain way and the universe had planned on a different chain of events for me.  I don’t necessarily believe that I am always exactly where I am meant to be.  Sometimes I am certain I am meant to be cycling in the mountains and yet I find myself sitting at my desk!  What I do believe is that I am always in choice about how I respond to where I find myself.

In the course I took this past weekend, I heard the phrase ‘until now’.  One of the participants was telling us about an incident she had faced.  Our facilitator asked how she handled the situation.  She responded that in that kind of situation she always took over the little details by herself.  And the facilitator responded, ‘Until now.’

Until now.

This too caused me to stop.  I’m not sure I wanted to hear this.  ‘Until now’ forces me to acknowledge that I am always in choice.  I always have the ability to choose my reaction and my behavior.  ‘Until now’ tells me that when I find myself doing something in a certain way because this is how I have always done it, there is a possibility that there is a different way. 
‘Until now’ tells me that when I find myself in a familiar pattern of emotion, the kind where I know the script all too well, that there is a different choice I can make.

I am guessing the author of Betty’s post could imagine the people written about in the piece were struggling with why they may have been spared.  He may have imagined them telling how they experienced feelings of guilt, both because they had been impatient due to the little disruptions in their personal mornings and then even worse guilt because they had been spared being in the towers.  I am imagining him telling them, ‘This is the story you have told yourself, until now…’

This week I have been playing with the concept ‘until now’.  As I was hustling around my kitchen, preparing for a dinner meeting I was hosting for eleven people, I could feel a familiar feeling of ‘I don’t need any interruptions, I just need to get this done.’  And I said to myself, ‘until now’.  ‘Until now’ I have told myself that no interruptions is the only, or at least the best, way to assure everything is done on time.  The truth is, of course, adding a healthy pinch of my controlling nature does not add any good flavour to the meal.

As I was getting ready to head out to the gym on Thursday, I noticed I had about two minutes to spare.  I had the immediate thought that I had time to run back upstairs, sort laundry and put in a load.  This would have been my familiar pattern.  And of course, it would have led to my other usual pattern of leaving two minutes late, trying to rush through traffic and arriving just in the nick of time.  ‘Until now’ I smiled to myself, leaving the laundry upstairs.

I have no idea if I am where I am meant to be.  What I do know is that my familiar patterns give me familiar feelings and familiar results.  When I notice familiar patterns, my gentle whisper of ‘until now’ reminds me of my choice.  Sometimes I choose familiarity.  Sometimes I take a chance and choose something different.  I have to admit, I enjoyed the nice two-minute conversation I had with a complete stranger in the changeroom at the gym.  And she seemed to enjoy it too.  There was a time I would have hoped I wasn’t holding her up from anything… until now.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is my familiar way of being…until now?’
​
Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to help guide you to your ‘until nows’.
 
 
 

A couple of weeks ago, our daughter, Kaitlyn, attended the funeral of one of her most favourite high school teachers, Mr. Dolan.  Mr. Dolan, along with his colleague and best friend, Mr. Valleau, headed up the journalism department at the high school that our kids attended. 

It was under the direction and friendship of Mr. Dolan and Mr. Valleau that Kaitlyn and her wonderful friend Ashley, had the seeds of journalism sprinkled on them.  They learned to write news articles, eventually becoming regular contributors to their school newspaper.  They were introduced to broadcast, becoming co-anchors on the closed-circuit school television show, LTV.  Each morning the school news was broadcast in-house, to all students and faculty, via televisions in their classrooms, with Kaitlyn and Ashley at the co-host desk.

Along with the journalism skills the girls honed throughout their years at the school, they also found a place of belonging.  In a school of more than fifteen hundred students, it would have been easy to make themselves invisible, blending into the throngs of students.  Instead, they were encouraged to find their voices, and use their talents to add to the diverse extra-curricular program at the school.

So much did these two teachers and this program impact Kaitlyn and Ashley, they both followed their dream of journalism to the prestigious Ryerson School of Journalism.  Kaitlyn and Ashley were not the only students impacted by these teachers.  Over the more than twenty-year span of this locally created journalism program at the high school, many, many students were gifted with the time of these two mentors. One student, Jodie Martinsen was part of a team who won an Emmy for their documentary, Ghana: A Digital Dumping Ground. 

After Mr. Dolan’s funeral, Kaitlyn had the opportunity to meet his daughter and to tell her of the impact her father had.  Kaitlyn told her that during one of her moves overseas, she had mis-placed and eventually lost her treasured copies of the Scarlett Fever, the school newspaper, covering the three years of her high school life.

Mr. Dolan’s daughter said that while going through her dad’s belongings, she had come across the bound copies of the school’s newspapers from Kaitlyn’s three years!  She offered them to Kaitlyn, who was touched beyond measure.  They organized to meet in order that Kaitlyn could receive the copies.

I haven’t seen the papers since Kaitlyn received them.  If I did see them, it would be very unlikely I would recall any of the activities being reported on, nor would I recognize most of the names associated with the articles.  I don’t know if Kaitlyn remembers the details of the activities either.  What I do believe she remembers is the feeling she had being part of the writing and editing team.

I think she remembers the feeling of knowing that she was being counted on to show up.  I think she remembers that she mattered.  I think she remembers that she was required to do her best.  And I think she remembers that because she was in the ‘public’ eye, she made herself courageous enough to help others feel like they had a sense of belonging too.

This week, I was driving over to Kaitlyn’s house early one morning to watch little Benjamin as his mom and dad headed back to school for another year of teaching.  I offered to watch him this week because his regular care-giver is away on a long-planned family holiday.  Winding my way through their neighbourhood, I stopped to let a young boy, perhaps eight years old, and his mother, cross the street.  They had their arms pretty tightly linked together.  I can’t say what they were talking about with one hundred percent certainty, but considering it was the first day of school, and based on their body language and the worry in their eyes, I am imagining that they were each having their own struggles with their thoughts about this upcoming school year. 

I couldn’t help but make a wish for that little boy.  I wished that he could be welcomed into the classroom of a teacher like Mr. Dolan.  I wished that he might learn wonderful things.  Even more importantly, I wished he could find a sense of belonging; of feeling that his presence was important, of knowing that he was being counted on to bring something special to his classroom, of believing that he mattered.  In twenty or so years, it is possible that he might not even recall the name of his teacher.  But if that teacher has done her or his job well, that little boy will be passing those same gifts on in this world.

After teaching at the same school for a number of years, Kaitlyn started at a new school this year.  She had the usual jitters of being a new teacher to a school.  While I sympathized with her and understood her worries, I really couldn’t help but feel completely at ease inside myself.  I know that she carries some of Mr. Dolan’s magic with her.  I know she has the most wonderful ways of creating lessons and units that engage students and give them a place of belonging.  I know she requires students to do their best and I know she creates a space where they can be courageous. 
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I think the timing of her receiving the bound books containing the old newspapers was serendipitous.  It was a perfect reminder that all any of us really wants is to know we are welcome, that we bring unique talents and that we belong.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I creating belonging?’

Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how create belonging.
 

Last week we had one of our whirlwind trips to Southern Ontario.  The stars aligned for us this time and we were able to fit not only birthday celebrations for Jim’s mom’s 90th, a two-part, two-day wedding celebration, visits with both of our siblings, a couple of days with Greg and Cara, and a fantastic evening watching Come From Away but I also had the most unexpected visit with my childhood friend Tina.

Tina and I were absolute best friends when we were little girls.  Only four houses separated her home from mine and we could have found our way to each others home with our eyes closed.  At St. Joseph’s school we were always in the same class, right through to the end of grade eight.  Tina and I played together by the hour.  Playing ‘school’ was our absolute favourite; our siblings and neighbourhood friends made up our first classes.  One summer we spent what seemed like the entire summer, co-authoring our first book.  We were the writers and the illustrators both.  I cannot recall one argument or one harsh word between us. I loved Tina and she loved me.

After our Mom died and our Dad remarried, our new blended family moved away from my childhood street and of course away from Tina.  Although we were, in fact, only about a thirty-minute drive from each other, with me in the country, her in the city, and phones reserved for only ‘important’ calls, Tina and I lost touch.

Years later, on my wedding day, as Jim and I, newly wed, accompanied each other down the aisle of St. Joseph’s church, I caught sight of Tina, sitting in one of the back pews of the church.  She had seen our wedding announcement in the weekly bulletin and had come to see me married.  It might have been the best wedding gift I received.

And then, long before Facebook and email, we lost touch again for nearly thirty years. It was my sister Margaret’s chance encounter with Tina’s sister Maria, in a different city altogether, that allowed us to reconnect through email.

With this very sporadic contact over close to half a century, you can imagine my complete and utter astonishment when I joined my sisters and my mom at our family farm for a several-month-belated birthday celebration for me, and Tina walked down the hallway and into our farm kitchen to join us!  My sister Mary had invited her without my knowing.  The last time Tina had been to my birthday party, we were both ten years old.

We cried and hugged and cried some more.  Not one single word was needed to let each other know what this moment meant.  It was as if we were each acknowledging all that each of us had been through in our lives and it felt just like going home.  It is indescribable how comforted I was being with Tina; Tina who knew me ‘when’.

Over the course of the evening we caught up on our lives and our families.  Tina told us she is spending most of her time these days helping her parents, both in their nineties, navigate this most precious stage of their lives.

After Tina left, I found a little birthday gift she had brought for me.  Pens and a journal were the perfect gift from my co-author.  Even more perfect was the card.  The final sentence of the card stood out for me:

“Through your posted writings you continue to share your wisdom and joy – helping me to reflect and recharge as I accompany my parents on their final journey.”  I love you.  Tina.

This idea of accompanying has been rolling around in my head ever since I read the card.  What exactly does it mean to accompany someone?

The essence of ‘accompany’ can be best captured by the expression ‘be present with’.  Each of us is invited to accompany, to be present with, others many, many times in our lives.  It is at the same time both very simple and very difficult to accompany another.  It is for sure a privilege.

When we accompany, we are not asked to navigate, nor to give advice, nor even to know the way.  Sometimes our physical form is not even required.  We are asked to simply be present with someone else as they walk their journey, short or long. 

It’s a bit sobering to recognize that things we may say or do can accompany others on their life journeys.  Once in a while we can find ourselves being accompanied by thoughts and feelings that no longer serve us well.  In these cases, we are best to kindly, but firmly, thank our thoughts for their company, and reassure them that we are ready to move forward without them.

I have been accompanied by many wonderful people in my life.  Some have accompanied me for a very short time, some for long periods of time, some in my mind, some in my memories, some in my heart, and some by my side.

As I’ve thought about Tina’s message this week, I’ve been accompanied by my wonderful memories of her.  I realize that she has accompanied me throughout my life. Our hours and hours of playing school, practicing how we would be as teachers, modeling ourselves after our beloved Mrs. Beausejour, laid the foundation for my teaching career.  I suspect it did for Tina's too.  Both Tina and Mrs. Beausejour accompanied me throughout my career as a teacher. 

Tina, and her mom, have accompanied me in my kitchen.  I spent hours watching her Mama lovingly prepare incredible feasts.  Sometimes these days, I manage to catch the smallest smell of something that takes me right back to their kitchen, and I sense their accompaniment. 

Tina’s gentle, steady friendship has accompanied me always.  It feels like a full circle moment to recognize that Tina has accompanied me for nearly my whole life, and that my blogs now accompany her as she accompanies her parents.
I love this concept of accompanying.  In its best form, it is comforting, gentle, strong and safe.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Who am I accompanying?’

Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to accompany and to be accompanied.

This morning Jim mentioned he had a lot to do.  He mentioned one of the things he should is to mow the lawn today.  That, of course, got me thinking about all the things I should be doing this week too. 

We are heading off to Ontario for a few wonderful celebrations.  We have two wedding ceremonies and receptions to attend, and we will celebrate the wonderful milestone of Jim’s mom turning 90.  We’re also managing to squeeze in a trip to Toronto to see Come From Away.  This one has been on my list since I first heard about it and I can hardly wait to experience it!  The spaces between those activities will be nicely filled in visiting the rest of our family and friends.  One thing I shouldn’t do before this trip is to wonder how to fill our days!

As happens to so many of us, as we are mentally preparing for trips, we suddenly find ourselves with long lists of things we should do before we drag the suitcases out the front door.  I often suddenly need a clean fridge and a completely checked-off office to-do list.  Things that I might never have thought of should I be staying home for the week soon become urgent.  It seems imperative to start looking at all toiletries; shampoo that could easily last another month promptly becomes top priority to refill.   Appointments I have put off making, for no other reason than they aren’t urgent, suddenly call to me to get them written on my calendar.  I should touch base with so and so I think.  And I should definitely vacuum out my car!  I really should download the pictures from my phone too.

On and on the list of shoulds goes.  I know I’m not the only one to do this.  Jim does it too.  And many of our friends tell of the relief they feel when they finally drive away from their homes or get on the plane or train, finally able to let go of what they should be doing.

And I began to wonder why we, as our friend Jack would say, ‘Should on ourselves’?

It’s one thing to should on ourselves over a fabricated list of things to do before a holiday.  This is almost forgivable. It certainly is understandable.  Sadly, our should-ing is rarely limited to the days before travel.

It can’t possibly be healthy to should this much.

There is something about should that immediately slams shut the doors of creativity and possibility, sending us a message there is only one way to approach a matter, that makes us feel like we are lacking in some way, that there was a point of pivot that we clearly missed and had we not, our lives would be oh so much better.  The use of should has a heaviness to it.  It comes with shame, pointing out that a more satisfactory person, would surely never find themselves in this position.  If only we had somehow been better.

It’s even more paralyzing when someone else tells me I should.  ‘You know what you should do?’  they might say.  ‘You should….’

It could be partly rebelliousness that causes me to bristle at this.  More likely though, it is the idea that someone else thinks they have the single answer for me.  Even worse is the fact they think they need to guide me, as if I were lost and unable to find my way.   I suppose I should be grateful there are clearly such smart people looking out for me.  Alas, I am not.

If we are lucky to live long enough, we start to understand that in the mundane decision-making of our daily lives, there really is no right or wrong, no best or worst and not even much good or bad.  Most of our decisions are not life-threatening.  Most of the choices we make are simply those taken from long lists of possibilities.

Just over nine years ago, on a beautiful late May morning, I went for a bike ride with Jim and Greg, who was home for the weekend.  I suppose I should have done my housework before we left.  I likely should have planted the garden too.  Maybe even mowed the lawn of our acreage.  As it was I did not.  On the bike ride, I fell, breaking my collarbone and four ribs.  I was left pretty incapacitated and in substantial pain for some time.  I did not return to work for the balance of the school year.

To complicate matters, Jim was scheduled to leave the following week with my brothers, brothers-in-law and my Dad to go to a remote fly-in fishing lake to spend five days fishing and celebrating Dad’s 80th birthday.  Jim wondered if he should stay home.   He knew we still needed to mow the lawn and plant the garden and clean the house.  But I encouraged him to go, as they had all been so excited to be part of this birthday trip.

My dad unexpectedly died on the last day of that fishing trip.  There was no warning.  There were no advanced symptoms.  His heart got tired, he rested his head on Jim’s chest and left this earth.  I was so grateful Jim had not listened to his shoulds, and that he was by my Dad's side.

I’m not completely clear about the details of the next week.  I know we made a trip to Ontario for Dad’s funeral. What is completely clear is what I faced when we drove down our driveway upon arriving home.  I expected to face all of the shoulds Jim and I had left behind, but I did not.  Our lawn was perfectly mowed and manicured.  The garden was rototilled.  There appeared to be rows of vegetables planted.  There were flowers in the flower beds.  And when we entered our home, the vacuuming was done, the dust had disappeared and the floor and windows sparkled.

Over the next few days I learned that a group of our friends had come to our aid.  Not because they should.  Not because we should have but did not.  Just because it was how they felt they could show their support.  Maybe I should have felt embarrassed but I only felt loved.

These days I still find myself should-ing sometimes.  But I’ve grown a bit wiser, so when I hear the beginnings of should I just exaggerate that initial consonant blend so it sounds much more like shhhhhhhh.  I’ve discovered that there are gifts to be found under our piles of shoulds.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I should-ing on myself?’

Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to spend less time should-ing on yourself.
 

This week I have been noticing spaces.  More precisely, I’ve been noticing what is filling up spaces.  It’s funny how once you put your attention on something, you see it in many different places and in different ways.  I always knew this was true about things (when you buy a red car, suddenly the roadways are filled with all sorts of red cars), but this week it has dawned on me that it is also true about ideas. 

I don’t know if it was my closet or the Roger’s Cup Women’s Final match that first started my mind working.  No matter which it was, this idea of spaces has been rolling around in my head.

I’ve been staring at my full closet for some time now.  When my friend Sheri Bruneau, of Get It Together, blogged about how rainy days inspire her to clean out her pantry and other small spaces, and when Sunday arrived as a rare rainy Calgary day, and when just the day before I had gone to my closet and could find ‘nothing to wear’ out of the dozens of possibilities, I knew it was time to face the music.  Or at least to face the task of acknowledging the reason I had ‘nothing to wear’.  I had nothing to wear because I had been persistently hanging on to clothes that no longer serve me well. 

I talked Jim into tackling his side of the walk-in at the same time.  He humoured me, although I did notice that at the end of it all, he had parted with exactly five shirts while I had filled a black garbage bag to the brim.  I had been coerced into this by myself, by promising myself I would only spend thirty minutes on it.  If you are a regular reader, you’ll know I’m an overachiever in certain areas, time being one.  So, it was an hour later I found myself stuffing the final items into the garbage bag and then walking into the closet feeling like I could breathe again.  The space was less full of stuff, and more full of room for me to think.

It’s as though the closet had been filled with indecision and now was filled with possibility.  In fact, it had nothing to do with the stuff at all, more with the feeling of the space itself.

My reward for the newly cleaned closet was to watch the Women’s Final of the Roger’s Cup.  I had turned the television on when I went to the basement to do my daily stretching and I saw that a young Canadian, Bianca Andreescu, would be playing against the very decorated, very famous, very talented, very strong, tennis icon, Serena Williams.  I, like so many other Canadians, was excited to see how the match would play out.  It was, of course, an ending that no sports writer could have written in advance.

Only nineteen minutes into the match, before either competitor really settled in, Serena Williams, who later revealed upper back spasms to be the game-ending problem, conceded defeat.  She simply did not have it in her to go the distance.  The crowd stood in stunned silence.  It was as if all the air had been sucked out of Rogers Place.  No one quite knew what to do.  The space felt like a vacuum. 

And then, the nineteen-year-old rising star, took charge.   There were so many possible ways she could have handled this situation.  After all there was no rule book for this.  What she did do was to fill the space with so much grace that all of Canada could share in it. 

Bianca Andreescu walked over to her idol, told her she could relate to her injury, told her how much she admired her and told her that she knew Serena would be back and that she was rooting for her.  She then cried with her, hugged her and finally returned to her place just off the court where she would wait for the awards presentation.  

In that one simple move, in her action of approaching her idol, hugging her and empathizing with her, she filled the space, once full of the uncertainty of thousands of spectators, into a space of grace; a space where everyone was given the opportunity to feel pride instead of deep disappointment.  Upon witnessing the composure and class of Bianca Andreescu, the person who must have been most disappointed of all in the game ending this way, the rest of Canada, and many other fans around the world, took their cue and for the most part handled themselves with grace. 

It’s amazing how when you make room in a space and deliberately, consciously, purposefully fill it, it doesn’t leave much room for things that don’t serve you quite as well. 

Bianca Andreescu filled the huge space of the arena perfectly last Sunday. 

Each of us fills spaces when we share company with others.  We fill spaces at our work places.  We fill places at the dinner table.  We fill spaces in conversations.  We fill spaces in our communities.  We fill spaces in all of our interactions with others.  When we choose to allow the spaces to fill themselves with uncertainty and negativism, like my closet had and like the stadium may have before Andreescu took charge, we lose the opportunity to consciously fill it with our best selves. 

Every time we take our place with others, we have a chance to fill the space however we choose.  I wish I could say I have always chosen to fill the space I occupy with acceptance, wisdom, patience, humour, kindness and grace.  I have not.  But I have a feeling, after watching the magic on the court last week, I’ll be making more mindful decisions about how I want to fill the spaces in my life. 

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How am I filling this space?’

Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to purposefully fill the spaces in your life.

My mother-in-law, Mary, is going to celebrate her 90th birthday later this month.  We will be heading east to do some celebrating with her!  She and I have some plans; we need to go shopping to pick out a few new outfits, we have a date to travel to Toronto to see Come From Away, we’ll have some ‘out for dinners’, of course we will head to Avondale Dairy Bar in Niagara-on-the-Lake for our traditional celebratory Critchley ice cream cone, and then there will be the birthday church service and brunch.

You might have to read that twice.  She is turning 90.  We will be with her for about five days, and yes, she’ll keep up just fine.

Earlier in July, Mary was hospitalized for eight days.  We, and she, and all of her family and friends were incredibly worried.  She was very sick and it took a diligent team to get her back on the mend.  Now, a few weeks later, she has gained a lot of strength and is really looking forward to the upcoming festivities.  She and I like to talk on the phone a couple of times each week.  If I’m lucky, I have as many things to tell her about my life as she does about hers!

Last week, I had tried to call her Tuesday with no answer, then Wednesday evening with the same result and by the time the phone was going unanswered yet again on Thursday evening, Jim and I were trying to figure out whether we should be worrying.  I had the feeling she was out and about enjoying summer so we decided to give it one more day before we called her sister, Joyce, who lives nearby.  Sure enough, that night at about 8:15pm my time, which is after ten o’clock for her, she called me back.  And, sure enough, she had just come in from having supper with another one of her sisters, Leila.

As we chatted, she filled me in on the past couple of days.  On Tuesday evening she had gone to Niagara-on-the-Lake, to the Shaw Festival to see Brigadoon, which she had loved.  On Wednesday, she went to church in the morning, to choir practice in the afternoon and then in the evening (after a late afternoon medical appointment) she drove herself to see a concert at the Sunset Music Series in Charles Daley Park.  She often takes her sister Leila, but on this day, Leila couldn’t go so Mary decided to go on her own.  Their sister Joyce was playing in a band as part of the entertainment and she did not want to miss it.

She always loves the Sunset Music Series.  As the name suggests it is an evening outdoor concert, each week featuring a number of lively bands.  The park, overlooking the beautiful Lake Ontario, is filled with hundreds of spectators, and sitting, listening to music is a perfect way to spend a summer evening. 

Mary described her wonderful evening to me.  She told me that after not being able to secure a handicapped parking spot, she made her way, with her walker, her chair and her sun hat, down the slope toward the stage hoping to find a place to sit.  Part way down she noticed a bench with two people on it, but with still some room left for others.  She asked if anyone was sitting there and they replied that one of the spots was spoken for, but she was welcome to use the other.

As they waited for the music to begin, she started to visit with the young man beside her.  It turned out he had just returned from Hong Kong where he teaches.  He was home for a month to be with his parents (the other two people on the bench).  She questioned him about the political climate in Hong Kong, wondering if the news was giving us an accurate picture.  He showed her pictures on his phone of the rioting – he had taken these from the balcony of his apartment.  She told him she had been praying for the people of Hong Kong and that it would be easier to pray since she now knew someone directly affected.  My mother-in-law, Mary, is an Anglican priest and I’ve always maintained she has a pretty direct line to ‘The Big Guy’.

As the evening progressed the young man headed to the snack bar and asked if she would like anything.  She replied that she had been hoping for some back-bacon on a bun, but had given up thinking about it since she didn’t think she could make it all the way down and back.  He happily brought her the desired bun and refused to let her pay for it.  He said it was his pleasure.  Later, his parents headed off for some cookies and asked if she would like some.  She told them that the ginger cookies were delicious and she would love some.  Although those ended up being sold out, they returned with some treats to share, again, at no expense to her.  She said it was a most wonderful evening.

I began to think about how I might have acted in that situation.  It did not take me long to realize that while I might have gone to the concert alone, especially if my sister was performing, I would very likely, when the young man asked if I had wanted anything to eat, have said no thank you, that I was fine.  I could have waited until I got home to eat.  I often find it easier to do for others than I do to allow others to do unto me.  I don’t think I am unique in this.

And I don’t think I am necessarily right.

Many of us were raised on a steady diet of ideas like, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’.   While I believe this, and while I do love to find ways to do, I have also come to understand that when we refuse to allow others to help us, or do to us, we deny them the opportunity to receive the satisfying feeling we have when we ‘do unto them’.  I know I have, on more than one occasion, caused frustration to others when I make myself so efficient that there is no room for anyone else to help lighten my load.  It is as if I only fully learned the first part of this statement.

In Mathematics we have things called Corollaries.  These are statements that follow with little or no proof required from already proven statements.  If the ‘Do unto others…’ statement is proven, as most of us accept it is, I wish we had all also learned its corollary: Allow others to do unto you what you so enjoy doing unto them.

I was thinking about my mother-in-law and the young teacher after the concert and I was wondering which of them went home happier; the one who joyfully did unto another or the other who accepted with joy, what was done unto her.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How can I become the other?’
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Elizabeth is a certified, professional Life and 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 and personal coaching for individuals and teams.  She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to access your invisible pockets.