Jim and I were in the car returning from a cycling trip in Banff, listening to the radio, when we heard about fires set at two First Nations Roman Catholic churches in British Columbia.  Then this week, we heard about another fire, this one here in Alberta, set at a Roman Catholic church on the Siksika Nation. Then one in Morinville.  The recent weeks have been eye-opening, and heart-breaking for Canadians.  Many Canadians knew of residential schools, their intent, and their impact on generations of Indigenous Peoples.  Some did not.  With the discovery of two burial sites, one in Kamloops, and one on the Cowessess Nation in Saskatchewan, all Canadians now know.  Wounds have been ripped open for those affected.  As I thought about the feelings, and the fires, and the opinions around Canada Day and how we might mark it this year, I mentioned to Jim that we have all sorts of feelings and no where to place them.

It's important we do place them. 

I am no expert on Indigenous history or on the culture of Indigenous Peoples.  I do know something about feelings and what we do, or do not do with them.

As usual, when I have a complex matter on my mind, the thoughts seem to run around and around until they find a way to make some sense.  In the matter of the fires, burning the churches certainly does not erase the atrocities occurring under their power.  And yet, one can certainly understand how this act of burning could be a symbol of taking back power from the church, and of seeking some form of retribution upon it.  At the same time, people from the Indigenous communities have found some comfort in these buildings, so more trauma is inflicted by their destruction.  Round and round my thoughts go as they try to find a place to land, as I try to find somewhere to put them. 

Correction, as I find somewhere to place them.

To put or to place?  How in the world does my thinking about the discovery of the unmarked graves, the generational trauma suffered by our First Nations People, and the violence appearing in the form of burning churches, end up with my thinking about whether we should put or place things?

I suspect it’s because we’ve put these acts of cruelty, these injustices, out of our collective minds for most of our history.  Perhaps it’s time we place them gently where we can see them, remember them, and make a change for our future.
When I think of putting something somewhere, I think of setting it down. Unburdening myself from it.   Not necessarily setting it in its proper place, but setting it somewhere where I might deal with it later.  When we have a group of people over for dinner (we really did used to do this!), after the main course, a few people often help with clearing the table before the dessert is served or after the meal is complete.  No doubt, the host for the evening might be heard to say, when asked where things should go, “Just put it on the counter for now.”

The same might be heard when a delivery is made to an office (this really did used to happen too!).  “Just put it on the desk.  I’ll deal with it later.”  When we put things down, we do so with little thought.  Often our putting is in a temporary place, one where the object doesn’t really belong.  It’s good enough.  We’ll deal with it when we get around to it.

We do the same with our feelings.  We often put them where they don’t belong.  We are careless with our putting.  We don’t want to deal with tough feelings, or the thoughtfulness they deserve, so we choose to put them somewhere convenient, just so they are off our shoulders.  We might come home from work having had a rough meeting, or perhaps after being caught up in a traffic jam, and we are out of sorts.  It doesn’t take much for us to make a hurtful comment to someone in our inner circle, someone who had nothing to do with our meeting or traffic.  We put our bad feelings in the first available place.   Usually on someone else’s shoulders.  We pretend we’ve gotten rid of it.  How far from the truth this is.  Almost always, when we reflexively put things and feelings somewhere, it’s either because we have developed a habit of putting them there or because we don’t want to think about them.  What a better world we could have if, instead of putting, we spent a bit of time carefully placing things.  Placing words, placing feelings, placing things, placing people.  Placing feels right.  It feels on purpose.  It feels gentle.

This week I’ve been thinking about whether I am ‘putting’ or ‘placing’.   There is, of course, a time for putting.  There are a lot of mundane things in our lives that need putting.  However, as I’ve stopped to decide whether to put or place, I’ve given myself time to really ponder the worth of what I am considering.  The more valuable a thing is to me, the more gently I wish to place it.  I’m taking care to place my feelings, my footsteps and my words.  I took care of little Andy for a few hours on Tuesday, and I can say with great confidence, I took time to gently place him in his little bassinette for his nap, I gently placed him on my shoulder to walk around with him, and I gently placed him on my lap to snuggle him.
How I wish those small Indigenous children had never been taken and put into residential schools.  How I wish they could have remained in their homes, in their communities, and with their families where they would have been placed gently at the feet of their elders as they learned the traditions of their people and the joy of community.  As I’ve struggled with my own feelings about this, the words of Chief Cadmus Delorme of Cowessess First Nation spoken during his interview with Ian Hanomansing, gave me some hope for a better path forward.

‘We all inherited this, nobody today created residential schools, nobody today created the Indian Act, nobody today created the 60’s scoop.  We all inherited it and we have to acknowledge that people are healing and people are hurting.  Let’s do something about it!’ ~ Chief Cadmus Delorme, Cowessess First Nation.

One thing we can do is think about what we are placing, and where and how we are placing it.  I hope we will all take time to place our footsteps gently as we walk toward healing, our hearts in an open position to encourage understanding, our words with love and compassion, and that we will provide a place for healing for all Canadians.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘Where and how shall I place this?’

Note: I'm taking the summer away from posting my blog. If I happen to have a moment of great insight, you may hear from me, but otherwise, I'll be back at the beginning of September.  Stay well.
​
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 gently place.
 
 

I’m almost afraid if I write this it might not happen.  The Chinook Country Dancers are rehearsing brand new dances for the upcoming Stampede Parade!  This year, the parade, along with almost every other social function has been in limbo as we watch to see what the pandemic numbers will allow.  Recently, it was announced that the parade will ‘go ahead’, but with some major changes.  This year it will have no live spectators.  It will be a short, closed route, televised and broadcast nationwide.  Each group must have no more than twenty-five performers, and there are strict safety protocols in place.  After months and months of not being able to dance together in person, last Friday night, a small part of our dancing troupe met outdoors to dance together in preparation for the parade, for the first time since the pandemic began.

Oh my goodness!

We’ve continued with our lessons throughout the past sixteen months through the wonderful world of Zoom.  But no matter how wonderful the world of Zoom is, it’s nothing like dancing together in person.  In our dance group, we perform all genres of dance, always in lines.  When we are alone in our homes, we don’t have the pleasure of these lines.  In person, we almost always have someone in front of us, behind us, and to our sides.  When we face a new direction, we still have someone in front of us, on each side, and behind us.  This makes an incredible difference to our dancing.  We can dance with more confidence, knowing we can pick up cues from the others if we need them.  We can also count on each other to notice if we are out of step; often one of the girls will quietly speak the steps until we fall back in place.  When I dance with these women, I am a better dancer.  They provide the support I need to be my best.  It’s a gift.

This past week, on Father’s Day, one of my coaching friends, Kerry Woodcock, created a post on Facebook about her father.  She shared many wonderful memories of him but the one line that has really stuck with me is this:

“As I got older, he used to say, “I don’t need to speak a lot to your friends - and boyfriends - to know who they are. I can know something of who they are, by who you are with them.”

It’s one of those comments that brings me up short.  It’s a conversation stopper.  And starter.  It’s simple.  And profound.  And so true.

We behave differently around different people.  Some people allow us to show our intellectual side, some our witty side, some our compassionate side, some our confident side, some our open-hearted side, some our vulnerable side.  Some let us show all of our sides.  Others bring out our guarded side, our show-off side, our critical side, our insecure side, or our less-than-best side.  Kerry’s dad could likely tell us a lot about our friends by observing how we are with them.

I’ve been thinking about this comment, and I’ve been trying to observe myself, noticing how I am with different people with whom I ‘hang out’.  

I am lucky to have many people in my life who, by their very presence, encourage me to bring forth my best version of myself.  By best version, I do not mean my ‘stage version’.  I mean my authentic self.  With these people I can let down my guard and show up as myself.  I do not have to worry that a little mis-step or a small comment, will oust me from the group.  I am enough.  They do not need me to look a certain way, have certain opinions, or behave in any way other than how I would naturally behave.  With these people, I am free to become even more of the best parts of myself.  I always know when a group I am doing leadership work with is a good fit with me – I am relaxed and free to bring my whole self.
I also acknowledge I have others in my life, some on the periphery, some in a professional context, some closer, with whom I find myself thinking very hard when I am around them.  I think about what they might be thinking, I wonder how my words will be taken.  I’m not sure quite where I stand.

The more I think about the comment, made many years ago by Kerry’s wise dad, the more I recognize how multi-dimensional it is.  It strikes me that if others can influence me to act a certain way around them, it must be true that I too, influence them.   I want to be the kind of person who is a good influence.  I want people to feel relaxed and unguarded around me.  I want them to know they are fine exactly as they are.  Sometimes my quick tongue, and my judgements, may not give this feeling of safety.  I wonder who is guarding themselves around me.  I’m watching myself, as Kerry’s dad would have watched her friends, to see what impact I am having.   

What I know to be true about my dancing friends is that Kerry’s dad would think these are the best kind of people.  With them I find myself being a very good version of myself.  In our group everyone is welcome just as they are.  This is not just lip service; it is the carefully cultivated culture of the group.  Our instructor, Reba J, walks her talk one hundred percent of the time with this one, and we are expected to do the same.  This group brings out the best in each other.  We want to show up as our best, and at the same time we fully accept that we are not always at our best.  This is key.  There is no posturing with us.  We prop each other up from all sides.  Using friendship as a container, we are safe to be good versions of ourselves.  It’s a feeling I wish everyone could have at least somewhere in their life.   

I’m keeping Kerry’s dad’s comment foremost in my mind as I walk (and dance) through this week. 

My inquiry for you this week is twofold, ‘What is being brought out in me?’  and ‘What am I bringing out in others?’
​
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 surround yourself with those who bring out your best, and how to bring out the best in others.
 
 

Every biking season I love to attempt the Highwood Pass.  This road, Highway 40, a mountain pass, is closed to vehicular traffic from December to June 15th to protect wildlife.  During most of that time, the Pass is impassable even by bike or foot, due to extreme amounts of snow.  But in early June, there is a tiny two or three-week window, when cars are forbidden, but the top of the pass is free of snow; this to the delight of cyclists who love to take on this challenging climb.
Last weekend, our son Greg, and I, tackled it together.  We rode it from the north side.  This is a 17km ride up a mountain.  By up, think up.  Like climbing continuously without any flat or coasting.  Up.  We lucked out.  We got a warm, sunny day.  While heat may not seem to be an ideal condition, we know that at the top of any mountain pass, the air is many degrees cooler than down below, and inevitably there is wind to contend with.  We packed our jackets and gloves and made sure we were stocked with spare tire tubes, a pump, water and some food…just in case.

We always go prepared, but this year we were extra vigilant because of Greg’s experience the previous week.  He had been asked to join a group from his office who were going to the pass for the first time.  Greg is a strong cyclist and has completed this route numerous times. I know this group was glad to have him along.

The day of their ascent was about ten degrees colder than this past week, and the sky wasn’t clear.  Greg said they were fine for most of the climb, but at about 5km from the top, it began to lightly drizzle and within minutes the drizzle turned to snow flurries.  They made it to the summit and took a nice smiling photo of their accomplishment.  Then things quickly turned.

Greg says the only way to describe it was it began to pour snow.  They put on warmer gear and started the descent.  While biking downhill sounds pretty nice ‘n easy, the slope of this side of the pass is significant and even on a dry day, the descent requires steady concentration.  As their group of six started down, they quickly became soaked from the pouring snow.  Greg had put on mittens and an extra jacket.  Even with that extra layer, he said he could not feel his hands.  The group went about 3km and pulled over to stop.  Everyone was soaked to the skin and freezing.  The road had begun to accumulate some snow and the conditions had become slippery. 

Greg has battled many elements of nature and developed a strong mental fortitude during his time competing in triathlons and adventure racing, so he knew a few things about what might keep them safe.  With the rest of the group being more casual cyclists, he could feel the fear in the group.  The plan was set that they would descend a few kilometres at a time and then group-up to make sure everyone was ok.  On the second stop, everyone was soaked to the skin and concern for safety, especially hypothermia, was real.  After some jumping jacks to get the blood flowing, they cruised on.

As they continued down, they noticed a man running out toward the road from a side parking lot.  He was waving his hands wildly, obviously trying to get their attention.  The group stopped.  The man, a father of a young toddler, had been cycling with his wife, towing a baby chariot.  They too had become caught in the nasty weather and the cold and wet became dangerous for them and especially for their little one.  The mother and toddler were trying to find shelter in the outhouse at the edge of the parking lot.  Their child’s safety would certainly have been compromised had they continued.
I should have mentioned earlier there is absolutely no cell reception in this area.  In fact, there is no cell reception for over 40km.  To top it off, during the closure, there is no way for any vehicle to access the road to rescue people in trouble.  This couple was about 12km from the gate where their car would have been parked.  The father asked if someone, once they were down, could inform the park wardens of their location so that help could be brought in.  The group reassured the father they would do this (and they did), then they reassured him he had made a good choice in stopping, and being able to do nothing else, they headed onward, not wanting to become casualties themselves.

When Greg texted us about this ride he said, ‘Home safe.  Mom, if you can believe it….conditions were worse than when we rode (several years ago Greg and I had a freezing, wet ride up and down).  It was completely bonkers on the way down’.

After hearing the complete story from Greg, I couldn’t get that little family out of my mind.  I kept thinking about what the parents must have been going through as they realized they were in trouble and their little one could be in serious danger.  I was so glad they found the shelter they did, and I was so glad they made the decision they did.   It dawned on me their thinking must have been, ‘What is the one best decision we can make right now?’

Greg and his group needed to have a similar thought when the weather turned and they too had to figure out how to navigate the descent.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Brenda and I needed to ponder this too, this week when we were caught in a sudden thunder, lightning and hail storm on our hike.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Most of us won’t be biking up mountain passes this week.  Most of us won’t be caught in hailstorms or frigid weather.  But all of us will find ourselves in situations where we are faced with a variety of decisions we could make.  Perhaps we are in a meeting discussing an upcoming project, and find ourselves dealing with multiple solutions, multiple egos and multiple agendas.  What is the one best decision we can make right now?

Perhaps it is even simpler.  Perhaps we are in traffic, or dealing with being overtired, or having to respond to someone, or juggling a few tasks at once, or trying to listen when we just want quiet, or trying to talk when someone else is not listening, or sitting down to dinner with our family.  Perhaps it’s deciding whether to reach out or give space.  Perhaps to comment or not.  Perhaps to encourage or listen.  Every day we make hundreds of decisions. Many of them we do on autopilot.  It might make a significant difference to us, or someone in our life, if we turned off autopilot and instead asked:

What is the one best decision I can make right now?

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the one best decision I can make right now?’
​
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 consider your decisions.
 
 

In the 1950’s the television show, To Tell the Truth, premiered, and to this day continues to gain popularity.  Wikipedia tells us that in it, four celebrity panelists are presented with three contestants, the “team of challengers”.  The celebrity panelists must identify, through a series of questions, which of the three contestants is the ‘central character’ whose unusual occupation or experience has been read aloud by the show’s host or moderator.  When questions are asked, the impostors may lie, whereas the central character must tell the truth.  This show, To Tell the Truth, has apparently changed hosts a number of times in the past sixty or seventy years, but continues to stay true to its original format.  I think I may have seen it once or twice as a child, but it isn’t a mainstay of my television diet.  For some reason, it popped into my head this week. 

I’m going to hold a vision of it there this week, visualizing one contestant knowing the truth, and the other two knowing just enough to sound convincing, as I wrestle with the thoughts and feelings running around in my head and in my heart.  Forgive me as I muddle through this.

Two heartbreaking stories dominated the news this week;  the discovery of the bodies of the 215 indigenous children from the Kamloops Indian Residential School in British Columbia and the horrific murders of four members of the Afzaal family from London, ON.   I have read news stories, listened to interviews and seen social media posts about both events.  Almost every single one of them shows the heartache of Canadians as we grapple with the fact that we can no longer pretend to be a nation where racism, and exclusion, and covering our eyes does not exist. We have solid evidence to suggest otherwise. 

It shouldn’t have surprised me that as I pondered all of this, I should come across this quote:

‘There are only two mistakes one can make on the road to truth.  Not going all the way; and not starting.’ ~ Budda

Where to start?  I believe our little individual lives are pretty good microcosms of the bigger world, so I want to talk about how we truth-tell in our own lives.  I’ll only speak from my own experience.  I like to think I am a truth teller.  I don’t lie.  I try to be honest with myself and about myself.  I believe other people when they tell me things.  I try to find the good in others. 

And yet….

There are times when I hear a bit of information, often a truthful bit, and I fill in the blanks to create a complete story, with what makes sense to me based on general knowledge, on my personal history, perhaps on my insecurities, and perhaps on what makes me feel good about myself.  It’s a dangerous game to play.  Budda would tell me I am not going all the way.  My made-up story, no matter how logical and realistic, is not the full truth.  If I want to know the truth, I need to be willing to ask about, and listen to the whole truth.  Not just listen to a snippet and then fill in the rest with what I declare to be the truth.

We’ve all had conversations with friends and family where someone has innocently said something, or has said something based on a larger discussion we may not have been part of.  On good days, this comment lands exactly where it should.  It’s a comment, a moment in time.  It is not a reflection of the persons complete belief system.  It does not reveal their motive for how they live life.  It does not give a full picture of anything.  The emotional impact of it ends at the end of the sentence.

But on other days….

On other days, such a simple sentence as this can set off a chain of thoughts, usually preceded by feelings.  Perhaps the thoughts sound like this? 

WOW!  I had no idea they thought that.  I’ll bet that means they also think this.  I had no idea.  I thought we were close.  And on and on and on it goes. We fill in the blanks with plausible thoughts.  The only problem is, we are forgetting to go all the way on finding the truth.  Our poor little human brains, in an attempt to organize data, have the capacity to do some mighty big truth stretching.

The situation with Residential Schools in Canada is so complex.  We have all heard parts of the truth.  This past week we heard a very disturbing, unsettling, difficult-to-accept bit of truth.  The reality is, this bit of truth was not just uncovered this past week.  There have been other such gravesites, there have been other such stories of these atrocities, and yet we have not been willing, or perhaps we have not known how to gain access, or perhaps we have been afraid to face head-on, the whole truth.  Our Indigenous Peoples have spoken about this for decades.  It is very, very difficult to sit quietly and listen to these stories; to not hear only a snippet and then fill in the rest with what might make some sense based on our own experience of life. 

In London, Ontario, a young boy is recovering from his physical wounds suffered when his family was run down by a young man.  He will never recover from the loss of his family.  My heart is broken for him.  I don’t know his truth.  I can fill it in based on my life experience of losing a parent, but I actually have no idea in the world what his life has been or will become.  Nor do I know the truth about the person who has been charged.  Nor do I know the truth about what it must be like to be a visible minority in Canada.

To tell the truth we must know the truth.  It’s kind of like that game show.  There are three panelists, but only one has the complete truth.  This is the only one who can stand up and say, ‘This is the truth’.  The others may sound real, they may know snippets of the truth, they may sound convincing.  But they do not have the whole truth about the profession they profess to be in, since they have not experienced it. 

I wish I had some answers.  I do not.  Here is what I know to be true.  In my own small world, I can practice being open to the truth.  I can be willing to listen to the truth.  I can notice when I’m making up stories by filling in the blanks around bits of truth, I can stop, back up, and then go all the way in my truth-finding. 

In my province, I can do the same.  I can practice being open to the truth.  I can be willing to listen to the truth.  I can notice when I’m making up stories by filling in the blanks around bits of truth, I can stop, back up, and then go all the way in my truth-finding. 

In my country I can do the same.  I can stop pretending ‘that’s not who we are’.  What we have seen these past weeks is who we collectively are.  We have seen incredible shows of support in the wake of these two tragedies.   People lined the streets in London to pay their respects.  Displays of children’s shoes have filled the steps of government buildings.  We are not all racists, nor are we all exclusionary, nor do we all cover our eyes from the truth.  But as a nation, these things exist.  It is not who we want to be, it is not who we can be, it is not who I strive to be.

There is a former Residential School not more than ten minutes from where I live.  I plan to go there this week.  There is a little gravesite there.  During a flood, years ago, the river rose and cut into the banks of the river exposing the remains of children who had been buried there.  Thirty-four bodies were recovered (of the original 73 children who died while attending the school) and were laid to rest in the little gravesite.  I’d like to leave a little pair of shoes there.  I hope they will be received in the way they are intended; I acknowledge what has happened, I am willing to face the truth, and my heart is aching.  It’s a start.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What is the truth?’
​
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 start on the journey of truth.
 
 
 
 

One of my favourite hours of the week is the one I spend with Carey Gruber, as she coaches my voice back to strength.  With each week, and each day of practice, I’m reminded how much I love singing.  It reaches a place in me that nothing else does.  The music expresses feelings that words sometimes cannot.  This music practice has given me so many gifts.  It’s reunited me with Carey, a complete gem, a friend, and a coach extraordinaire.  It’s brought back some great memories through song – it’s amazing how a particular song can take me right back to a moment in time.  It’s asked me to look at other things in my life I may have let slide or let go of, things that bring me joy or make my life richer, so I can decide if I want to spend the effort on those as well.  The neighbours may have a different opinion, now that the summer is here and our windows are open, but from my point of view, there has been no downside to my musical adventure. 

Except one.  I can’t get the F out.

Really.

When I started with Carey, I had a range between my chest voice and my head voice where the notes all sounded the same, kind of like a dolphin with laryngitis.  This was all part of the, hopefully temporary, damage done, during my surgery last Fall.  At first, I was just delighted to know I’d be able to speak.  Then more delighted to know my speaking voice would strengthen.  But as I tried to sing, I realized my singing voice was in trouble.  I was worried I would not recover it.  Over the past couple of months, we’ve made amazing progress.  The dolphin visits less often and when I remember to focus on my breath and use some of the tricks Carey has taught me, I can hear the songs getting stronger and stronger. 

But I still can’t get the F out. 

It’s my sticking point.  Last week we did a little experiment.  Carey tried playing runs of notes, up and down, that I would la la la along to.  She started and ended in a variety of different places.  We’re doing our lessons over Zoom so I can’t see the keyboard – even if I could I’m not a master note reader.  Regardless, in every single run I had trouble on one note.   I can not get the F out.   

Later in the lesson, I was singing one of my practice songs for Carey.  At the end, she asked what was different in the last half of the song.  I knew right away what had been different. I knew in the second half of the song, I was past what was the hard part of the song for me.  As soon as I didn’t have to worry about the F anymore, I was free to relax as I sang.  What a difference it made. 

I’ve been thinking about the F note this week.  Each of us has something comparable to the F in their life.  It’s usually a little thing that prevents us from doing some things we love.  It might be a perceived weakness, or a fear.  It might be an experience we had long ago that we never want to repeat, so we avoid every scenario that might place us in a similar situation.  It could be we don’t feel comfortable wearing the clothing we think we need for the occasion.  It might be we don’t know the words to say.  We avoid all sorts of wonderful things so that we can avoid the possibility of getting hurt, or being embarrassed, or feeling afraid. 

In the big picture of life, whether or not I get the F out is insignificant.  It won’t matter to most people whether I sing or not.  But in my little world of song, and in my little life, it does matter.  It matters because singing makes my life better.  And it matters because it turns out the F note is pretty popular.  She shows up everywhere.  If I try to avoid her, or to choose only music in which she does not show up, I’ll severely limit my joy.  I’ll have to be ‘on guard’, ever watchful, to prevent myself from embarrassing myself.  My life will be smaller than it need be.

I also want to figure this out because I understand this is representative of other places in my life I’ve lived less fully than I want.  I was afraid to join a choir for my entire adult life, in years when I could easily get the F out, for fear I was not good enough. What moments of joy I must have missed.  And what moments I am missing by allowing my world to be smaller than it need be.

So, I want to conquer this weakness, this fear.  I know I can.  It will take time, and Carey’s knowledge, and her willingness to try new techniques with me.  It will take my courage.  I am choosing to face this F note head on.  I will welcome her to my music.  I will learn tricks to navigate around her.  I will soon learn to smooth the pathways allowing her to shine.

We all have F notes, places in our lives where we live small.  They do not serve us well.  Our lives are so much richer when we live them singing all the notes in the music.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What will help me get the F 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 get the F out.
 
 
 

We live close to the Bow River, the beautiful meandering river that runs through the heart of Calgary.  In our end of town, there is a double bridge over the river.  Kaitlyn, Matt and the boys live on one side and we, along with Greg and Cara, live on the other.   This spring the east bound bridge needs to be replaced.  This means the bridge normally meant for westbound traffic will now have one lane used for each direction, and the on and off ramps will be completely re-figured, likely several times, as the work progresses over the next eighteen months or so.  Since I use that road quite a few times each week, when I head out in the car, I remind myself to pay attention – to the new signs, the new traffic patterns, the many construction vehicles and the workers. 

I had a similar experience on the hiking trail this week.  Whereas last week challenged us with wind and a bit of instability in the form of snow, this week was all about rushing water.  The heavy rainfall we had for two days on the long weekend caused some snow-melt, and that, coupled with the rain itself, meant water was just streaming off the foothills and mountains.  When the regular stream beds couldn’t hold the water, it just overflowed and found the path of least resistance.  Often, that was the path we were meant to be hiking on.  It would travel along our path until it could find its way back to the well-worn stream.  Many times, we were walking along and suddenly the trail turned into a stream, causing us to take a little, or bigger, detour.  We had to pay close attention to the water.  Whereas a couple of weeks ago we could have crossed almost any stream, this week the rushing water was far too dangerous.  In places where we found flooded pathways, there too we had to pay attention.  Sometimes a log someone had thrown across a waterway looked tempting, but we had to remind ourselves about how slippery those logs could be.  It was the same thing with the rocks.  Some were stable but others were just welcoming us to turn an ankle. 

Even though there was no reason for us to get ourselves in any serious trouble, we have all done enough hiking to know it only takes one minute of a wandering mind.  Pay attention, pay attention, I would remind myself. 

After I came home from Tuesday’s Trek, and all week as I’ve driven over the under-construction road, spent some time with Ben, done sewing, visiting and many other weekly things, I’ve been thinking about paying attention.  More specifically, I’ve been thinking about what I pay attention to.  And what I want to pay attention to.  And in fact, what it means to pay attention.

One definition of Pay is:  to give, offer, or make freely or as fitting.

When I think of this definition, I realize there is an inherent value in paying attention.  Perhaps this is why we feel so valued when someone pays us attention.  When someone freely gives of their time, time they could choose to use on anything in the world, to focus on us or what we are saying or doing, we feel seen and valued. 

When I think of people I know who make me feel better simply because I have been with them, I know what it is they have done to make me feel so.  They have paid me, freely given me, their attention.  We pay to show something has value to us.  When we pay attention, we acknowledge the thing on which we focus our attention, has value.

This week I’ve heard from a couple of students I taught years ago.  Those conversations have caused me to think back on my teaching career and about some of the things students have told me meant the most to them.  Most have never chosen my enthralling lessons on factoring, although I must say…..  Almost every one of them has remembered a conversation we have had together.  Each of them says, “I’ve never forgotten when you told me….”  The truth is, I can almost never remember the words I said.  What I now understand is that the reason the words have stuck with them is because they came wrapped with a feeling that they were being paid attention.  They, being young teenagers, were being listened to and valued. 

Each of us has a limited amount of attention we can offer each day, each week, each month, each lifetime.  It is a precious, often overlooked, commodity.   I am trying to be mindful of where I place my attention.  I still need to pay attention to simple things like traffic signs and rushing rivers.  But when my focus does not have to be on those, I’m carefully choosing things, activities and people on which I’m want to pay attention.  I understand how valuable it is, and how literally a few seconds of well or poorly placed attention can have a lasting impact.  Just as people notice when we pay them attention, they also notice when we do not.

There is a delightful flipside of paying attention.  Whereas in other areas of our life, when we pay, we end up with less, with attention, when we pay, we often end up with more.  More understanding, more compassion, more collaboration, more cooperation, more rich relationships, and more love. 

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

I’ve had a couple of rough roads to navigate this past week.  Some of them literal, some more of the proverbial type.  Either way, they’ve given me pause.  Pause to think about how I behave when I encounter a rough road in my life.

On Tuesday, the day of Tuesday Treks, Brenda and I let our enthusiasm lead the way.  Just a couple of days earlier, the first set of road barriers were lifted from the highway we use to access the trailheads, giving us access to hundreds of more hiking choices.  Each year in Alberta, many of the secondary roads leading through the foothills into the mountains are closed for a number of months in the winter to protect the wild animals.  Some still remain closed and will do so until June 15.  But the one blocking access on the road we most often use, was opened on the 15th of this month.
 
During the winter months this doesn’t really impact us – the hiking trails would have far too deep snow on them for any hiker to navigate.  At this time of year, the warmer days show up and the trails lose much of their snow.  We were thrilled to try a different route.  Brenda had hiked Prairie Mountain previously and had told me of the spectacular views from the top.  So even though we heard the prediction of ‘strong gales of wind possible’, and ‘chance of precipitation, especially at higher elevations’ we looked back on our string of absolutely perfect Tuesdays, drew a completely non-scientific conclusion that this one would be no different, and decided to head out early to avoid those slight deterrents!

Before you reach the non-scientific conclusion that we are careless hikers, let me assure you, we are not.  We did understand the weather, we were prepared (mostly), and we did have a good escape plan.  Even with all of this, I was still surprised at the ground conditions in which we found ourselves.  I had downloaded the map, and Brenda had mentioned the first three kilometres were a very steady climb.  Noting the elevation gain I’d seen on the map, I thought I was good to go.  However, just steps off the trailhead, we found ourselves on rocky ground, climbing and climbing.  There was no ice or snow, but there were endless rocks and boulders to navigate and we really had to work (and huff and puff) to make the climb.  We had no sooner finished patting ourselves on our backs for how our hiking over the winter had improved our fitness for this challenge, when an ‘older’ man, and his dog, Bobo, breezed right on past us!

The wind at the top was brutal.  Snow had begun to fall and there was only the faintest outline of what must have been a spectacular mountain vista.  We paused only long enough for a couple of photographs, and to reunite with Bobo, who delighted in stealing our hats and mittens.  We had chosen a less steep descent and thought once we were in the safety of the trees, we would feel less of Mother Nature’s impact.  We had not banked on the amount of snow and ice still in the forest, so we found ourselves on dangerous footing coming down.  About a third of the way down, the forest floor cleared making the hiking much easier.  Except for a few terrifying gusts of wind, this part was a breeze (so to speak).

In hiking as in life, there is no avoiding rough roads. 

The question is, how do we deal with them?  On Tuesday, we did a good job of preparation.  However, even with that, we were not able to accurately predict the exact nature of the roughness of the road.  We both own two different sets of crampons, grips for our boots.  Both of us left them in the car.  On purpose.  We had not anticipated the snow and ice in the forest.  Those would have been incredibly useful.  They wouldn’t have made the descent shorter or less ice covered, but they would have given us some extra confidence.

On Wednesday, I had a rough road of a very different nature to navigate, and on Thursday, yet a different one again.  Wednesdays came in the form of a challenging decision and follow up set of actions I carried out on behalf of the Board of Directors of the charity I work with.  Thursdays came in the form of a diagnosis of someone I dearly love. 

If we choose to live a life that includes adventures, passions, meaningful work, cherished friends and family, we are very likely also doing so with the understanding we will encounter some rough roads.  Even those who chose to narrow their scope of life to just a few walls and less encounters with the world, cannot escape the rough road.

This week I was reminded of a few things about how to manage rough roads.  First, take your grips; don’t leave them in the car.  While hiking, the grips give us a firm foothold.  So too in life.  In real life it’s our values that keep us grounded.  Our values of course are our template for our life.  They inform each step and rarely lead us off track.  Let them be our solid foundation.  In addition, each of us have things in our backpack we keep for ‘just in case’. Take them out and use them.  Call a friend, wear a power suit, do your homework, be prepared, turn on your four-wheel drive, treat yourself to your favourite music or food.  Do whatever little thing is required to help you get a good grip on the rough road. 

Second, talk and listen.   On the trail we talk to make sure we let the bears and cougars know we are nearby, and we watch for signs they are nearby.  When times get tough in life, it’s good to talk to sort out our thoughts, and we need to listen for subtle things that might keep us out of danger or make our travels easier.

Third, look for Bobo.  Bobo was the dog who passed us on our ascent.  We met him and his owner at the top where Bobo happily stole Brenda’s hat and my gloves.  We laughed so hard we almost…. sorry, too much information.  Bobo is everywhere.   When we can find the humour in a situation, it really helps distract us from the rough road.

Finally, after we have created a foundation of our values, used the right gear, and leaned on our friends and family, and found Bobo, we might need to reach inside ourselves and ask if we are willing to stay on the rough road.   Brenda and I could have turned back.  However, we knew there was a view up ahead we wanted to see.  Even when we realized there would be no view that day, we still wanted the feeling of the view; we wanted the feeling of accomplishment, of completion, and of sharing the journey.   Sometimes when we reach inside ourselves, instead of saying, ‘You can do it’ (which is a really good thing to say!), we might instead ask ourselves, ‘Who am I becoming?’

Every rough road gives us a chance to become who we strive to be.  It’s really tough during the huffing and puffing part to remember this.  But the more we practice, the more we gain confidence to know each rough road we navigate, smooths the next one just a bit. 

I wish for you smooth travels this week.  I also know, I’ve found some of the best views after navigating some very tough roads.   

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

This week I posted some pictures on Facebook with this little write up:

I was thinking about my Dad on today’s Tuesday Trek. If he were alive, we’d be celebrating his 91st birthday today. My Dad used to call me Littlebit. It was my brother, Daniel, who started this. He couldn’t quite manage Elizabeth when he was learning to talk. So, today’s Tuesday Trek is entitled Littlebit. Littlebit of cloud, littlebit of sun, littlebit of snow, littlebit of rain, littlebit of mud, littlebit of slipping, littlebit of melting, littlebit of a fresh cougar kill, littlebit of laughing, littlebit of storytelling and a lotabit of friendship. Dad would have loved it. Thanks for the great day Brenda and Penny!

I always try to post a few pictures of our Tuesday hikes.  They are such an important part of my week.  When I posted those few words along with the pictures this past week, I had no idea they would resonate with so many people.  I’ve been thinking about the original words and about the messages people have sent me as they’ve pondered little bits of their own lives.  And because I’ve had the memory of Littlebit, and the idea of little bits, running through my mind all week, I thought I’d share a little bit more.

I have some ‘bone on bone’ arthritis happening in my knee.  It’s not the first place this has shown up in my body and I doubt it will be the last.  Luckily there are some good people who know more than me about how to deal with it.  When I was at the Knee Clinic last year, they suggested an injection of Hyaluronic Acid might really help me so I tried it out last July.  I was shocked at what a positive difference it made.  About a month ago, my knee started talking to me and I knew it was time for another injection, and that is how I found myself at my appointment with Dr Johnson up at Winsport for another injection.  Dr Johnson uses ultrasound and a little bit of freezing to place the Hyaluronic Acid in just the right spot.  The material in the injection forms a cushioning between the two bones.  It fills the spot where healthy fluid once was.  It stops the bones from rubbing on each other and reduces the pain.  This little bit of gel is a life changer. 

I’ve since been imagining the gel between the bones.  If this is all it takes to stop the friction between two bones rubbing on each other, I wonder how little it might take us to stop friction in other places in our lives. What little bit might we try to make a big difference?

I was glad I’d received the injection when Greg texted to ask if I had a little bit of time for a bike ride this week.  A lot of stars had to align; Greg had very rare time off mid-week, the mid- May weather was warm enough, the loop I’ve longed to do for years, Lake Minnewanka Loop, was closed to traffic and free of snow, and I had a new bike to try out!  Yes!  I had a little bit of time! Needless to say, I left a list a mile long on my desk at home, but I reminded myself that in 20 years, the time Greg and I spent together, while just a little bit on the timeline of life would be a cherished memory.

I’m finding my life is made up of many little bits these days.  I never have a day when I wake up wondering what I might do.  I always have more items on my mind than time in my day.  I’ve been seeing more of little Ben, trying to help out his mom as she cares for newborn Andy.  Some days when I don’t have as much time, I wonder if I can be any help at all.  Then I remember little bits, and I offer just that.  Little bits of time.  Sometimes those are the very best.  We go on a little adventure and discover something that keeps us talking and laughing for days.  These little bits of time are forging our relationship together.  I know we won’t always be lucky enough to have little bits of time during the day together.  I’m making the most of the ones we have now.

I’m doing the same with my singing and dancing and writing.  I used to like to have a good chunk of time set aside to do any of these.  Not having that time right now, I’m investing in little bits.  If I have a few minutes, I’ll head to my music and work on one song.  Or write a few lines.  Or practice a few steps.  Or stretch a few muscles.  Amazingly, often when I set out to do a little bit, it turns into more.  Either way, the little bits add up.  And it turns out I’m not only investing in little bits, but also in Littlebit herself.

That’s the way it is with little bits.  Often, they seem insignificant.  Sometimes they are such small bits they don’t even seem worth considering; things like texts, smiles, listening, noticing, complimenting.  But when we remember to adjust our focus just a little bit, so the picture of life becomes clear, we can usually see that adding little bits (or sometime backing off a little bit) can make the picture of our life so much more vibrant.

When my dad started calling me Littlebit, it was just a nickname.  He called me this off and on throughout my life, always with those twinkling eyes of his.  Sometimes my siblings called me this too.  It was such a little thing.  And such an enormous thing.  It was a simple little fun name, and it was much, much more.  We were a big family.  There wasn’t much time for ‘one-on-one’.  So, when I would hear him say Littlebit, I felt seen.  Today, it’s a priceless memory.  I often use this name when I’m talking to myself and needing courage.  ‘Come on Littlebit, you can do it’, I whisper in my head, and I feel my Dad’s encouragment.  I’m going to continue to honour my name, doing little bits, backing off a little bit, acting with courage a little bit, and being my best Littlebit.

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

This week I got a new batch of songs to work on in my singing lessons.  I’d love to say I’ve completely mastered the four pieces I was working on.  Alas, I’ve done fine, but we’re going to put them aside for now.  The critical thing we are working on to strengthening my voice is my transition zone.  This is the place where, when I am singing, I need to transition from my lower register to my higher register.  My range is actually fine.  I can reach low notes with ease and also manage quite high notes.  My struggle is in the middle.  Carey, my vocal coach, likens it to me being a teenage boy going through a voice change!  Who knew I would be going through this after surgery?!  This is the part of my vocal chords that were damaged and this is the part we are trying to coax back.

The songs we have set aside have really stretched my capacity in this area but even with the medication I’m using to reduce inflammation, last week my voice seemed less strong than the week prior, so Carey suggested we switch it up and try a couple of songs in my easy-to-sing zone.  So, this week James Taylor and I are getting to know each other.  I’ve also heard Queen Latifa would like me to try I know Where I’ve Been from Hairspray.

Since these aren’t on Carey’s regular roster of tunes, I’ve looked up the lyrics online and then found a karaoke version in the key of the original recording to accompany me.  Once I’ve memorized the lyrics, what I find most difficult is listening to the backing music as I sing and joining in at the exact right moment.  Sometimes my timing is off and I’m a note or two early or late.  Once in a while I’m a whole line early and that throws everything off.  As I sing along, I can hear something is wrong.  This sends my mind to a place of thinking instead of singing and it takes great concentration to figure out how to get back on track.  There are times, especially in the early stages of learning a piece I simply have to stop and start again.
Timing, they say, is everything.  And when it is off, nothing feels quite right.  When timing is on, life feels good.  It’s smooth and easy.

When I was a little girl, a popular recess activity was skipping.  I remember standing, getting ready to jump in as two other girls would turn the rope.  As a beginner, I’d rock back and forth as the rope passed in front of my face and then swung around to the other side, waiting for the exact right moment to make my move. Once I figured out the timing, I could effortlessly enter the skipping zone and jump with reckless abandon, singing out the little rhyming songs we used.

Some people have incredible timing.  When they enter a room, they ‘read’ it, listen for a minute, and then use their perfect timing to seemingly effortlessly join a conversation.  Others are not so smooth.  They jump into ongoing conversations at the wrong moment, and inevitably get all tangled up in the ropes. 

That first group of people are not just blessed with good timing.  Timing is a skill.  It takes awareness, practice and sometimes even a bit of luck.  It can be learned.  It always has an impact.  Those who have great timing, have it because they have worked on it. 

In these pandemic times, Zoom makes timing more difficult.  Timing here is not quite so easy to learn.  Whereas in real life, a quick quip delivered with good timing guarantees success, on Zoom, the minuscule delay in the signal throws the timing all off.  We have to think really hard about how to enter.

This week I had a lovely moment of timing.  Baby Andy celebrated his one-month birthday and gave his parents his first smile.  The next morning, I dropped in to pick up Ben for our regular outdoor time together.  Knowing about the previous days smile, I hoped for a repeat but knew the odds weren’t great.  Often after that first smile, it takes a few days for the next ones to appear.

Luckily, I know something important about timing:  You have to be present for it to work.  You have to be tuned in – to the music, the skipping rope, the conversation, the Zoom call, the baby.  I caught Andy at a wakeful time and leaned over to talk to him.  Even though I was able to still notice and respond to Ben, I didn’t take my eyes off Andy as I smiled and talked to him.  And then it came; that precious, precious, fleeting, early smile.

I might have just been lucky but I like to think my timing was good too.

Each of us can have good timing.  It’s a skill, and like all skills it improves with practice.  First, we need to understand it is a skill that can be mastered.  Then we need to listen to our intuition and follow through.  How many times have we found ourself thinking about a friend (the intuition), and then called them only to hear them say, ‘Oh, your timing is perfect.  Talking to you is just what I needed.’  And then other times when we do not follow our intuition, we eventually catch up with them only to find out they could have stood to hear our voice earlier.

I’ve been trying to notice timing this past week.  I’m listening to hunches, paying attention and trying to jump in right after the rope passes in front of my eyes.  I’m getting out of my head and into the music.  James Taylor hasn’t called yet to invite me to do a duet, but who knows, with the right timing….

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘How is my timing?’

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 master the skill of timing.
 
 

I’m a slow adopter.  Or adapter? I know for sure I’m not usually the first one to order a newly invented product, nor do I need to be the first to try a new toy, nor be the first person on the train. 

Before you jump to a false conclusion, I do like new things.  And I love new ideas, especially good ones.  I’m pretty sure the thing that holds me back is that I don’t love failure, and so it follows that I don’t want to have people watching me try out something new and fail.

Having said all that, in January, when I was in the midst of several large sewing projects, I had the idea it might be time for me to get a new sewing machine.  Keeping in mind my old Kenmore has been with me for my entire adult life, this was no small decision.  I went back and forth for quite some time and finally, toward the end of the month, when I could hear myself encouraging my machine to just sew a little bit more, I put a deposit on a beautiful new quilting machine.  The deposit was needed since the machines could be ordered but there was no guarantee as to when they might arrive.  Part of me was delighted with this. I knew if the new machine arrived when I was on a deadline with my projects, I wouldn’t have time to learn how to use it and finish the projects too.  With the delay, I could finish my projects on my comfortable machine, then learn the ins and outs of the new one.  One month turned into the next, and finally, last Saturday I got the call.  My new machine was available for pickup.

I’d had a hint the machine might be on the shipment due to arrive last week, so I spent a bit of time at the beginning of the week clearing off my sewing table and putting my old machine away.  I was making space for the new addition.  It crossed my mind as I did this that making space is my way of getting ready for new things in my life.

The sewing machine was, of course, an example of a true physical space that needed making.  If I was going to learn to use this machine (and please, may I be granted many, many more years of sewing; I’m going to need them all to figure out all the new features) I needed a space to put it.  Even before I brought the machine home on Saturday, I looked at that space every time I climbed the stairs.  It helped me get my head ready for the adjustment.  I guess I needed to be in the right head space too.

I’ve been pondering this idea of making space. 

For every single thing I have undertaken in my life, willingly or not, my first step to a successful transition has been the one where I make space.  As I mentioned before, I’m a late adopter, so when I hear about a new idea, or when I’m asked to try something new, or incorporate a change into my life, or even when I myself think of something new I could try, my tendency is to give a very quick, ‘no thanks’. 

Luckily, over the years, I’ve learned to keep my ‘no thanks’ inside my head.  I try to not let it slip out of my mouth.  What I understand is I really don’t mean ‘no’.  What I mean is ‘I just need a bit of time to make some space in my mind for the idea’.  I need to create a space for the idea to live for a while.  Then I’m usually ready.  This time is a very good friend to me.  Sometimes the time I need can be measured in a few heartbeats, sometimes in minutes, sometimes hours and sometimes even months. Sometimes after I ponder for awhile, I recognize the idea or change will not be a good fit for me and I can easily say no to it.  But if I say no too quickly, I close my self off to the possibility of a wonderful opportunity. 

About three years ago I texted my friend, Rhonda to ask if she wanted to join me for a once-a-week bike ride.  I was training for my first Gran Fondo, the Sea-to-Sky Fondo from Vancouver to Whistler, BC.  When I had the idea to text Rhonda, I didn’t do it right away.  First, I needed to make space.  I knew she had a bike but I had no idea if she was up for a long-distance challenge.  I needed space for the courage to reach out, not having clue if she might be interested.  I needed space to understand this meant a commitment to the race.  I needed space to allow myself to believe in my ability.  I needed space to set aside one day each week to train with her.  I needed space to know I could be turning a friendship into a much closer friendship. 

I don’t remember exactly how long it took me to create my space for this.  I know it was longer than a few heartbeats but shorter than a month.  I’m guessing Rhonda is not quite as slow an adopter as am I for her response was quick and certain.  YES! Came the immediate text back.

I can’t imagine how less rich my life would be now if I had had the thought to text Rhonda and then had discounted it before I let the idea come to life.  If we don’t make space for things in our lives, we are choosing for them not to have the chance to fit.  We are discounting them before they have even the slimmest chance to form into something wonderful, or valuable, or meaningful, or fun.   

Clearly, sewing machines are easy to make space for.  Other things, things like new ideas, new people, new skills, new attitudes, new activities, new adventures, new mindsets and new stages of life, take a little more finesse.  And yet, the concept is identical.

This week, I’m practicing making and noticing space.  When I care for Ben, I make space for our relationship – these early years build our foundation.  When Greg found a new road bike for me to go look at, I made space for us to go see it together and also for us to spend time outdoors this summer doing something we love.  When I noticed the nice weather might take a pause on the weekend, I made space for an early outdoor birthday celebration for Kaitlyn and Matt.  When Brenda and I were out on our bikes, instead of on foot for our Tuesday Trek, we made space to try to conquer a hill that had, only a week before, looked impossible.  When I texted with my friend, Al, this week, after not being in touch for a few months, we both made space for the importance we have in each other’s lives.

This week, a lot of my time has been spent with little Ben and not a lot has been spent sitting at my new machine.  I have however, set it up, figured out how to thread it, and have sewn a straight line.  When I start to think I’ll never figure out all the features, I take a beat, pick one little thing I think I can make space for, and march ahead.  For the record, I’m already planning my next quilt.

My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What am I making space for?’
​
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 space.