"Coaching Moments" takes a
thoughtful, and sometimes lighthearted, look at how coaching
can be interwoven into our daily lives.
My Life
is the Session I Want to Get a Passing Score On
by Janice Hunter
Yesterday as I
was driving home from the supermarket, winding my way
through the hills listening to Jose Gonzales’ haunting voice
and guitar chords, I felt more at peace than I have for
months. I’d finally allowed myself to envision our summer
holidays in Greece – far away from IAC certification,
recorded sessions, triads, teleclasses, marketing emails and
coaching sites.
My kids hate
shopping for clothes, so into the supermarket trolley
alongside the broccoli and bananas went bargain T shirts,
suntan cream, mosquito spray, antiseptic wipes, books and
some beaded, jewelled sandals for my daughter, who’s caught
in the tweenage years between pretty pastels and peer
pressure. I even surprised myself and bought a black and
white polkadot dress – with frills.
As I
contemplated some crime thrillers to read on the balcony in
those peaceful hours when the children are asleep and the
crickets are singing, I remembered in amazement how I’d
studied coaching every day of our holidays in Greece last
year. It’s been a roller coaster of a year.
I thought back
to the past few frazzled weeks of unsuccessful recordings,
studying, buddy coaching, email correspondence, doing
critiques and writing feedback. I’d burned meals, fed the
kids junk food, watched the house get grubby and struggled
to remember all of their after school arrangements. My days
grew wearier and I looked on sadly as my husband kept the
family together while I drank too much coffee at my
computer.
The day in
late May when I stunned my Sensible Self and recklessly sent
in the only two recorded coaching sessions I’d done
unselfconsciously, I bought myself ninety days of peace.
Ninety days of enjoying my children. Time to relax in our
garden and take trips to haunted Scottish castles and dark
lochs; time to make memories in the local park; time to fall
over in turquoise waves and drink Greek coffee in seafront
cafes. Ninety days of salads and wine, jasmine scented
evenings and candles.
What I realize
now is: My life’s the session I want to get a passing
score for and when I’m not grounded in my daily rituals, the
simple, joyful details of my life – a jug of freesias on a
scrubbed wooden table, a hearty meal served on a mismatched
collection of crockery, a new book, a furtive kiss on a
teddy bear’s nose as I make beds – my intuition withers and
I struggle to create anything at all. Bad news for a coach,
especially one who loves to write.
Driving home
from the supermarket, windows down, savouring the smell of
drenched earth in the rain, I turned up the music and
decided pass or fail, I’d wear my polkadot dress on the day
I get my exam results back.
