Facilitator + Trainer + Creative Coach |
Based in Connecticut, Working Worldwide

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close up photo of a large sculpture made of wrought iron letters of the English alphabet

What’s your personal alphabet?

What’s your personal alphabet?

Did you know that the word “alphabet” comes from the first two letters of the Greek language?⁠

And that way back in the day, speakers of Latin created the word “abecedarius” (aka the “ABCs”)?⁠

I didn’t and I’ve been a word nerd and language geek my whole life! :-)⁠

Which just proves you can always learn (and make!) something new.⁠

All this got me thinking: If you could create your own ABCs, what would the letters stand for? ⁠

I’d probably choose words that express what most matters to me: 

A for art.

B for becoming.

And C for creativity (and coaching)! No surprises there, right? ;-)⁠

How about you? What would your personal alphabet say about you and what you value? Want help figuring this out? Schedule a complimentary conversation to see what coaching can do for you!

Let your dreams take flight!

Let your dreams take flight!

Do you ever get all pumped up about a new goal and then a week later your energy has fizzled? 

Me too.

And often it’s because we get in our own way.

How? Here’s a recent example: For the first time since I’ve been in business, I set an actual revenue goal for this year. Yes, with real actual numbers! LOL 

A couple days later I spotted this “Moneyfly Mandala” by artist Arthur Becker in a lobby in Boston. 

I was starting to get excited that this might be some sort of “message from the universe” about my financial goal.

And then my inner critic/doubter piped up, “Nah! Can’t you see this is just a tongue in cheek observation about money!?” Cue sinking feeling…

Then I noticed an installation called “Moneyflies” on the opposite wall of the lobby. Now I felt even more deflated. “Okay, so my conjecture was correct – this is about the fleeting nature of money”, I told myself.

Guess what?! 5 minutes after I took these photos, I got an inquiry about my coaching and 5 minutes after that, someone reached out to ask about my workshops

Who knows whether either will pan out?! What I do know is the stories that we tell ourselves really matter. A lot. They can clip our wings. Or they can lift us up and help our dreams take flight. 

What story are you telling yourself? I can help you flip that script and move toward you the life you want. Schedule a free consult with me here.

beach grass waving in the autumn wind against a clear blue sky

Who do you need to thank today?

Who do you need to thank today?

Who is one person you can pause and be grateful for today?

For me, it’s Mrs. Lanka, the babysitter who looked after me when I was about 5 or 6.⁣

Actually, the word babysitter doesn’t really do Mrs. Lanka justice. Because from her I learned all sorts of things — especially, the joy of simple pleasures, like puzzles, reading and baking.⁣

But what I remember most about my days with Mrs. Lanka are our trips to the Bayard Cutting Arboretum on Long Island. I think it was there — seeing the expanse of the Great Lawn or climbing the knotted branches of the giant European Weeping Beech tree — that I fell in love with wandering and wondering. ⁣

Our absolute favorite thing to do was follow the River Walk along the Connetquot River. We’d meander down the labyrinthine paths past all manner of plants — stopping now and then to search out the metal tags that identified the plants and trees. ⁣

Eventually, we would end up on Breezy Island. There we’d unpack whatever treat Mrs. Lanka had packed – maybe a PBJ sandwich or some juicy oranges — and bask in the sun while ducks and geese floated by.⁣

I can still taste those oranges. ⁣

And whenever I see cat o’ nine tails and beach grass, I say a little prayer of thanks to Mrs. Lanka. ⁣

Who do you need to thank today? 

overhead photo of table of colorful pieces of collage paper

Who helped you become who you are?

Who helped you become who you are?

In this season of harvest, I’ve been challenging myself to acknowledge the people who’ve helped me become who I am today and who made my life so full.

Today I’m honoring my father who passed away over a decade ago. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to represent him with a photo. Then I remembered an experience I had at the festival celebrating the opening of the new Reach extension at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Peering over a balustrade I saw this group of teachers making art, right there for all to see. “How brave!“, I thought. So I snapped this shot and then had a lovely conversation with one of the education staff. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Why is this a big deal? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Because I used to be mortified when my father would strike up conversations with anyone and everyone – the clerk at the deli at our local grocery store, the postman, a stranger in an elevator. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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“Justine, just talk to people!” he’d say. “You never know what you’ll learn.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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And there I was doing just that! Talking to and CONNECTING with a total stranger. I never could have envisioned being able to do this all those years ago when I’d stand along side my father and listen to him engage with people. His example gave me the confidence to do that…to reach out, to be curious, to listen, to learn, to connect. And for that I am eternally grateful. ⠀⠀

We all have people who have been influential in our life. If we are lucky, we have the opportunity to recognize the gift and to say thanks.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Who are you thankful for? And how will you show your appreciation?

molasses pekmez Turkey Justine Ickes writer

Slowing down for Turkish molasses

Slowing down for Turkish molasses

This essay appeared in the Fall 2013 issue of Gastronomica magazine. Click here for a pdf version.

The heat doesn’t faze Sevim, my seventy-year-old mother-in-law, even though it’s already sweltering at six o’clock in the morning. ‘‘Buraya,’’ here, she says, dragging a stained neon-blue tarp under a tree heavy with mulberries. Twelve feet above, her octogenarian husband balances on a branch and waits for the signal. ‘‘Tamam,’’ okay, Sevim shouts, and Muzaffer begins shaking the bough. The leaves rustle and, suddenly, hundreds of the white du¨ t shower down, the plump fruit landing plippity-plop-plop on the plastic sheet.

‘‘Look out!’’ squeal my two sons as they dodge the fruity confetti.

June is pekmez, fruit molasses, time in Bes¸ikdu¨ zu¨ , the eastern Black Sea town in Turkey where my family is spending the summer, sans Hakki, my husband. In his birthplace, a hillside hamlet, men bob and weave through the berry-laden branches, taking care not to dislodge the ripe fruit before their wives say the word. Down below, the women sweat over enormous copper pans, pressing, stirring, and boiling the fruit’s juice until it thickens into a tangy, tawny molasses.

Pekmez has sweetened Turkish dishes since the eleventh century. Typically made from mulberries or grapes, ‘‘the healing syrup of Anatolia’’ is rich in iron, calcium, and potassium. Rural housewives like my mother-in-law believe molasses can cure colds, treat anemia, and even prevent cancer. Postpartum moms fortify themselves with pekmez mixed with water. At breakfast, Turks scoop it up with bread or, in my husband’s case, slurp it down by the spoonful.

With its bittersweet, slightly burnt flavor, homemade mulberry molasses can take some getting used to. I could say the same thing about Bes¸ikdu¨ zu¨ . Despite thirteen years of marriage and yearly visits to my in-laws’ rambling three-acre homestead, I’ve yet to acquire a taste for rural living `a la Turka. To my New Yorker sensibilities, life on the Silk Road is bucolic but backwards, and best for little boys gone wild.

Glancing up from my dictionary, I catch my sons skidding barefoot through Sevim’s harvest.

‘‘Stop that!’’ I scold, as my seven-year-old leaps onto a mound of mulberries. ‘‘You’ll ruin grandma’s pekmez.’’

But Sevim just sighs and adjusts her pink-and-black floral kerchief. She crisscrosses the corners at the base of her neck and knots the scalloped ends across her forehead.

‘‘Ne yapalim,’’ she says, and hoisting a bucket of berries onto her hip, pads over to me in her black rubber galoshes.

Confused, I mentally rifle through my rudimentary Turkish. ‘‘Yapmak’’ is ‘‘to do,’’ that much I know.

Before I can figure out what she means, Sevim dumps her haul onto the table, and starts picking through it, tossing out leaves, twigs, and overripe fruit. Gingerly, I poke my fingers into the heap. It’s sticky, slimy, and teeming with bugs.

‘‘Yuck,’’ I think, flicking an earwig off my wrist. ‘‘This is going to be a long three months.’’

My mother-in-law has worries of her own. The month before we arrived, a carload of holidaymakers drowned in a freak ferry accident. In the finger-pointing fallout Rahman, the head of Port Security—and the husband of Sevim’s eldest daughter—was arrested, presumably for negligence. Six weeks later, Rahman still hasn’t been formally charged, and no one knows when, or whether, he will be released.

‘‘How’s it going today?’’ Hakki asks when he calls one day in August.

‘‘Same as yesterday,’’ I deadpan. ‘‘Except now she’s picking grapes.’’

At noon Sevim teeters atop a rickety wooden ladder. Clusters of blue-black muscat grapes spill from a wicker basket. Half a mile down the rutted footpath that leads to her house, the clang of metal on bedrock booms like a metronome. Soon, the city will raze her prized decades-old arbor to make way for a new modern road.

I wonder aloud about the fate of the mulberry trees. Will they be cut down too?

Sevim shrugs, and, wordlessly, empties the basket into a copper tub, before sliding her bare feet into two plastic bag booties. Hitching up her skirt, she climbs in and starts stomping the grapes. She sloshes around a bit and then, ankle-deep in the purple slurry, turns to me and smiles.

‘‘I don’t get it,’’ I tell Hakki later. ‘‘Her son-in-law’s in jail. The town’s about to lop off half her land. But your mom just keeps making pekmez.’’

‘‘So?’’ he asks. ‘‘What else can she do?’’

At dusk a pungent aroma rises from the grape pekmez. Sevim squats on a tree stump, skimming the froth. Steam billows from the roiling syrup and for a moment she vanishes. Then, through the haze, I see her ladling molasses into a shallow bowl. She tips the dish sideways, and an amber film spreads across.

‘‘Tamam,’’ she says. It’s ready.

She pads into the house and returns with three smaller basins. Together, we tilt the heavy pan and the piping-hot molasses flows like lava.

After, Sevim leans the empty basin against the mulberry tree and motions for me to sit. A layer of caramelized sugar coats the pan. Grinning, Sevim traces a curlicue through it and then, with a flourish, licks her finger.

Suddenly, I am overcome. My fiftieth birthday is two days away and I’ve been brooding about growing old and losing my father two years before.

‘‘I miss my dad,’’ I stammer, biting back tears.

Sevim is silent for a moment. ‘‘Ne yapalim?’’ she says, looking up at the sky. He’s gone.

Then, at last, I understand what she means: Ne yapalim translates literally as ‘‘what-can-we-do.’’ But it’s not a question; it’s a mantra of acceptance.

I nod and watch her fill a jar with pekmez. As it falls from the spoon, it folds over on itself like ribbons of freshly blown glass. Then a lone bubble floats slowly to the surface.

Loss flavors every life, I realize. But serendipity does too. The wise heart embraces both.

Across the valley, the slate-gray sky pulses with lightning. By morning the last mulberries will be gone, swept away by the storm.

Catching Sevim’s eye, I point to the clouds. ‘‘Ne yapalim,’’ I murmur, and smiling, bring the pekmez to my lips.

What’s been your most eye-opening travel experience? I’d love to hear.

Justine Ickes

Read This Before You Create Your First Course

Read This Before You Create Your First Course

Lately, I get lots of inquires about my “Launchpad” package for folks looking to create in-person and online workshops and courses. 

And you know what? I think long and hard before taking on new clients in that program.

Yes, you read that right: I sometimes turn down that type of work.

Why? Well, first off, it’s about my own integrity and what I know based on decades of experience as an instructional designer, trainer and coach.

Here’s the thing: While live workshops and online training can be perfect for some businesses, one size for sure does not fit all.

Sometimes your clients are better served by your staying true to your core services and offerings.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I understand the lure of creating a signature learning program. I get where you’re coming from. I really do.

* You’ve made it as far as you can with your current business model.
* You’re excited to reach more clients and make a greater impact.
* You’re looking for a way to package the tools, tips and strategies you’ve worked long and hard to develop.

And now you’re thinking, what’s next? How can I grow my business, create a new income stream, and reach even more clients? 

So you take a look around and see lots of other people jumping into creating and selling e-courses, webinars, and the like.

And then next thing you know you’re lost down the rabbit hole of online learning — Adobe Connect, Zoom, and a host of other platforms.

My advice? Before you start, get crystal clear on what will best serve your clients. Get in the habit of asking yourself these questions:

  • What is the real reason I want to create a course? 
  • Will a course truly serve my clients?
  • Is what I have to share better delivered in another medium or format? (Podcast, anyone? Printable worksheets? A mini learning sprint delivered by email?)

So the next time you feel the urge to cook up an e-learning program, make sure you’ve got the right recipe for your clients. Need help figuring out what makes sense for your business? Schedule a consult with me to learn more about my coaching and consulting services.

signs

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to…

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to…

Several years ago I hit a one of those big life milestones…you know, the kind where you add a zero to your chronological age. Yes, I’m a bit vain so you’re not getting any more details than that. 😉

Anyway, to mark the passage into a new phase of my life, I resolved to walk part of the Camino de Santiago, the centuries-old network of pilgrimage routes that extends across Europe and ends in the city of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain.

Kitted out with backpack, walking stick, and a brand new pair of hiking boots, I chose the most well-known route, the Camino Frances, which begins in Saint Jean Pied de Port, France, and crosses through several Spanish provinces. 

One evening about two weeks into my walk, I was chatting by phone with a friend in the U.S. when she asked if I’d done any early morning walks.

“No, why?” I asked.

“Oh, I just imagine it must be so spiritual, to be walking out under the stars, being out in nature in the pre-dawn,” she said.

Truth be told, it had never even occurred to me to walk in the dark. Rising early in the wee hours of the morning is customary on the Camino. But that’s more out of necessity and expediency. As anyone who’s walked the Camino in the high season knows, the early bird has a much better chance of snagging a cot in the albuergues, the dormitory-style accommodations that dot the Camino. Sleep in and you may end your day with sore feet, heat exhaustion, and no place to sleep. 

So, yes, waking up early was already part of my Camino routine. And, yet, venturing forth before daybreak intrigued me. What would that be like?, I wondered. Might I discover something else on the Camino that was invisible in the daylight?

So that night I resolved to rise before dawn so I could experience the Camino while the rest of the pilgrims slept on. 

To help orient pilgrims, and direct them toward Santiago de Compostela, there are waymarkers along Camino. The scallop shell is the most iconic symbol and waymarker. Typically painted in yellow and blue, the scallop shell appears on crumbling walls, the sides of buildings, and often literally under your feet on the path. In some provinces, the scallop shell is accompanied by a yellow arrow pointing the way east to Galicia.

Having spent several weeks on the Camino, I was pretty adept at spotting the waymarkers. After ten minutes I had left the city and my cozy cot behind. The world was eerily silent; even the birds had not yet awoken. I was feeling proud of myself (okay, maybe a bit unsettled by the total silence) and rehearsing what I’d tell my friend about my bravery. I strained my ears for the sound of nocturnal creatures and heard nothing. I gazed up at the sky, ready to marvel at the constellations, but the clouds obscured all.

Feeling a bit deflated, I entered a tiny village and made my way to small plaza with several paths and streets radiating in several directions. Peering around in the dim, actually, nearing non-existent light I couldn’t find a scallop shell or an arrow. I stumbled around a bit, shining my headlamp around corners, down alleys, and scanning the roundabout. And still, no waymarker.

After stumbling around in the dark for a bit, the voices in my head started panicking. “What kind of a dumb idea was this? How stupid to be out walking alone?! I mean, what did I really expect to find out here, anway?”

Then, another voice, one that many pilgrims hear, whispered in my subconscious, “Remember. The way is always there. Just pay attention.”

That was when I turned and saw it – smack dab in the center of the roundabout, a mere three feet away, stood an enormous statue of Saint James. Staff in one hand and a scallop shell danging from his waist, the statue’s free hand was raised and pointing.

I was so surprised, I burst out laughing.

What a wonderful timely lesson. No, I didn’t experience the awakening I’d gone looking for that morning. I had been too busy orchestrating my own adventure and trying to will some grand discovery that would serve as pilgrim bragging rights.

I nearly missed the very magic of the moment.

Fortunately, and of course, the waymarker and the message been there all along.

They always are, aren’t they?

Want support with your own personal wayfinding? Click here to learn about my “North Star” and “Pilgrimage” coaching packages.

Justine Ickes workshop facilitator

Need to Know, Nice to Know

Need to Know, Nice to Know

Where do you do your best thinking?

In the shower? At the gym? In the checkout line at Whole Foods?

No matter when or where your creativity sparks, it’s important to capture your ideas so you can create engaging and effective learning programs.

When you’re an expert in your field, it can be tempting to pack your webinar and your course with everything you know. 

But smart course designers realize that it’s not enough to simply churn out a laundry list of topics. You need to be selective, too.

Identifying your core “need to know” content and prioritizing it over other information that’s merely “nice to know” is the first step in developing your signature learning program

Why? 

Because in a live webinar or online course you can have too much of a good thing.

Cram too much information into your learning event, and you run the risk of giving students (and prospective clients) a serious case of information overload.

At the very least, they might exit the webinar or not complete the course.

Worse, learners might be so turned off that they don’t enroll in your other courses, buy your products or services, or hire you for other work.

Let’s say you’re developing a basic course for people new to photography. You’re passionate about the history of the art form and your bookshelves are bulging with biographies of Robert Capa, Annie Leibovitz and other legendary photographers. You can talk a blue streak about lens and editing apps and your Instagram account is ginormous.

Your ideal learner, however, still hasn’t taken her point-and-shoot camera out of the box. 

See what I mean?

When you’ve got oodles of ideas, scaling back on your curriculum is a good approach. But you need to make sure you trim the right content.

Skimp on the core learning and your students will leave feeling hungry and unsatisfied.

So, how do you serve up the right content?

The key is to select the essential information and skills practice and deliver it in a way that keeps your students sated. 

Ask yourself:

  • Does the learner need to know this?
  • Is this essential information?
  • How will this content help meet my course objectives?

Want some support figuring out your key content so you can develop, launch and sell a course that’s just right for your clients? I’ve spent decades designing courses for clients large and small and I’ve got a proven system to get you in the learning game. Check out “The Launch Pad”, my hybrid coaching + consulting program here. Or contact me for a consult to find out how I can help.

 

Growing Into Your New Life

Growing into Your New Life

We’re living in a time of tremendous upheaval — a global pandemic, widespread economic distress, and urgent calls for social justice and structural changes. 

With everything in flux these days and months, many of us are taking a good hard look at our lives. 

From where I sit, aligning your life, work and relationships with your true nature is much like creating a garden. It’s a worthy endeavor that takes patience, time, commitment, and a willingness to change with the seasons.

You may be feeling out of sync right now. Much like a plant that’s outgrown its container, perhaps you are yearning for the space to stretch and grow. You know the old way doesn’t feel right and, yet, you’re not sure what steps to take next.

Or maybe the shifts you’ve been experiencing lately have you feeling rootless. Like a sunflower seedling that slowly turns toward the sun, you may be wondering how to orient yourself to a new normal. 

Whatever you’re feeling, take heart – as Rilke wrote “No feeling is final”. Our feelings are simply cues to the places where we need to focus our attention.

Today I encourage you to heed the voice of your inner guide. You may hear it as a whisper, or a clamour. No matter the volume, ask yourself:

  • What is no longer working in my life?
  • Where do I feel hemmed in or confined to an old way of being?
  • What needs to change? 
  • What new habits will help me thrive?
  • Who in my circle of support can help me grow stronger and deeper?

I offer creative coaching, support and accountability to get you out of overwhelm and into action. Schedule a complimentary coaching session with me, and let’s get the seeds of your growth planted today.

Justine Ickes workshop retreats facilitator coach

A world with a view

A world with a view

I think I caught the culture bug from my grandpa’s View-Master.

You know, the plastic stereoscope with the little round cardboard disks of 3D photos. My grandfather had a whole stash of reels – all about natural history and geography and architecture – with titles like “Tulip Time in Holland” or “Africa – Cairo to Capetown”.

On summer days when it was too hot and humid to be outside, my granddad would crank up the a/c and we’d spend hours looking at the View-Master.

The forests of giant sequoias in California. 

The Seven Wonders of the World.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. 

Kathmandu. 

Samarkand.

Barcelona.

Everything was so big and magical and different. I was only 3 or 4 but I was hooked on travel.

Nowadays, you can get customized viewers and reels to suit just about every fancy – a talking Dora the Explorer, Disney classics, Nascar racing and countless others.

But, none of that stuff was around when I was first introduced to the View-Master.

That’s a good thing. Because my life might’ve turned out a lot differently if my grandfather had been into Huckleberry Hound.

 

What about you? What (or who?!) got you curious about the wide world and other cultures? I’d love to hear.