The word “impossible” elicits many reactions in different people.
There are those who don’t think much of it: “Yes, that’s impossible. Would you like one sugar or two?”
There are those who question it: “But what makes it impossible?”
And there are those who challenge it: “Nothing is impossible; watch me!”
But an even scarier word is “improbable”.
Unlikely, unconvincing, questionable, implausible, uncertain. It’s a terrifying word because it implies probability, it implies possibility.
And possibility implies failure. Heart-wrenching disappointment. A shining vision of hope tarnished to an unappealing memory of what could have been.
So excuses are made. “It costs too much.” “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” “I don’t have the connections.” And, in a paradoxical protection of the heart, hopes are denied in favor of predictable stability, and are entertained only in the secrecy of the small hours of the night.
I’ve always been a traveler. If I’m in one place for too long, I start to get restless, and my feet itch for the open road. But the thought of leaving everything behind is paralyzing. I tucked away my desires to travel and told myself, “Maybe some day. But not today.”
But the idea had planted itself in my brain, and somewhere along the way I switched from saying, “I want to travel” to “I’m going to travel.” It only grew from there.
Last week, I bought plane tickets. From mid-July to mid-August, I will be doing something I’ve never done, in a country I’ve never been to, for reasons I still don’t know beyond, “I want to.”
I can’t wait.
What is something you’ve always dreamed of doing?