Originally published in The Newnan Times-Herald, read here.
I remember a movie from the early 1980s that stayed with me longer than I expected. In one scene, the main character is pushed to the edge of his strength. He is exhausted, overwhelmed and cornered. Someone in authority keeps asking him the same question, again and again, demanding an answer that will decide what happens next.
At the time, I thought it was just a dramatic moment in a movie. Years later, I realized it was something else. It was a question we all get asked, quietly and repeatedly, throughout our lives.
What do you believe is possible?
Most of us carry a list of things we have labeled impossible. We rarely remember when we assigned that label. It may have come from a failure, a disappointment, a conversation or a season that did not turn out the way we hoped. Over time, the word settles into our lives. It moves from opinion to fact.
Impossible becomes our authority.
I see it show up in two familiar statements. I can’t do that. Or you can’t do that. It appears in conversations with neighbors who believe a relationship cannot be repaired. In people who have decided a career change is no longer an option. In communities convinced that division is permanent or that progress is out of reach. When the word is directed inward, it does quiet damage because it rarely arrives shouting. It usually sounds reasonable.
Impossible says, do not try.
Impossible says, stay where you are.
Impossible says, accept this as final.
The problem is not that life presents real limits. It does. The problem is how quickly we hand authority to a word without questioning it.
Years ago, I noticed how often I described opportunities as “not possible.” I had built my own firewalls. I don’t have the time. Too much happening at work. Not enough money. My kids are keeping me busy. You know the list. I was using a softer version of impossible to avoid admitting what I was really doing. I was surrendering to it.
Not because something truly could not be done, but because I was uncomfortable with uncertainty, effort or change. The word gave me cover. It sounded wise. It felt safe. But safe is not the same as true.
We are shaped by the words we define ourselves with. Our relationships, neighborhoods and communities are shaped by the words we allow to guide our decisions. When impossible becomes the authority, we stop engaging. We stop listening. We stop offering what we have to give. The cost is not just personal. It is shared.
The opposite of impossible is not reckless optimism. It is responsibility. It is the willingness to ask better questions. What is one step forward? What is still within my control? What have I been avoiding?
Progress rarely comes from declarations or slogans. It comes from refusing to let a single word decide the outcome before we act.
So pay attention to where the word impossible shows up this week. Notice what it is protecting. Then ask whether it deserves the authority you have given it. Sometimes the most important shift is not changing the situation, but changing who gets to decide what happens next.
And very often, it should be you.
When people step toward what they once believed was impossible, our families, neighbors and community benefit. We get the gift of seeing what was always there, waiting.
