The other day wasn’t my favorite. No description necessary. It just wasn’t my favorite day. Period. Everything felt hard. Everything felt impossible. Everything felt heavy. Everything felt insurmountable.
I went for a run, and I talked to God. I asked why suddenly everything felt so “off.” I asked why things that only days before had felt organized and under control now felt impossible. My capacity to maintain momentum and lasting change felt impossible. My ability to appropriately navigate grief and pain felt impossible. Life itself, felt impossible. As I was having these thoughts, I methodically rounded a corner and headed up a hill. I’d run this hill a million and one times; it’s a standard part of my regular course. On this particular day, as I rounded that corner, I didn’t break stride as I leaned into the incline. If anything, my pace increased.
And I heard a voice, from deep within my heart, as loud as thunder: “But you’re good at impossible. Look, you’re doing the impossible right this very instant.” And it was true. In that very instant, I was accomplishing the absolute impossible. Only months before, I could hardly walk this very stretch, yet here I was, sprinting effortlessly to the top.
I felt a lump of deep and abiding love and gratitude well up in my throat.
“That which you persist in doing becomes easy . . . not that the nature of the thing has changed, but your power and ability to do has increased.” H.J. Grant
Every day since, when I approach that hill, I open throttle. It’s my reminder that I am capable of anything and that “each day comes to me with both hands full of possibilities” (Helen Keller). I simply have to reach out and take them.