Curiosity of Anything is Possible

I grew up with brothers playing in the dirt, racing bicycles, and throwing footballs. Hot wheels were our favorite toys in which we built roads with cliff edges, jumps, and pit stops. My Hot Wheels could race around the track from a sofa cliff to the downtown Lego village in a millisecond. Time stood still as the cars and trucks floated through the air at high speeds. When I got my first driver’s license, I quickly learned that vehicles didn’t have the same properties as my Hot Wheels. One winter morning I was behind the wheel of my grandmother’s Oldsmobile, skimming over a small layer of snow with the radio blaring. Suddenly the front tires turned toward the barbwire fence at the right of the road. The car took out two wooden posts before coming to a halt and I turned to my brother to ensure he lived through it. We were a half-mile from the nearest neighbor and three miles from our house. My dad came to our rescue pulling us out of the field and fixing the broken fence. Thankfully, the Oldsmobile suffered only minor dings. There was a rush of adrenaline and although my parents warned me about driving too fast, I couldn’t stop. I was in a constant hurry behind the wheel and in life. I was in a hurry to grow up, to get out of the small town, and to be out of my parents’ house. I pushed every vehicle to the limit and suffered a few additional off-road collisions.

My senior year of high school adults asked what my plans were after graduation as though they expected me to know my entire life. I had rushed to get to graduation but then froze with unlimited possibilities. I could do or be anything I wanted, and it scared me to my core. I spent the next few years trying to figure out who I wanted to be. I traveled, studied, played on the beach, drove cross-country, worked in various states, pushed the boundaries of my upbringing, challenged my beliefs, and finally settled into a career. A few years later, I felt stuck in the career I had chosen. My parents and grandparents were of generations that stayed with one employer their entire working life. To them, it was loyalty but to me it was robotic, and I didn’t know how to reinvent myself.

One of the practices of Emphory is Anything is Possible. When I was introduced to this practice, it sounded romantic and inspiring. If anything is possible, I can have anything I could imagine. However, I’ve learned my focus can directly affect the feeling behind the phrase. When I was playing with Hot Wheels, floating through the air from sofa cliffs, “anything is possible” was expansive and inviting. There were no limitations to where or how the Hot Wheels traveled. Then I experienced physical limitations. The year I graduated high school “anything is possible” was daunting and scary because of the limitations I viewed of myself.

As I practice “anything is possible” in my life today, I have learned that the lens I look through has the biggest impact on how it makes me feel. To me, it is tied to having innocent curiosity. My husband and I now start a lot of conversations with “If Anything is Possible…” We explore our future through the lens of innocence. We discuss possibilities through curiosity without a right or wrong. I have found that approaching our lives this way has opened us to ideas we wouldn’t have previously considered. We have learned more about ourselves, opportunities, and potential by being curious and unleashing the limiting beliefs that previously bound us. There is magic in the innocence of youth and the power of limitless possibilities that we can continue to live in, even as adults.

I was recently on a walk with a podcast buzzing in my ears when I approached a section of sidewalk that led to an assisted living facility. I would be turning slightly to the right to continue along a ditch-bank toward a park. As I neared the intersection of the sidewalks, I spotted a woman walking from the facility and, based on her speed, we were going to cross one another at the intersection. I was consumed with the podcast, the thoughts in my head, and keeping my pace therefore exchanged smiles and buzzed ahead of her. Then suddenly I stopped. Perhaps she reminded me of my grandmother or perhaps I wanted to ensure she hadn’t snuck from memory care. Regardless of the reason I stopped, turned, and asked how she was. The 92-year-old woman and I engaged in a delightful conversation that day enjoying the sun in our faces and breeze in our hair. We walked and talked together to the park where she turned around to head back. I hadn’t walked that slowly in a long time and I truly enjoyed learning about her and her life. When I live with “anything is possible” in mind, I can slow down, I can experience life at different paces, I can love the life I’m living, and I can live the life of my dreams.