The Possibility of Impossibility

The Possibility of Impossibility

When I was about 7 or 8, I remember walking outside on a bright day. It must have been mid-spring and the trees were slowly filling with new leaves, while the air had a crisp edge.

The front driveway was ringed by large trees, with a central “open spot.” The driveway was just hardened, yellow, high-desert dirt, rutted here and there with years of car-parking.

I remember noticing how wonderful the air felt and how vast the trees were. I remember thinking, matter-of-factly, that I could just exist up at the top level of the trees, right there in the open sky. At that moment, in that place, it was perfectly possible to just walk right up there and stand, suspended in the slightly warm, still, air. It was easy to become part of the skyline. Part of the universe.

Taking a few steps forward, I felt the “air” beneath my feet. I walked into the sky and stood at the crown level of the trees, feeling light and perfect. It seemed natural and completely possible. It never occurred to me that it could be impossible.

I stood there for a moment and resisted the urge to walk higher into the sky. I even thought, “I better not go too high or I might not be able to get down.”

I descended down the arc and stepped back onto the hard driveway floor.

It was exhilarating and simple.