What Once Felt Impossible
Has anyone ever told you that something was impossible?
Yeah, me too.
People say that all the time — about dreams, about change, about healing. About faith. About purpose. About art.
And when you’re in a season of transition — when the ground is shifting under you and nothing quite fits anymore — those words start to echo. Impossible.
Maybe your faith is expanding in ways that look, to the outside world, like it’s falling apart. You’ve outgrown the box you were handed, and the idea that there could be a spiritual path wide enough for what you now feel… it just seems impossible.
Or maybe things on the outside look great. The job is solid. The family is good. The LinkedIn is clean.
But inside? It’s hollow. There’s a gnawing question you can’t shake: Is this all there is?
And the thought of disentangling from the life you’ve built — to chase meaning instead of momentum — feels impossible.
It could be that you’re a creative — a writer, a musician, an entrepreneur, a designer, or just someone who sees things differently. You’ve learned how to play the game, how to fit in, how to wear a version of yourself the world will accept. But it’s killing something inside you.
Maybe your best work — your truest work — is still buried beneath the surface — waiting. And the idea of being seen for who you really are? That might be the most impossible thing of all.
I get it. Every one of those paths has been mine.
So a few years ago, I started looking for a way through. I worked with coaches and spiritual guides, with pastors and skeptics, with artists and thinkers and wanderers of every stripe. And over and over again, I kept hearing one quiet, persistent truth:
Do the thing your heart is aching to do. Do it scared. Do it slow. Do it now.
And that’s how I ended up here — on this path.
Maybe you’ve seen the whispers — quiet reflections scattered along the way.
Or maybe you’ve noticed the spiral — quiet but unignorable, asking to be recognized, even in silence.
Maybe you sensed they were part of something larger. A trail of breadcrumbs. A map forming in real time — leading somewhere not yet uncovered.
Today, I’m renaming this Substack. Two Chairs is becoming Impossible Path.
Because what once felt impossible… doesn’t anymore.
I’ll keep sharing what I’m learning — and doing my best to spark motion. But this isn’t just about me — or my journey. My deepest hope is that this becomes a sacred space for all of us — the ones in between, the ones becoming, the ones unsure but still moving.
If you’ve been here for a while, thank you. You’ve been walking this path with me already. And if you’re new — welcome. You belong here too.
Stay close. There’s more to come.
Let’s see where this leads.
Welcome to the Impossible Path.
