I had tea with a new friend last week.
Three sips in to my chai latte, she said something that made spit up all over myself, like a newborn baby.
“I do this thing,” she began, “where I force myself to do 3 impossible things a week.”
How brave, I thought, as I patted off the liquid that spewed out of my nose and my mouth and on to my wrinkled $5 blouse from the clearance section of Anne Taylor Loft.
I do this thing where whenever someone says something unusual or admirable, I forget how to swallow the liquids in my mouth and instead spit them out. I have the tendencies of a newborn baby – yet i’m almost 30.
“Wow, like what?” I asked. Desperate to hear the kind of things this new friend of mine tackles week to week that are impossible. Does she go from sitting on the couch to running a half marathon? From eating a meat-heavy diet to now being a strict Vegan? Does she find a way to (legally) make double her salary in one month?
“Little things,” she replied, as if she knew my mind was running rampant trying to figure out the kind of impossible things a human being can do every week. “I email that person on the bottom of my to-do list. I ask my boss for something that terrifies me. I give a food I don’t like at all a second chance.”
Three impossible things, I thought to myself of what mine might be this week and all of a sudden, I thought of at least 15 things.
“Only three?” I said back to my tea-drinking friend.
“Get through three and it’ll feel like you just climbed your own internal Mt. Everest.”
I’m getting started on my first impossible thing right now.
Tell me, what are yours?
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