Possible vs. Probable: The Dream and the Dirt
One scratch, one lucky break — that’s all it’ll take, he tells himself.
One door flung open by fate.
A woman scrolls her feed, wide-eyed, hungry.
Someone dancing, someone ranting, someone famous for being famous —
and she wonders, when will the world see me too?
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
A kid laces up at a tournament, eyes searching for scouts.
Hoping this game will change everything.
But he’s way back on court 62 —
the dead-end court where the kids who haven’t really put in the work
run through the motions while the big games — the real ones —
are being played on the wood courts up front,
where the lights are bright and the recruiters sit.
Possible is sweet.
Possible is the promise whispered through screens:
“Keep wishing, keep scrolling, keep waiting.
Your miracle’s coming. You’ll be chosen next.”
Possible is luck, dangling like bait.
And luck loves to be chased by the ones who won’t pick up a shovel.
Meanwhile, the bricks sit there —
quiet, dusty, honest.
Probable never struts. It doesn’t dance for your likes.
It waits to be lifted, stacked, cemented in place —
one after another, after another, after another.
A marriage that lasts isn’t luck.
It’s probable when two people keep choosing each other
when it’s boring, when it’s hard,
when the bed is cold and the fight isn’t fair.
Money in the bank isn’t luck.
It’s probable when someone says no
to the thing that feels good tonight
and yes to the thing that feels right for years.
Trust isn’t luck.
It’s probable when a dog learns that food shows up,
walks happen, hands stay gentle,
every day, same time, rain or shine.
Look around:
We have kids who can tell you who they want to look like —
but ask what they want to be,
and all they know is “famous.”
We have grown folks sitting on couches,
scrolling for miracles that will never knock.
Whole families dreaming up viral moments —
while the bricks they should be laying crumble into dust.
Possible is the sugar.
Probable is the dirt under your fingernails.
Possible feels like hope.
Probable is hope with work boots on.
Someone once said: “That’s the thing about luck —
the harder I work, the luckier I get.”
So get up.
Pick up the brick.
Lay it straight.
Lay another.
Stop waiting for lightning.
Stop scrolling for saviors.
Teach your kids that fame is a vapor
and usefulness is an anchor.
Possible is a dream.
Probable is the ground beneath your feet.
Work the ground.
Lay your bricks.
That’s where the miracle lives.
Because if you don’t build what’s probable,
you’ll spend your whole damn life waiting on luck
that never had your name on it.
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