Recently, I had the chance to listen to an interview with Simon Sinek. I’ve always appreciated the way he brings things to a human level—helping us find a different perspective so that we can make better choices.
The question they were discussing was how we should introduce ourselves. An age-old dilemma. It usually starts with “What do you do?” or perhaps “Tell me something about yourself.”
Our first response is almost always to begin with whatever we see as our most dominant role at the time.
I am a business executive.
I am a business analyst.
I am a business owner.
I am a teacher.
I’m a proud grandmother.
Or we lead with our industry, which for me was supply chain logistics.
Simon Sinek’s view was that we’re getting this wrong. And honestly, his take came as a relief to me—because all of those answers, while true, don’t really say anything about who we are.
His answer is quite different. He’ll tell you that he is an optimist and an author. Simple. Not comprehensive. But it reflects the heart of everything he does.
It made me pause.
What would I lead with?
For me, it is this: I am a possibilitarian and a writer.
I’ve always embraced that idea personally, but only recently have I begun using it as my introduction. And since I have, it has led to some meaningful conversations—and even better questions.
The first question is usually where the word came from. I first encountered it in Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking. With all of the lessons in that book, that is the one that stayed with me.
Part of the reason it resonated so deeply is that it wasn’t new. It was something I had already been witnessing my entire life.
My heritage is filled with stories of people who were each possibilitarians in their own way—people who saw beyond what was in front of them and acted accordingly. Outside of my spiritual heritage, that may be the greatest gift I’ve received.
The second question is almost always this:
How is possibility thinking different from positive thinking?
It’s an important distinction, because we tend to fuse them together—as if they represent the same point of view. We reduce it to whether the glass is half full or half empty.
But that’s not what this is about.
It isn’t about how you see the glass.
It’s about what you see as possible from what is already there.
What could you do with it?
What might it become with just a bit of stretch?
In the end, nothing may shape our lives more profoundly than our ability to do just that.
Peale captured it this way:
“I challenge you to become a possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are, raise your sights and see the possibilities—always see them, for they are always there.”
I’ve always been curious about where our words come from, and the root meaning of possible is telling:
Being able — having the power to act.
Capable of making happen.
Not hopeful. Not hypothetical.
Capable.
But capability only matters if we believe we have choices worth acting on.
We’re often told that life is shaped by our choices. But that’s only part of the truth.
What actually shapes our lives are the choices we believe we have.
And too often, we limit those without even realizing it.
We choose between A and B, never imagining that C might exist—or that we could create D ourselves.
Another way to think about it comes from something as simple as color. If the choices are blue or red, but what you really need is purple, you don’t choose—you create it.
We make decisions inside frameworks we didn’t design, without questioning whether the structure itself is the constraint.
What if the problem isn’t the decision… but the assumption that the options in front of you are all you get?
Poor decisions are rarely about bad judgment. More often, they begin with a narrow set of choices.
That’s why possibility thinking matters.
It isn’t about choosing better.
It’s about seeing differently.
Because sometimes, the most powerful option isn’t on the palette yet.
We have to create it.
Urgency pressures us to decide.
Possibility invites us to imagine.
You’re not always responsible for the options you’re given. But you are responsible for questioning them.
Some choices are clear. Others ask more of you. They ask you to redefine what’s possible.
And in doing so, they begin to define you.
That shift—from choosing within to creating beyond—is where being a possibilitarian begins to take hold.
And over time, it changes not just what you do… but how you do it—and who you become in the process.
Emily Dickinson wrote, “I dwell in Possibility—” and each time I return to those words, I’m reminded that dwelling is not passive.
You don’t wander into possibility by accident.
You choose it.
You inhabit it.
You live from it.
And when you do, what once felt out of reach begins to feel… possible.
Originally posted on The Possibility Factor (Substack) by Kathi Laughman on April 22, 2026
