Awhile back, upon a visit to Colorado, I wanted to go hiking with my son and grandson. Time together, beautiful surroundings, and a little challenge. That sounded like something I would enjoy.
As we were planning, I asked, “Is this difficult?”
The response was reassuring: “No! Grandma, you can do this.”
So, I went along.
WELL. It was quite a bit more difficult than I expected. There were rocks and unsteady stretches of trail, and I slipped a few times. I like to challenge myself, but this hike asked more of me than I had anticipated.
It gave me something to think about. We can look at the same activity and experience it very differently. Our abilities, age, skill level, and familiarity all influence what feels manageable. What seems easy to one person may take considerable effort from another.
My son and grandson were encouraging me. We just needed a more detailed conversation about the trail and what walking it would involve for me.
I have continued walking on trails with shorter inclines and steadier surfaces. I still get to be outdoors. I still get to move and enjoy the surroundings. There is room to challenge myself while paying attention to what works for me.
And that brings me to possibility.
When an activity interests us, we can pause and ask what draws us to it. For me, hiking includes time with my family, being outside, exploring, and feeling challenged. Understanding those things gives us more to work with when choosing a trail.
A walking stick or cane might offer some support. We can also consider the surface, distance, incline, pace, and opportunities to rest. Each of those details can influence the experience.
The more I thought about this, the more I thought about other individuals and families. Parents supporting adult children with a wide range of disabilities. Families helping an aging parent stay involved in things they enjoy. People whose needs do not fit neatly into available services. And people noticing changes in their own abilities and wondering how to keep pursuing their interests.
Each person’s circumstances and support needs are different. Looking for possibilities also means recognizing real barriers and the assistance or changes someone may need to participate.
For me, this is where looking, listening, and problem-solving together become so important.
Before we begin, we might ask:
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What does this person want to do, and what appeals to them about it?
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What will the activity actually involve?
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What might make participation difficult?
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What support, preparation, or changes could help?
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How can we leave room to pause, change the plan, or try another approach?
When we are supporting someone else, their preferences belong at the center of that conversation. We can ask, listen, observe, and make space for them to show us what they want. Our enthusiasm can be helpful when it comes with an understanding of their experience.
We will not anticipate everything. Sometimes we learn by trying, as I did on that hike. Then we can use what we learn to revise the next experience together.
This is the thinking that connects my work in advocating, creating, and teaching: noticing what matters to someone and exploring ways to make participation possible. Whether we are choosing an art tool, planning an outing, or exploring an interest, we can look closely at the person, the activity, and the possibilities for bringing them together.
That is part of what being a Possibility Architect means to me. Helping make room for choices, interests, and meaningful participation. Sometimes that begins with a simple question: “What could help this work for you?”
I still want to walk, explore, and enjoy Colorado with my family. Now I know more about the kinds of trails that help me do that.
What is something you—or someone you support—would like to pursue, and what might help make it possible?