I just finished watching Mission: Impossible, and there’s something about the whole franchise—the stunts, the impossible feats, the relentless hero—that keeps tugging at me long after the credits roll.
So I got curious and took it to my journal.
What is it, I wonder, that draws so many people—especially Americans—to these high-octane, violent, wildly unrealistic stories?
And then a sentence came to me:
Sometimes we need to see someone hang from a plane to believe we can keep going. 
Because life does feel impossible sometimes.
Because many of us are dangling by our fingers—over grief, over change, over aging, over decisions we didn’t ask for but must make.
Because we want to believe that someone can pull themselves up and out.
Watching Tom Cruise sprint across rooftops, cling to cliffs, outrun fireballs, and ride a motorcycle off a cliff into a breathtaking base jump—and knowing it’s really him—somehow makes the impossible feel just a little more believable.
If he can do that, maybe we can do our version of the impossible, too.
In many ways, that’s the American myth: the lone hero, the self-made fixer, the one who never quits.
But I also wonder—at what cost?
We glorify action over stillness.
Control over surrender.
Adrenaline over vulnerability.
We admire strength so much, we forget to honor softness.
We watch destruction that looks beautiful—and rarely grieve the wreckage.
And yet—I get it.
I’ve lived through moments that felt like hanging from the side of something, unsure if I’d find the strength to pull myself back.
So maybe it’s okay to let these stories in.
Not to worship them—but to reflect through them.
To notice what they awaken in us.
To ask:
- What is the impossible mission I’m facing right now?
- What kind of courage does it ask of me—not the kind that runs on rooftops, but the quiet kind that gets up again?
- Who have I imagined as the hero?
- And what happens when I realize… it might just be me?
Let this be your journaling invitation today.
Because even if you’re not hanging from a plane, you may still be clinging to something that feels bigger than you.
I’m not at all a Tom Cruise fan. But.
Two weeks ago I had a stroke. I am learning to walk properly and to speak logically again. It is a rough job. It is bigger than me. And its the not-impossible mission I’m confronted with. Even though I don’t like Tom Cruise.
Thanks for being here at just the right time.