Introduction:The Embodiment of Possibility
During an interview a few years ago, I was asked how it felt to be a “role model” for Black girls and women. My answer was that I didn’t wish to be seen as a role model—I instead preferred to be considered a “possibility model.”
Being a role model brings with it a weight of responsibility and an ego that I have no interest in carrying. I don’t think so highly of myself as to believe anyone should follow the path I’ve taken, because a lot of the time, I use a strategy called Figure It Out as You Go. There have been successes, mistakes, pivots from Plan A to Plan B to Plan Z, and a general sense of leaping and hoping the net appears beneath me. That’s been true in my career, in my relationships, in motherhood, and in life in general.
I’ve always felt more comfortable offering the gift of possibility. Where a role, specific idea, or suggestion can feel somewhat limiting, possibility is expansive and dynamic and grants autonomy to the person being invited to open their eyes to the opportunities in front of them. Possibility allows for new opinions and ideas to emerge, even if they are in conflict with previously held beliefs. It supports growth, and it leaves room for the messiness of life. In living lives true to ourselves, we can forge paths that become possibility models for others as they navigate their own journeys. As we grow and new generations take our place, we pass our possibility models down to them.
The two most important recipients of my gift of possibility are my daughters. Layla, my Little Magician, came first. Three years later, Zuri, my Lil Bird, arrived to complete our Quammie Girl Gang triad. It’s a delicious bit of serendipity to realize that as I give birth to this literary baby—a book about possibility—my own children’s nicknames speak that same language. The Magician can create out of thin air, and the Bird can take flight, effortlessly moving from one place to another. These are the things that make the impossible possible.
As their own possibilities continue to proliferate, they have, in return, taught me more than I could have ever imagined about my own. While writing this book, I have relearned lessons I thought had long ago settled into my brain, blood, and bone. I have considered and reconsidered the possibilities of life—what I feel like I know for sure, and what I imagine it could be. Possibility has presented itself in my life through struggle, through being sick and tired of being sick and tired, through loving and being loved. Through loss, through grief, through repeatedly returning to the belief in its abundant presence—crucially, through realizing that my daughters haven’t yet had to remind themselves that possibility is theirs to indulge in, because they’ve never forgotten. And I don’t ever want them to.
Many of the stories and reflections you’ll find in the pages that follow grew from observations about how my daughters move through the world. They are words of wisdom I’ve discovered along the way, gleaned from my own experiences in life. Some of my missives are short, and others a little longer, but each represents something I learned at a key moment in my life. Some make note of the recurrent reminders of the abundance and possibility within my own life. When did I instinctively reach for possibility, and when did cynicism win? Others ask what I would do the same way again, and what would I do differently? Sometimes the lessons build on one another, and occasionally they conflict. That’s life. It’s messy, it’s not linear, and there are so many ways to approach it. This book sprouted when I truly couldn’t see what my next step would be or where it would take me. Open the pages of this book, explore the possibilities, and seek out the words you most need to hear, when you need them.
I offer this book as a guide to my daughters and to you—you, the woman who is figuring out who you are in this world; you, who need a reminder of the breadth and depth of possibility; you, who may need a sign that there is a different way to do this thing called life, no matter how far along in the game you are. To our daughters and ourselves: may we find our way.
Copyright © 2025 by Bee Quammie. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
