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What could a convict have to say about possibilities? At a time before prison, I would have thought Not very much. Then, there I was, no longer free, in jail, asking myself: How could this happen? How is this possible? Who takes the time to consider such a thing, especially before the fact?

On the other hand, what are the chances of simply having a negative thought—and acting on it? Well, there I was, one of many behind those walls, enclosed, confined.

Possibilities are essentially pathways, alternative spaces, but jail is, by design, restriction and stagnation. In such a place I was surrounded by others who had exercised bad thoughts followed by bad actions. This kind of environment is, on the surface, full of hostility and wickedness, trickling falls of futility and hopelessness flooding in like bad waters, pooling up bit by bit, rising.

Prison brings physical harm, but also psychological damage. Consider the favored prison wisdom phrase: “It is what it is.”

Think about that string of words. What do they convey? I have always cringed at its sentiment, considered it unhelpful at best and unwise at worst. It implies that there are no alternatives, and its essence is surrender.

No alternatives? This could not be so. I needed options, second chances. I heard that arrogant phrase of so-called wisdom, with its absolute conviction, over and over again, and watched as others lived by it. Try and understand the context of such a mindset in the prison environment: What’s done is done. My limits are what they are. My reality is what it is.

No, no, no, I thought. That is the wrong way to view our situation. The mantra stank of defeat, and defeat means that it’s over and can’t be undone. There was a feeling of being lost, with no sense of direction or even destination. I kept replaying the past in my head, wondering. Things had appeared so set in place, so inevitable. Refusing to give in to the flow of my surroundings, refusing to filter life through a layer of impossibilities, I had to admit to myself that the path taken—the one that led to prison—was not the only option I had. Wrong thought and wrong action on my part had kept me on a single course. I had been my own worst enemy. I was following poor directions, and could not afford to continue.

Okay. So in the past I had had options, but didn’t heed them and wound up here, in prison. What now? Inside, dealing with the rising swells of obstacles, what remained? At first it seemed that the answer was bleak. I struggled as waves of stress and doubt trapped me, threatening to drown me.

I was ready for anything, and without realizing it, I had found a life preserver—only it didn’t look like one, at least not at first. Help came as soon as pen met paper. When I came across an address, any place offering resources to the incarcerated, I responded. I wrote letter after letter. Using the written word, I extended my consciousness beyond the perils of prison, seeking reprieve.

Merriam-Webster’s thesaurus lists several words as related to or synonyms for possibility. These words were reflected in my actions: My thoughts were potentiality. Paper and pen, stamps and envelopes, were attainable. Writing and corresponding were practicable. Fortunately, too, I had available family and friends who supported me. Soon I had several correspondences. And momentum.

From the seclusion of my bunk I could very easily have stared at the fuzzy ceiling, raised a white flag and given up. Instead, I learned from my past, acknowledged my terrible choices, maintained right thought during tough times, and discovered that possibilities could still happen. Writing became an opportunity for me, a way of having control and exercising better principles, like empathy and sharing and being proactive. This is a new journey I look forward to, but is it an easier trek now? No. I see it this way: the journey will always have its difficulties. Had I focused my outlook on a limiting philosophy, gotten lured in, I could easily have been hooked and sunk by its impossible weight.

Possibilities are hope and hope is possibilities. Sometimes those are closer than we realize. Mine was right under my nose. In most cases it was cheap, if not free, and became easier to find and more rewarding with each new word. It is what it can be—if we are willing to believe. Don’t give up. Keep searching. Keep trying. Keep the hope alive and keep your outlook open because the possibilities are out there, even in the toughest of circumstances.