The Gravity of the Probable

Most people live in the world of what is likely. Breakthroughs happen in the world of what is possible.

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In 4,000 hours of mentorship, I’ve seen the same invisible boundary trip up even the most gifted students. Not a lack of talent. Not intelligence. It's the quiet, invisible cage of probability—the story we tell ourselves about what is safe, realistic, and won’t leave us embarrassed. The problem isn’t that probability is wrong. It’s that probability has gravity, and if we’re not careful, it will keep us from ever testing what could be.

I. The Invisible Boundary

Your brain has a default setting: probability.
It’s efficient. A pruning tool. Out of a billion possible futures, it cuts most away so you can focus on the few that seem likely. This is how the species survived. It’s a perfect tool for navigating the savanna.

But in a world of creation and expansion? Probability is a terrible guide.

Possibility lives elsewhere. It’s the domain of imagination and ambition, where curiosity and resilience intersect. It’s not what’s likely to happen—it’s what could happen if you dared to redraw the map.

Most people never cross that boundary. They live their entire lives under the gravity of the probable. The work is to learn how to escape it.

II. Breaking the Four-Minute Mile

Few stories show this better than the four-minute mile.
For decades, it was treated as impossible. Doctors warned the human body would collapse. Coaches insisted it couldn’t be done.

On May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister ran 3:59.4.

He didn’t just break a record. He broke a collective belief.

What happened next is the real lesson: 46 days later, John Landy ran even faster. By 1957, more than a dozen runners had crossed the barrier. The human body hadn’t suddenly evolved. The shared sense of what was possible had.

One person’s breakthrough redefined everyone else’s probability. That’s the contagion of possibility.

III. Teaching the Possible

This isn’t just a lesson for world-class athletes. It shows up every day in the classroom.

Students don’t fail because they lack ability. They fail because their reference narrative—the story in their head—tells them certain futures aren’t available to them. "I’m not good at math." "I could never do that."

My role as a mentor isn’t just to reteach content. It’s to help redraw the map. Sometimes that meant solving the math problem—but more often it meant telling them a story: about how I once thought I couldn’t do something either, until I stuck with it long enough to realize the story wasn’t true.

When a student sees that crack of possibility open, something changes. Their identity shifts. They stop telling themselves, “I can’t,” and start asking, “What if I can?”

That shift matters more than any single problem solved. It rewrites the future they’re willing to attempt.

IV. The Line Between Possibility and Delusion

This is where the pragmatists get nervous. Where’s the line between pursuing possibility and succumbing to delusion?
From the outside, they can look nearly identical. But they are different in how they relate to reality.

— Delusion ignores evidence. Possibility searches for it.
— Delusion repeats the same failed approach. Possibility adapts and pivots.
— Delusion defends the ego. Possibility invites critique to pursue the truth.

One is fragile. The other is resilient.

V. Betting on the Possible

Probability keeps you safe, but safety is capped. Possibility exposes you to risk, but it’s the only place real growth happens.

This practice I’m building—Engineering Confidence—is itself a bet on the possible. It’s not tutoring. It’s not traditional mentorship. It’s something in between and beyond: a new category that doesn’t yet have a name in most people’s minds.

That comes with risk. Risk of being misunderstood. Risk of indifference. Risk of doing work that feels invisible until the moment it finally lands. But possibility has always been the domain of breakthroughs.

The essence of confidence is acting on a possibility before the world agrees it’s probable.

But possibility isn’t just an idea. It’s a practice. And like any practice, it grows in small, deliberate steps.

VI. Try This: The Possibility Audit

Here’s how you can stretch your own boundaries this week.

1. Name the “Impossible” Goal.
   Write down one vision you hold that feels improbable, maybe even impossible.
2. Map the Gravity.
   List the reasons it feels unlikely: missing skills, lack of resources, fear of judgment.
3. Find One Crack of Possibility.
   Identify one piece of evidence—a resource, a mentor, a past success—that suggests it might not be impossible after all.
4. Take the Smallest Step.
   Do one thing this week to test that crack. Send an email. Ask a question. Sketch the outline.

Possibility doesn’t expand through belief alone. It expands through action.

Closing Thought

Probability is gravity. It keeps you grounded, safe, and efficient. But it also keeps you from flight.

The art of the possible is learning to step beyond it—choosing to risk, to imagine, and to act before the world tells you it’s safe.

And in our moment, with tools like AI at our fingertips—tools that would have seemed like science fiction just years ago—there’s no excuse to stay stuck in the probable.

Curiosity opens the door.
Resilience keeps you standing.
And possibility is the reason to walk through.

About the Author Matt Starolis is the founder of Engineering Confidence, a transformative mentorship practice built on over 3,000 hours of one-to-one mentorship and nearly 1,000 hours of AI-driven analysis. His work is dedicated to helping ambitious learners—and their families—build lives defined by clarity, resilience, and earned confidence.