Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 4: Adsonare

Re-post of The Advent Writings from last year... we'll get to the new ones around 14 or 15. Patience, young Padiwan - feel the force flow...

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Michael Card's song "Immanuel" is a favorite of mine, and not just in the Advent season. In particular, the words of the last verse:

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

In the midst of the fun and fuzzy feelings of the holidays, I'm thinking about my response. Not just today, but when Advent is a memory, when everything Christmas has been stuffed back into the boxes and put up in the attic, awaiting its next glimpse of freedom in 2012, and when the Christmas Favorites playlist isn't heard for a year or so on the ol' iPod.

When the stage is bare, the lights are off, and the audience has left the theatre, what is left? How do I respond?

Vicki has mentioned this to me after playing in a pit orchestra for a musical, and in our lives as musicians we've experienced this many times: You work together as a group, preparing and polishing the concert (show, recital, play, etc). Many, many hours spent together with the common goal of making the thing as good as you possibly can. Practicing, examining, rehearsing, tweaking, more practicing, all leading up to (at worst) one or (at best) multiple performances. But even in a week-long run, the dreaded closing night finally comes...

Then what?

There's a feeling of emptiness. Loneliness. Many hands working to a common goal, executed with style and love, and over in the blink of an eye. Those united now withdraw as individual parts, never to come together again in quite that same way. If there's not another gig on the books, another show to get into, another goal to practice for, then it all ends. Exit, stage right, blackout.

And it's a terribly dark feeling.

Did you ever wonder why musicians put up with lugging all that equipment, taking it over hill and dale, setting it up, all to play for an hour or two, then to take it all apart and lug it all out again? Did you ever ponder why someone involved in theatre seems to always be either getting ready for a show to open, or auditioning for the next one?

Because the silence between gigs can drive you insane. The whole point of the performing arts is to PERFORM. There's nothing fun or glamorous about practicing by yourself - it's necessary, but not fun. It can be satisfying to see your skills improve, but not fun. (At least it isn't to me - your mileage may vary...) It IS fun to practice with others - the unity of working together and the surprises that come when a group of unique people bring their individual gifts to the table makes for a lot of joy. But then taking that preparation, that common effort, and launching it out there for an audience to (hopefully) appreciate? There's a rush no energy drink can come close to.

And then it ends.

When's the next one? (Not soon enough.) What do we work on now? (Nothing for the moment.) When will we hang out together again and work together again and have this experience again? (Maybe soon, maybe later, maybe never.)

What do I do now? How do I respond when it all ends?

Advent - preparation for the coming of the King. Christmas - the King arrives.

And then? The Christmas costumes are packed away (after laundering, of course), the tree and the star and the shiny bits are carefully boxed up, the memory of the special goodies starts to fade. But the fruitcake remains. With a half life of 10,000 years.

We've celebrated with a common goal. We've gathered over the Sundays of Advent, lighting the Advent wreath all the way up to the final candle. We've been to the concerts, the pageants, the programs, the movies. We've seen the ghosts, learned the lessons, laughed and smiled as a heart is warmed to the message of Christmas. We've given and received. And then the end. How do we respond to these days of celebration when the party comes to a close?

What about those of us who had another knot in a string of holiday wreckage? Where the joy is simply salt in an open wound? Where the brightness of the season simply casts our personal hell into sharper relief? When the over-indulgent expectations of the "perfect" Christmas push us further down the road of hopelessness every year?

Don't get so lost in the brightness that you forget about the darkness. It's waiting out there, just beyond the lights. When the warm glow of Christmas fades, it sees that its time has come.

The holiday that I simply have no use for is New Year's Eve. Never have, never will. It's the final curtain, the ending of the season of light. It stands at the door of the long cold winter, bearing the message, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

(Was that a little overdramatic? Sorry... Although I think it says something profound that the driving force behind New Year's Eve is working hard to make sure you can't remember it the next day.)

I've occasionally had a good New Year's Eve - actually we had a whole string of them years ago celebrating with family and friends, until the kids had the nerve to grow up and put a slamming halt to the whole shebang. I've forgiven them for it, but only a little. Maybe.

When you stand on the threshold of New Year's Eve, all you can see is a dark and icy January waiting. I suspect that it looks that way even in Florida or Arizona or somewhere else warm and sunny, but I've yet to test that theory. (For the record, I'd really like to, sometime.) It's like the letdown after the big celebration. Not even the Rose Parade can help - it just prolongs the agony. (Especially if nobody you care about made it into any of the bowl games.) It's a bandage over a sucking chest wound - a nice thought, but useless.

I once spent an entire Rose Bowl in front of the TV with my dad as he tried to teach me how to knit. I made a lovely long... um... thing. Yeah, I never quite got the hang of it, unlike my dad who could both knit and crochet quite well. Dang. That has nothing to do with the matter at hand, just a cute little family portrait. Think of it as my holiday gift to you!

("Ok, Mister Ray Of Sunshine, thanks for this deep pit of gloom. Got a ladder now, or are you leaving me down here to rot?")

The great hope, the great joy, the great news is that it doesn't end! We celebrate just a part of the story in Advent - the beginning of this chapter. The story began before time, when the Word spun the world out of darkness. The story continued when the Word was a promise that became a covenant to a people. Then we come to the chapter that could be titled, "The Word became flesh..." It's a chapter filled with glory and light and song and appearances and beginnings.

But it's not the ending chapter.

No need for sadness or emptiness or loneliness. It's not time to close the book - this wasn't the last chapter. There is much more to read, many more things to consider, stories to amaze and instruct, to encourage and rebuke. The story goes on.

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

Take the light of this Advent chapter, wrap it all around you, take a deep breath, and jump into the new year. We're not leaving anything behind, rather we're taking it all with us. I can choose to respond to the story by walking with the Storyteller, awake and mindful, watching and listening to Him, to see where He will spin the story next. I can walk in wide-eyed wonder into the adventure of each day. There will be dark days and days filled with incredible light. Days of hard battles and days of unspeakable joy. Just like any good story, there will be conflicts and triumphs, there will be times when you want to yell at the book and throw it out the window, and there will be times when you simply can't put it down - you HAVE to know what happens next.

Perhaps the best response to the season of light is joy and anticipation, filled with wonder as the story continues to unfold, and we see ourselves as a part of it. The story doesn't end, not yet. And neither does the wonder...

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

"The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

Luke 2:20 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 3: Annotare

I'm re-posting The Advent Writings, to hopefully complete them this year. Thanks for putting up with old stuff for a while - new stuff coming...

Annotare - note/jot down, notice, become aware; mark, annotate; record, state; designate

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

Ever notice how when you become aware of one thing, that you notice that thing just about everywhere you look? When we got Gracie, our Mercury Sable...

Yes? I see a hand in the back...

Yes, we do tend to name our vehicles. I have names for some of my instruments, my trike is called Big Blue, and we have way, way too many stuffies from Build-A-Bear, all of which have their own name.

I sleep with a snowy owl called Bubo. I'm not ashamed of that.

Wait - yes I am. Forget you heard that.

Anyway, when we got Gracie, I suddenly noticed that all vehicles became Mercury Sables, most of them were the same burgundy color as ours, and oddly enough, most of them had vanity plates that bore various adaptations of the name Gracie.

I might have been making that last part up.

When our attention gets drawn to something, we tend to see it all over the place. That's why, during my tenure as WCSG's Music Director, I would regularly get calls complaining about the fact that we played this one song about a gazillion times every day. Your attention is drawn to something, so you notice it every time. Hours may have passed between sightings, but all you remember is "there it is again!"

(I call it the Olson Theory of Attention and Time Displacement. No one else does. Wait, Vicki does. But just her.)

Today, what's capturing my attention is the thought of mindfulness - of being awake and aware as the days draw closer to Christmas. And as I do, I see more and more places where God continues to draw attention to Himself.

I see His hand in a blissfully sunny day today, in the clear blue sky, and the gold and brown reminders of the passing of fall.

I see His hand when I encounter an old friend, who I've connected with on Facebook but haven't seen in years. A quick hug, a little re-connection, and a little more brightness to the day.

I see His hand when I'm listening to the Daily Audio Bible, when I've gotten about five days behind and am listening to one that I should have heard two or three days ago, and yet that one is speaking to where I am, right here, right now on this day.

As my attention is drawn more and more to Him, I notice His loving hand moving more and more. As I think about my commitment to write each day leading up to Christmas, I notice more and more of the things I've written about, and more and more of the things that He will lead me to write about.

I think it's supposed to be this way every day, don't you?

"Well Cal," I hear you mutter (and with good reason, I might add...), "I don't have the luxury of sitting around at Biggby, pondering the truths of the universe and then pontificating upon them for all the world's edification. My world moves pretty fast, the load on my shoulders is pretty heavy, and sometimes I'm just glad to make it through the day, let alone making it through while staying mindful and aware."

Indeed. I hear you, I affirm you, and I understand. Living life in a state of open eyes and open mind is a tough discipline, one that I'm just beginning to get a glimpse of. The world assaults the senses, it screams for attention, it's hard to ignore, and more and more it's nigh unto impossible to escape from.

I'll admit - it chases me everywhere in the form of my trusty little iPad, my own window to distraction and oblivion anywhere I find WiFi. Even in bed, late at night when I should be sleeping. *sigh* On the side of balance, that selfsame iPad is what I'm writing on right now - it's like the whole "out of the same mouth comes blessings and curses" thing. Except it doesn't have a mouth, unless I'm watching YouTube.

And if I'm watching a mouth on YouTube, I really REALLY need to shut it off and go to sleep. Or go for a trike ride, depending on time of day and situation. Never both at the same time.

Um, sorry... back to the actual point...

The amazing thing, the hopeful thing is this: the more we notice something, the more something gets on our radar, the more we see it, then the more we make note of it, and the further it gets into our consciousness. We start connecting them together, we scrunch up the time between sightings, and all of a sudden we see God's presence in most everything. We notice more and more, and the mundane gets pushed further and further back.

With eyes and minds wide open, a life of expecting to see God's hand at work every day is the result. How cool is that?

"So, big boy, do YOU live that way, every day, every hour, every minute, eyes and mind open, looking for God?"

*sigh* No I don't, nor do I claim to. And that too is hopeful - I don't trust someone who never admits that there are times when they don't get it right. Perfect people make me nervous... except for Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee. (well, Mary Poppins mostly. Nanny McPhee does make me a little nervous, even though the Nanny McPhee movies are two of my very favorite movies...)

Holy cow - my keyboard must be set on RabbitTrailusMaximus or something today...

But I can honestly say that slowly, slowly, I'm getting my head around living with eyes and heart and mind wide open - so slowly, in fact, that a snail following me says, "could you pick it up a little, Speed Racer?"

When I remember to start my day mindfully turning my attention to Him, when I notice the stuff that would blind and deafen me, when I take my thoughts away from me and my little world, and turn them to Him and His all-encompassing vision, then I take another step forward. Behavior becomes habit. Habit becomes life. And God remains central, right where He should be.

And so in this time of preparation, in this Advent season, it's great to use all the visual Christmas reminders to begin an attention shift that needs to be a lifelong pursuit. I don't have it down yet, nowhere near close. But I've begun.

And that's a good place to start. "A VERY good place to start." (Ok - I crossed Julie Andrews movies there... it's all good. Very good.)

Annotare - notice; become aware...

"My dear friends, this is now the second time I've written to you, both letters reminders to hold your minds in a state of undistracted attention."

2 Peter 3:1 (The Message)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 2: Consideratus

I'm re-posting The Advent Writings this year, since I only got through 14-15 of them last year. So, with the dated references and all, here's day 2...

Consideratus - examine/look at/inspect; consider closely, reflect on/contemplate; investigate (Source: William Whitaker's Words)

What an amazing day! What was supposed to be 1-2 inches of snow turned into a blazingly sunny, chilly but beautiful day. A day when Grand Rapids bid farewell to Fred Meijer. A day when I left the car parked at home, and rode the trike to my Biggby office. Light, marvelous light, brilliant light, abundant light.

I think introspection and deep pondering is best saved for sunny days. Grey days, when one would think it'd be best to curl up with a book and some cocoa in front of a fire, don't make the best pondering days for me. The grey outside tends to call up the grey inside, and it all goes south from there. Do your pondering when the sun is shining, and the light within tends to rise up and join it.

Why yes, I do struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder - why do you ask?

So what do I see?

I see brown all around, the leaves having long left the branches, the world shutting down for a chilly nap. And yet I see people, almost as if they're picking up where nature left off, putting up lights and trees and other shiny bits. Bringing out red and green and gold, wrapping and stars, snowmen and reindeer.

And lights. Lots and lots and lots of lights.

Cozy Christmas sweaters, some of which are so horrible that they should never see the light of day (which is exactly why they get trotted out every year...), make their appearance. We show our willpower and restraint to not hit the Christmas playlist on the ol' iPod until 12:01 on Thanksgiving morning, while at the same time getting disgusted looks on our faces when the seasonal offerings get thrown up on store shelves at 12:01 on Halloween morning.

In some ways, we charge into the season, and can't get there fast enough. In some ways, we dig in our heels and try to keep the days from flying by. And in some ways, we get ready for the letdown that we know is coming, 12:01 on the morning of January 2nd, when the bullet train of the holidays vanishes over the hill, out of sight until next year. The 2011 edition of the Greatest Show in December is a wrap.

What about Advent?

If the season is indeed about preparation, looking forward to the arrival of the King, why does it sometimes feel that when He gets here, we hit a wall at 60 mph - all that rushing force meets the immovable object of the new year. What good is all that preparation if we don't do anything with it after the calendar turns over? We go from Advent to what? Do you know? The Church year is about moving mindfully through the seasons, so what happens next? What are we preparing for?

Not so fast, Grasshopper - we'll turn that page later.

Anticipation, preparation, excitement - not just for the purpose of celebrating one day, or even one week, but for a greater purpose: making the coming of the King a reality in our lives all year long.

What if we go through Advent mindfully aware that all this preparation is not just for celebrating the arrival of the King, but preparing to step into this new year having restored Him to His proper place in our lives? What if the point of this is getting ready to see this entire year as an opportunity to live as people of the King?

What if this year the decorations, the shiny bits, the songs, the celebration... what if the whole point is taking that light and joy and making it an everyday thing, because the King has come? He is here, He is with us, and we don't ever have to live in the darkness alone again.

To take an idea from a song by Sara Groves ("I am the moon, with no light of my own. Still you have made me to shine..."), what if we become the shiny bits, to reflect the King's light all through the new year? What if we ARE the Christmas lights, not to be taken down and stuffed away in a box marked Christmas decorations, but left out to glow beautifully the whole year long? The celebration never ends, never gets swallowed up in the mundane, because He never ends, and He never gets swallowed up in the mundane!

I think my focus through this Advent season is going to be preparation for the year that is coming. I want to mindfully note the joy of Christmas, the way that we all put aside so much of the "same old same old" and embrace the different schedule, the additional gatherings, the busyness, the craziness (much different than madness, by the way) and all the extra good stuff that we cram into this season. Then I want to take that excitement and keep it to sprinkle through the year to come.

We'll celebrate the arrival of the King, but the greatest news is that He stays. He's here. I'd like to see what this new year could look like if I try to live in that reality. To be shining all year with Christmas light.

Instead of dreading the train disappearing over the next hill, taking Advent promise and Christmas joy with it, I want to eagerly climb on board and ride that bad boy into the new year, shining with light that's not my own, looking forward to the adventure that He has waiting for me.

And for each of us.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come,

and the glory of the LORD rises upon you."

Isaiah 60:1 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 1: Introit

Note: Although I'm starting a bit late, I'm re-publishing The Advent Writings, since I only made it through 14 or 15 days last year. So I'll post the ones that are already written, tweaking them a bit for 2012, and hopefully finish the rest this year! 

Introit - enter, go in or into; invade

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Advent - preparing, getting ready, anticipation, expectation...

(Source: Cal's Questionable Randomness)

Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. Now, for those from traditions where the Church Year isn't followed or celebrated, you might not know what that is. Feel free to Google that baby, and come right back.

(insert theme from "Jeopardy")

(repeat theme from "Jeopardy")

(insert sound of crickets)

(add sound of foot tapping)

(and a heavy sigh or two)

Alright, welcome back. Although I must ask, did you really HAVE to check your Facebook and Twitter on the way back? Really? Ok...

The thing I love about Advent, and the thing that made me miss it when we were at a church that didn't celebrate it, is that sense of preparation - taking time in the days leading up to Christmas to prepare for the celebration, to mindfully approach the reason we celebrate, rather than having the holidays rush up and flatten us like a steamroller.

Last year, I was steamrollered.

Now, this was a gestalt thing. Huh? You don't know "gestalt?" Well, go Googl... no. I barely got you back last time. I'll handle this...

Gestalt = "the whole is greater than the sum of the parts"

That'll be enough to carry on with - feel free to explore further. Gestalt is one of those things that help me understand how my world works (or doesn't work sometimes). Anyway, last year I was in my first year post-surgery, still in the middle of the mental chaos and not really recognizing myself yet. Still not working, still learning all the things that go with my new life, still wondering what hit me, what was still kicking my butt, and where it would all lead.

Now, top that with a large dose of holiday madness, seasonal overcommitment, and much, much shorter days for someone who has SAD (look it up - on your own time), and you've got a happy season but not a happy camper. Any part of this is bearable - put it all together, and gestalt makes it a stone around your neck. The relief came in the form of a white-knuckle drive to Missouri, a truly amazing Christmas spent with dear family, and taking January off to think, to write, and to let the dust settle.

So I'm a little anxious about Advent this year. And am determined to NOT have a replay of the previous year. (Except for the Missouri thing. I SO wish we could go back, but that's not the plan this year. It'll be nice to have Christmas at home, in our church with our friends and family, but Missouri was AMAZING!) So here begins the writings of Advent. I'm going to try and write each day of Advent, starting now, and use my blog to keep myself grounded. I want to get to Christmas day with a joyful, thankful heart, overwhelmed with the reality of God's son, not only as the babe in the manger, but the living, loving Lord of my life today and every day.

I have two, possibly three extra things on my calendar for this month, and that's it. (Hopefully, anyway - if someone named DeVos or VanAndel happened to call and say "we need some whistle background for a gala event," yeah, I'd take that call... Come to think of it, if someone named [insert any name here, including yours] happened to call and say "we're having a Sunday School / Small Group / Senior Saints / Church Banquet / YouGetTheIdea gathering and want some background music," yeah, I'd take that call. I love to play, especially Christmas music, and I only have one gig on the books to play at this year. I might take my windsynth along to Christmas dinner this year, just to get to play my faves... we'll see. :-D)

Other than that, I'm keeping things out of the schedule. Work projects, they continue. Voice work for WCSG, check. Editing work, yes. But extra parties, activities, etc? Not so much. A few mindful things with friends, time to watch some of my favorite Christmas movies (The Polar Express! A Christmas Carol - the Patrick Stewart version, which rocks the world!), but most importantly, time to listen, to think, to read and to write. In this way, I hope to prepare, to heal, to get ready, and to mindfully celebrate the joy of our Savior's birth.

The Advent Writings will give me a place to express wonder and joy, a place to shed some sadness from the past, to ask some questions of the present, and to look to the future, when our Christmas joy is made real and our faith is made sight. Thanks to all 1.394217 of you (we've lost a few since I last counted, but hey - it's the holidays) for joining me for this ride. Hopefully God will use these random babblings to get our eyes on Advent, on Jesus, and on being ready for the coming of the King - then AND now and to come.

"Oh come to my heart, Lord Jesus - there is room in my heart for Thee."

Without A Net

I hate it when I have to jump without a net. it doesn't seem right that a Father who loves me, who takes good care of me, and who promises never to leave me, would ask me to take a flying leap without being able to see where I will land.

I mean, come on? Just jump on out there? I know - I know, You said jump. You told me that where I'm standing is dangerous ground for me, that it's doing me more harm than good. The longer I stand on this ground, the heavier my feet get, the more my legs lock up, and the harder it is to move, let alone jump.

But there's nothing in front of me.

Yeah, yeah... Just jump. You'll catch me.

I CAN'T SEE YOU!

Sorry to shout, but there it is. There's nothing in front of me but nothing. Meanwhile, I've got bills to pay, obligations to meet, deadlines that I've left so long that it embarrasses me to even look at them. I have clutter and crap, stuff that's choking my existence down to nothing, a prison of my own making that i'm powerless to break down - I can't see past these foot-thick walls, how am I expected to jump past them? Jump... into...

WHAT? There's nothing there.

My story? I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've been behind these walls for so long now, months and months, that I don't really believe my story anymore. Oh, I know it happened - I mean, look at me? My size shows that it happened. BUT, if it really happened, why have 15 pounds returned (and climbing)? Where's the joy, the hope, the love? Maybe it was just that - a story. Nice to read, makes a tear come to the eye and a pitter-patter come to the heart, but that's it. A brief escape, then back to the mundane.

I do remember "My chains are gone, I've been set free." Yes, I do. But chains can be reforged. Hooks can be refastened. Locks work in two directions - open and closed. Maybe the chains were shattered, but lately they feel more like they just got some slack, eased the tension, tricked my mind, and when my guard is down and I'm running away, full-tilt into the sunshine, SNAP! JERK! CHOKE! I'm on my back, gasping for air.

I see. Yes - You're right. Where I'm standing is very dangerous ground. Fine - SHOW ME where the next step will land. One step - the ledge where my foot will catch, the one rung left on the ladder, anything. We've pared back the numbers, we're working the budget. We're not doing it perfectly, but we're getting close. But if I can't see a way to replace this ground in the numbers, I CAN'T MOVE. Can't You see that?

"Give us this day, what we need for this day."

I know - I DO believe that.

But...

I mean, I can't argue with the numbers. I don't even understand numbers. All I know is that it's all based on what we've got. If we don't got, it don't work. It go boom, crash, flop, splat. My job is to make sure it don't go splat. So I stand on this spot. That keeps it from going splat. Those numbers - $125/wk or 20 hrs @ minimum wage - those are my reality.

No, I didn't always believe that those were reality. You were real, my story was real, joy was real, the limitless possibilities of being ReBorn - they were real.

But...

I need to work, right? To make things function in THIS world, not let them go splat, right? I mean, You were the one who led me to this ground, right? You called me here, You put me here, You told me to do stuff here...

Which means You're the one who can call me someplace else. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I get that.

JUST TELL ME WHERE!!

Again, sorry about the shouting. Do You think we'd know that David sometimes yelled at You if CapsLock had been invented back then?

Never mind. You were there.

Yes, I know it's time to move. I know that I've learned what you brought me here to learn, I know that I'm losing a little more of who I am the more I stay here, and I realize that it's only getting harder the longer I stay put.

But without a place to land, things will go splat. I'LL go splat. I don't want to go splat. I don't want things to go splat and splatter all over my beloved.

And hey - did You think about her? She's happier, more at peace when things don't go splat. She not only knows the numbers, she understands what they mean. So she gets it - if I jump without a net, without a foothold or a handhold, without someplace to land, I'm not the only one who goes splat. You told me to love her with my whole life, to follow His example in loving the church, so that's what I'm doing. I'm on this ground to keep her safe.

How can I jump?

Yeah, she DOES know that it's time to move. She sees me slipping away from what is really real, she sees me digging the chains out of the rubbish and hooking them back up, she sees the frustration and the sadness. And she's confused - how can someplace that has taught me so much suddenly be someplace I shouldn't stay anymore. How does someplace You brought me suddenly become a bad place for me to be?

No, I don't blame the place. The place is the same as it was when I arrived. It's a decent place, not a cesspool overflowing with evil. It continues to help provide for our needs. And for some, it's a perfect place for them to be.

So what happened? I learned what I came here to learn? I served in the way You asked me to serve? I went where You said to go, and learned the obedience lesson?

(And failed it immediately, since you have said JUMP, and so far, there's been a total absence of jumpage.)

All of the above, including the epic fail? Yeah, probably...

So, in answer to Your question, YES we both are suffering with me standing where I am. We're both confused that the good place You brought me is now not so good for me. We're both frustrated that we know it's past time to leave, but we're both paralyzed... how can I jump without someplace to land? Someplace to make the numbers work and no splat?

How can I jump without a net?

I know - I know. You'll catch me. I get that.

BUT I CAN'T SEE YOU!!

I know - I know. You can see me.

How can I jump without a net?