Will You Trust What You Know More Than What You See?

Hey friend,

It’s Sunday morning. I snuck out of the house while my two kids, our 100-pound dog Bailey, and our two cats were still asleep—all cuddled up in my king-sized bed. It’s 7 a.m., and I’m the only one in this coffee shop. It’s still and quiet—just me, my whole milk latte, and this nudge that won’t let me go.

Usually, I spend this time journaling or reading A Course in Miracles to center myself for the day ahead. But today, something different moved through me. I felt a strong, undeniable urge to write to you. One of those divine nudges I’ve learned to trust.

I can tell the difference now—between a nudge from fear (which usually wants validation, admiration, attention)… and a nudge from love. This one was love. Which means it’s not just for me. It’s for us. That’s what inspiration is: when something blesses the whole, not just the self.

So here I am. Writing. Mid-air.

Let me explain.

The Sacred Trapeze

I’ve come to see life as a trapeze act. We spend years holding tightly to a familiar swing—belief systems, identities, roles, coping mechanisms. Then one day, for whatever reason (grace, heartbreak, burnout, awakening), we let go.

That was me, five years ago. I let go of the old swing—the one made of fear, control, ego, appearance, hustle, perfectionism, and false safety. I let go… but for a long time, I hadn’t yet grabbed onto anything new.

And that space in between?

It’s terrifying.

It’s lonely. It’s disorienting. You’re flying through the air with no handle in sight, no instructions, no certainty. And the only handle you can still see is the one you already let go of—which starts to look oddly appealing once mid-air panic sets in.

People still clinging to the old swing don’t understand this part.
They look at you with confusion, pity, or quiet judgment.
“What happened to him?”
“He used to have it all together…”

But beneath those concerned glances and sideways remarks, there’s a subtle knowing within you—
a knowing that the swing was never meant to be held forever.

That’s the whole point of this strange curriculum we call life:
At some moment, we’re asked to release the handle.
To let go—not because we failed, but because we’re finally ready.

And those who’ve already grabbed the new swing—
the ones living in deep trust, peace, and love—
they won’t reach back to interrupt your flight.
They won’t interfere with your freefall.
Because they understand what it is.

They revere it.

It’s holy ground.
It’s the purification.
The initiation.
The birth canal of the new.

The Handle Appears

For me, the new handle only began to appear about eight months ago.

At first, it was faint. Just a strange shimmer in the distance. But over time—through synchronicities, visions, unlikely conversations, and a deeper inner knowing—I began to see it more clearly.

And just this past week… I grabbed it.

It has been the most frightening decision of my life.

Flying mid-air with nothing to hold onto felt safer than grabbing a handle I couldn’t predict or control.

Many traditions call this moment stepping out of the medicine wheel. You’ve spent years healing, learning, improving, journeying. But at some point, the invitation comes to stop taking the medicine—and to become it.

I’ve stepped out now.
I’m no longer reporting from the middle of the wheel, caught in ceremony or analysis.
I’m reporting from the other side—no longer asking for healing, but living the truth I’ve already received.

You Can’t Cross the Grand Canyon in Two Jumps

This week, I heard a line that pierced me:

You can’t cross the Grand Canyon in two jumps.

When the new handle appears, you can’t grab it half-assed.
You can’t ease into it with baby steps.
If there’s even a trace of fear or doubt in you—if you hesitate for a second—you’ll miss it.
Your grip will slip. The moment will pass.

This new handle demands 100% certainty.
That’s the whole point of the mid-air purification.
It’s not punishment—it’s preparation.
It’s the sacred fire that burns away everything in you that still clings to the old.

Because this handle, this next chapter, this new life—
It only responds to conviction.

That’s the prerequisite.
Unshakable knowing.
Spiritual authority.

You can’t toe-dip your way into the life that’s calling you.
You can’t “see how it goes.”
You can’t try it on like a jacket and return it if it doesn’t fit.

That’s the old paradigm.
Old swing thinking.
That’s fear—just wearing glasses.

This is about jumping.
Fully. Completely.
And trusting that the net will appear.
That the parachute will open.
That the angels are already there, wings outstretched.

Because here’s what I know now:

You won’t feel safe before you leap.
You’ll feel safe because you leapt.

It took me 47 years to get to this moment—
To finally trust enough to go all in.
To release the old handle with both hands,
To soar through the air with nothing to hold onto but truth itself,
And then—

To land.
Gracefully.
Powerfully.
Both hands wrapped around the new handle—
As if it had always been waiting for me.
As if it had always been mine.

Will You Trust What You Know More Than What You See?

This entire next chapter of my life—the chapter where my hands are firmly on the new swing—is being defined by one question.