Cliffs
That’s not Dave and I, in the picture, jumping from the cliff. That’s not Dave and I having a really good time jumping from a huge cliff without really knowing how deep the water is. If Dave and I were together and found a cliff, we would discuss the possibility of jumping but decide not to on account of not knowing, exactly - because to be honest, we’d both estimate that there was at least ten meters to jump into and that was plenty - how deep the water was.
If we found a cliff, we’d pretend to fall in love with the view as a reaction to our not jumping. We’d comment on how breathtaking the view from the cliff was; look how beautiful it is, let’s not ruin everything by jumping. We’d stare, silenced, dismissing our original impulses to jump into the water - which would most certainly accommodate us, happily, its arms open wide.
Besides, if we found a cliff and decided to jump despite not knowing, exactly, whether or not our guesses were correct or whether the water and the light - mischievous friends in these cases - were playing with us, how would we get out? There would be no way back up. We would be stuck in the water without the view that only a few seconds before had left us open-mouthed and alone.
