Don't forget it's daylight savings time. You spring forward

Host: The morning began with the soft, reluctant light of early spring, the kind that stretches slowly across the city — pale, tender, almost embarrassed to be awake. The air smelled of rain and old coffee, and somewhere in the distance, a single church bell rang — one hour late, or maybe one hour early.

Inside a small apartment café on the corner of Mercer Street, the clock above the counter blinked confusedly between 7:59 and 8:59. Jack sat at a table, one hand cupping a mug of black coffee, the other rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked like a man caught between two worlds — one that was still dreaming, and one that had already started running.

Jeeny entered with her usual energy, her hair tied loosely, a small notebook tucked under her arm. She smiled at the sleepy chaos of clocks and customers adjusting their watches.

Jeeny: “Don’t forget, Jack — it’s daylight savings time. You spring forward, then you fall back. David Letterman once joked, ‘It’s like Robert Downey Jr. getting out of bed.’”

Host: Jack raised an eyebrow, half-smiling, half-grimacing — as though the joke hit too close to the bone for comfort.

Jack: “Yeah, that’s about right. You spend half your life trying to spring forward, then end up falling right back again.”

Jeeny: “You make it sound like a tragedy. It’s just an hour, Jack.”

Jack: “No, Jeeny. It’s the perfect metaphor for human life — a whole system built around pretending we can control time.”

Jeeny: (laughing softly) “You always find existential despair in the simplest things.”

Jack: “Because that’s where it hides best.”

Host: The barista behind the counter yawned as the espresso machine hissed, steam clouding the air like a weary sigh. Outside, the streetlights flickered off — reluctantly surrendering to daylight.

Jeeny stirred her coffee, watching the ripples form tiny spirals.

Jeeny: “You know, Letterman’s joke isn’t really about time. It’s about resilience. Spring forward — fall back — get up again. Like Downey Jr. did. Like we all do.”

Jack: “Yeah, but not everyone gets a Hollywood comeback.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But everyone has a chance to reset the clock.”

Jack: “You can’t reset the clock, Jeeny. Time doesn’t negotiate. You lose an hour, it’s gone. You fall back, you only think you’re catching up. It’s a lie of comfort.”

Jeeny: “Or a reminder that you always get another chance to adjust.”

Host: A breeze slipped through the open window, stirring a few stray napkins across the table. Jack caught one before it blew away — a small, futile gesture that said more than words.

Jeeny: “You ever think daylight savings is just humanity’s way of pretending we can reinvent ourselves? Twice a year, we all pretend we’re new again. It’s oddly poetic.”

Jack: “Poetic delusion. We’re not reinventing time — we’re just rearranging the guilt of wasting it.”

Jeeny: “You really need more sleep.”

Jack: (dryly) “Tried that once. Didn’t work out.”

Host: Jeeny smiled — a soft, knowing smile — and looked out the window, where a few people hurried by, checking their watches, adjusting their phones, muttering about the lost hour.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how we obsess over one missing hour but waste years on things that don’t matter?”

Jack: “That’s because one hour’s measurable. The rest of it… we pretend not to see slipping away.”

Jeeny: “You sound like you’re afraid of time.”

Jack: “I’m not afraid of time. I’m afraid of momentum — the illusion that moving means progressing.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the trick is to stop confusing movement with meaning.”

Host: The sunlight crept higher, spilling gold across their table. The light made the steam from their cups shimmer — ephemeral, fragile, beautiful.

Jack: “You know, when Letterman compared it to Downey Jr., it wasn’t just a joke. It was empathy disguised as humor. The guy’s been through hell — addiction, failure, redemption. Every fall back, he had to find a way to spring forward again.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what makes the line brilliant. It’s not just comedy — it’s confession. That’s how life works: fall, rise, repeat.”

Jack: “Until the rising starts to hurt more than the falling.”

Jeeny: “Then you rest. But you don’t stop.”

Host: A silence settled — not heavy, but human. The kind that arrives when truth has already been said. Outside, a child laughed as she tried to chase her own shadow — running forward, falling back, getting up again.

Jeeny noticed and smiled.

Jeeny: “See? Even she gets it.”

Jack: “What, that existence is futile but still funny?”

Jeeny: “That balance is the only real rhythm we have. Spring forward. Fall back. Laugh anyway.”

Host: Jack leaned back, stretching, his grey eyes softening with something between amusement and nostalgia.

Jack: “You ever wonder if all of civilization is just us trying to fix clocks? We chase time zones, leap years, daylight savings — anything to outsmart the inevitable.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we’re not trying to outsmart it. Maybe we’re just trying to dance with it.”

Jack: “Dance with time?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Even if it steps on our feet sometimes.”

Jack: “You really should write greeting cards.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Maybe I will. Yours would probably read: ‘Life is meaningless, but here’s a cupcake.’”

Jack: “Finally, a card I’d actually buy.”

Host: The room filled briefly with their laughter — not loud, but genuine, the kind that clears the fog from a weary morning.

Jeeny: “You know, the thing about ‘spring forward’ and ‘fall back’… it’s the perfect metaphor for self-growth. You push yourself ahead, then life humbles you, makes you stumble. But that’s the rhythm. Growth isn’t linear — it’s seasonal.”

Jack: “So what, you’re saying failure’s just winter?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Cold, dark, but necessary. You need to fall back to gather warmth again — before you can spring.”

Jack: “That’s awfully optimistic.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s real. Look at Downey Jr. again — the guy lost everything, fell hard, but he didn’t stay down. He used his fall to build momentum. Sometimes the comeback is stronger than the collapse.”

Jack: “Or maybe it’s just luck. Wrong rehab, wrong timing — and you’re gone.”

Jeeny: “Luck plays its part, sure. But so does choice. Every morning we wake up, we have to choose: to lie there, or to rise again.”

Host: The sunlight grew warmer now, bright and alive, reflecting in Jeeny’s eyes. Jack looked at her — really looked — and for a moment, the fatigue on his face softened into something like gratitude.

Jack: “You make falling sound less like failure and more like gravity’s way of reminding us we’re human.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s all it is. The universe pulling us down — so we can learn how to rise properly.”

Host: The clock above them blinked again, finally settling on the right time — 9:03. The café had filled with the late risers of spring: artists with sketchbooks, delivery men with exhaustion, dreamers with laptops and too much caffeine.

Time had resumed its indifferent rhythm, but something quiet and eternal lingered between Jack and Jeeny — a shared understanding that not even daylight savings could adjust.

Jack took a last sip of his coffee, now cold.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right, Jeeny. Maybe time isn’t something to fight. Maybe it’s just something to fall into — and hope you spring back.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Like the sun, like the seasons, like us.”

Jack: “And like Robert Downey Jr. getting out of bed.”

Jeeny: (laughing) “Especially that.”

Host: Outside, the clouds parted. The sky opened wide, and for a brief moment, the city glowed — not with urgency, but with ease.

Two figures left the café, their footsteps light, their shadows stretching long behind them. The clock ticked on, indifferent, but their laughter carried — a reminder that maybe time isn’t a thief, but a dance partner.

And somewhere between the spring and the fall, between the loss and the recovery, between the joke and the truth —
the human spirit kept time to its own wild, imperfect rhythm.