So there we were, all standing around on the trail, me lingering behind in space still on an invisible retreat within myself.

“Where are you?” they called out.

It wasn’t as invisible as I’d hoped.

“Oh, just thinking about the waterfall we never seem to make it to,” I answered with a smile.

They all rolled their eyes. It was nearly a hundred degrees, and wanting to feel like a soldier, I’d worn steel-toed boots with tiny polyester socks already soaked with sweat. There was no way I’d make it without falling down a few times, and they didn’t want to be there in the first place.

I was tired from the effort of simply arriving. Nowhere.

We looked for bugs, took pictures of horses, trudged through mud, and then made our way back to the car. I’d failed to repair something I had no words for, but which I didn’t regret breaking. I couldn’t climb out of the hole it seemed I’d put myself in, but at the same time, there was no one to keep digging, so I was happily depressed.

That hole has been filled up over time – with flowers, water, patience, care, and love – and not just mine. Some days I feel like part of me is buried out there on the trail, and the other part making its way to the waterfall.

Every day I hope my failures lead everyone there, with or without me. Suppose such could count in those group of successes we aren’t always granted a front stage pass to see. I believe it’s important to envision watching it anyway, so in my heart, we’ll never stop until we arrive.