I stumbled over what had to be the millionth rock, my feet slipping slightly as I struggled to get my footing back. Beloved was oblivious to my plight as he carried forward in a headling rush to the water’s edge. This was, after all, his trip more so than it was mine.
I couldn’t deny him this trip, a chance to let his hair down and relax. It was a chance for him to give into a simple pleasure, a childhood fancy of sorts. I had asked him, once, what he would do if he realized this instead of it just slipped beneath the water’s surface each time he approached it. What if the dream or the goal was reached or shattered?
I suspect that’s why it is this very thing that captures Beloved’s attention, hard to refute or prove she can remain a contact with his childhood. As long as Nessie remains hovering just beyond actual proof of existence or no existence, Beloved can indulge in his childhood dreams of finding something akin to a water horse or kelpie.
His desire to seek her out meant that unlike me his footing seemed sure and the weather irrelevant. The truth is, his feet slipped, he stumbled and stumped his toes too, but none of that matter as he sought the edge of the water. And often that’s then are, chasing a dream means you aren’t bothered by the negatives along the journey. It isn’t that the discomfort isn’t there or noticed, but it’s presence is diminished by the energy of reaching or attempting to reach the goal.