From frosted tips to crows feet.

I used to think California was another planet. Living in Florida it seemed so far away. I was sure it wasn't physically connected to the rest of the country. There had to be a great valley or chasm that swallowed up station wagon after station wagon as they foolishly tried to travel West. It had to be another world because the people who lived there were aliens. Or ghosts. Or alien ghosts.

All of my friends always had an "Uncle from the West Coast" that they hardly ever saw. Even though they never saw them, they would always describe them in the same way. He was always the strongest man alive. He knew how to roll his own cigarettes. And he also had a 2 foot long mustache that he could dangle old timey weights from. As a boy these didn't sound human. Not anything like the humans I'd grown accustom to. My uncle lived in Florida, he smoked packaged cigarettes from the gas station and while he too had a mustache I doubt he ever practiced dangle weights from it.

As far as I could tell I'd leave California to the aliens and men with strong facial hair.

My mother always told me if I went to Mexico I'd die. No strike that, I'd be arrested for no apparent reason and be thrown in an underground jail guarded by devil dogs and forced to make illegal copies of popular American movies for the rest of my life. Or maybe it was that I would die. Never the less, I never wanted to goto Mexico. I believed everything my mother said. If I stared at the sun too long I'd go blind. If I masterbated too much I'd go blind. And if I played with fire works or ran with scissors I'd probably go blind. So understandably when she filled my head with visions of Mexican labor camps and devil dogs I wasn't dying to make any trips south of the boarder. I liked my eye sight, and copying American movies is illegal.

Europe is filled with pot heads and whores. Sounds good to me, but again not so much to my mother. Why would you want to go to Europe? Everything you'd ever need to see is in this country. Go to EPCOT if you want to get a taste of the world. You know they have French Crepes there?

Thailand?! What's in thailand? Do you know they have typhoons there every three minutes, and 50% of the people there have AIDS?

But I've been to Mexico, several times. And Thailand. And Europe. And now I actually live in California, eyesight and all.

Fear is a great motivator, but it can also be paralyzing. Ignorance is Fears best friend. Unfortunately they like to hang out at the bar together and throw back a few drinks and then tell you all the reasons you shouldn't travel. All the reasons you'll die if you go one state over. How they like to eat college students in Mexico...alive! Or how once you goto Thailand you'll never be heard from again and spend the rest of your life dressed like a woman giving handjobs to soldiers in Thai bathhouses.

I spent half of my life fearing the wrong things. Now, I have a shiny new fear. One that motivates me, and gets me going. Wanting to gas up my station wagon and drive it right off the face of the earth. That fear is the fear of missing what's out there.

It's funny how time can change you from the kid with the frosted tips to the "Uncle from the West Coast" (with the lackluster facial hair.) Eh one out of two ain't bad.