In my twenties, it’s because people who travel were cool.
In my thirties, it’s because traveling was cool.
And in my forties, well… loaded question.
The first being that travel is the greatest thing in the world and to have been given a life where I do just that is still a mystery to me—little Aric S Queen, son of a preacher man, raised in the middle of nowhere, gets to see it all*—and of course I travel for travel’s sake, but as my body begins to slowly let its age be known, as friends are now grandparents and as retirement isn’t so, so far away for many of my circle, sure… I begin to question how this is all going to play out.
And then I force myself to stop.
To question it would be to take away from the spirit of this entire thing.
I suppose it’ll always be a question,
And if I lose sleep over not having the answer,
It’s because I went and saw it all*.
But even at times—more so than usual these days—when getting up out of the tent takes twice as long, when injuries take their time healing (if at all), when you’re tired of being the guy who’s always raising money, but are also the guy who's highly unemployable, then sure… you need something to hang on to.
A totem from Inception or whatever.
Your grounding wire.
Etc.
For me, it’s this guy.
Little Aric S Queen, son of a preacher man, raised in the middle of nowhere.
12 years old and already has tried to run away from home twice.
Not out of a bad childhood (despite the tough demeanor of the tank top + parachute pants up there.)
Simply because someone left the gate open.
I drove by a lot of those old places where I sat and just looked out the window.
Past my middle school with the blacked out windows that I pretended were a spaceship just to make it through the crippling boredom of school.
Of the scuba diving school that would get me certified and even allllllll the way to Florida.
To those lonely old roads on Route 66 which are nice now, but then nothing more than a never-ending road to never leaving Oklahoma.
I do it for him.
Sounds cheesy, I’m sure.
But it’s true.
If me (now) got to sit down with me (then) and say “I’m kind of lost, but things are fabulous, but I’m getting old, but don’t know a thing about it”, then what would he say?
I think he’d tell me to keep going.
To ride this until the wheels come off.
He’d describe those roads and the flat backdrop and remind me that those windows weren’t a rocket ship’s and to stay out.
To go and go and go until you can’t anymore and then go a little bit more.
He didn’t ever think we’d see anything.
And we did.
And to honor him,
We’ll see some more.
*Not even close.
