I won't drive further than 100 miles away from Lubbock, and I won't drive on the highway at night.
I'm not sure from whence my terror of the road comes from; I've never been in any major car accident. Perhaps it's my astigmatism. Even corrected, I still see signage a little wiggly. I've attempted it - the night drive, the far away drive - and every time I've immediately pulled over, my heart racing and sweat pouring from my face frozen stiff with fear. Anything that could render me calm enough to drive would also impair my ability to drive, so it's just not a "good fit" so to speak.
Lucky for me, I've always been able to find a driver to travel this huge state of ours, a place so big that 100 miles out of town leads to almost nothing. One hundred miles out is wild flowers, crude fences, contemplative cows and dilapidated ruins of old barns. One hundred miles out is actually quite beautiful when I think about it. Not driving 100 miles out means you get to look out the passenger window and notice these objects and others, a hawk, a jackrabbit, a buzzard, a snake, a coyote. Any number of wild things that don't have to drive right now either.
For many years, I saw the "road" part of a road trip as boring, listless, a necessary sacrifice of time to make it to the fun part. I can't read in the car either because of motion sickness, and...damn, is there anything I can do? I can listen. I can watch. That's enough. That's plenty. I'm active and aware in my passive passenger seat.
After a year of cancelled trips and cancelled concerts, I'm looking forward to spending some quality time in the right side of my car. I'll get it, too, 6 hours and 20 minutes to our deliciously weird capitol, concert tickets and a little spending cash itching my hands. My hair will get tangled from wiggling in my seat. My shirt will have a coffee stain on it, and I'll spend too much on artisan jerky from a two story gas station.
It is with joy I anticipate the counting of cows, the counting of mile markers, the ticking away of hours. I've missed Texas, in her fullest, broadest and hugest sense. And I can't wait to really see her again.