In 2003 I was a struggling young entrepreneur with my own computer business that may as well have been a non-profit, and four small children and a wife I loved but didn't get along with. We got better, but at the time I was a more than a bit overwhelmed. So when I saw the ocean for the first time at a software conference in California it wasn't the vast beauty of it all that got me, it was the Help Wanted sign in the window of the taco stand. In 30 seconds I lived an entire alternate life. None of the people clamoring for my attention had any clue where I had gone. I took the job. Worked at the taco stand. Slept on the beach. Swam in the ocean. Ate Fish Tacos. Watched the sunset. When I died they wrapped me in an enormous tortilla, doused me in sour cream, and rolled me into the ocean. Part of me is still there, floating in the waves, part of the cosmic debris, but most of me shook off the dream and went home to Cleveland and Life. Except every so often I drive past a place I had no idea I was looking for and I have to stop and go back, because I will have found the site for The Next Uncle Mud Taco Stand, a place where my mind can rest gently in the biggest bed of lettuce you have ever imagined.