Fear -- that gnarled chartreuse monster that lurks under beds and resembles the grade school teacher that told your mother as a writer you would never amount to anything.

Besides creeping beneath coverlets, this self-made demon likes to fold himself up and follow us around our daily lives. I fully expected him to come with me to Troy, Michigan during my hometown Easter visit. In fact, I packed him neatly next to my blue striped socks. I was counting on a the trip full of anxiety and depression.

I was also convinced turbulence would accompany me there, too. Thankfully the only turbulence I had was a brief foray on the plane -- what the pilot deemed "annoying" -- and not even bad enough to spill my Tension Tamer herbal tea.

Why do we set ourselves up with all these horrid thoughts? Why these brutal mind sets? Instead of asking why, which remains a question lacking answers, let’s take a gander at fear’s many forms.

Fear of the unknown is a big one. This is the trap that keeps us tethered in the misery of the known -- even if it breaks our hearts and strapples our minds. We stay mired there because, even in all its quagmire of angst, it is what we know. "Some prefer the security of known misery to the misery of unfamiliar insecurity."

Oddly enough, that same fear that wanes us pale from the thought of change keeps us in anguish over the horrifying thought that everything will remain the same. This is part of what happened on my visit to Troy. I feared all the people I didn’t want to see would be there -- from grade school teacher to ancient high school classmates I used to avoid. Of course, none of them would be any older, better or different than they were then. I feared cobwebbed memories would solidify in the air, transforming into toothy imps who would then hurl about and bite me, chomping big chunks out of my arm, quite breaking the skin.

Oh, boy -- leave it to our imaginations. Our imaginations are by far much worse than reality. Our minds can twist, mist and crinkle any case scenario into the ultimate horror. Why do you think books are always so much better than the movie version of the same story? Think of "Psycho" where genius Hitchcock knew it would be much worse for his audience to IMAGINE the young lady being gored in the shower, never actually showing us the knife plunge in (although we do get sound effects -- from a melon, incidentally).

A stock reaction may be to simply attempt to cut off the imagination, to eradicate such thoughts. Besides being wholly impossible, this is an abortion of creativity. We should never try to stifle our minds in any capacity! What we can attempt, however, is to rechannel our thoughts, using all that creative energy to concoct positive, wonderful thoughts.

After all, "Believing is seeing." We can honestly "think" our ways into more positive, uplifting circumstances. We definitely make our own reality. I have also heard we misuse our imaginations, squandering way too much energy into the negative, the torrid "what ifs," the imaginary fights with our bosses...or twisting Michigan into a place without oxygen.

Instead of concocting Troy, Michigan to be a fun house lacking the fun part, why not imagine it transformed into a favorable place: a haven of joy with rollercoaster thrills and maroon velvet throw pillows.

Since I have my stock-piled fresh memories of Coney Island, this is a truly bad example as nothing can compare. But Troy does not have to be a dead zone nor a horror. I can even let it be neutral and not give it any preconceived notion.

That’s the beauty of the human mind -- we can pretty much do what we want we it...another reason that "brain on drugs" fried egg commercial is so frightening.

Alas, Troy did not turn into a plush 1970s lounge or a serene state of Nirvana complete with languid lagoons and waterfalls. It remained its pristine state of "boring suburb" -- although I must say I was not bored at all during one moment of my pleasant journey there. The pace was still slow motion, the people still polite -- to the point where they would say "good morning" if they passed you on an a.m. street. Instead of fearing that brief change, I came to accept it, to actually enjoy it.