My life has been a paradox—compelled by goals, yet driven by the need to wander. Maybe “explore” would be a more accurate description, but “wander” seems to illustrate the discordant themes of my life. And, I think, wandering expresses the irony of “purpose–no purpose” that has accompanied me on this journey.

Mindfulness—it seems to be such a vague term—but, to me, is distilled down to awareness, attentiveness, and, perhaps even at some times, enlightenment.

When I allow myself to find calmness and to attend to my body, my mind, and my surroundings there is an exceptional sense of awareness that envelops me. This state of oneness with all nature and creativity is what motivates me to make art with my camera and my pen.

Indeed, this mindfulness has not always been my companion along this meandering path. In fact, mindfulness is a recent term in my consciousness, although, as a concept,

it has long been part of me. We are born with it and somehow through our upbringing we lose it. How I found it again and how it has grown, is the main theme of these stories.

My first memory of my wandering is as an eight year old boy on my first trip to the wilderness. My father’s employer let our family use his remote cabin on Lake Saganaga in what would soon become the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

An hour plus motorboat ride from the outfitter's dock at the Gunflint Trail's end brought us to an idyllic cove where we would stay for the next week.

Heaven for a young boy—a dock from which to fish, a beach and cove for swimming and castle building, and a forest to explore.

My older brothers and my dad would go in the boat daily to fish. My attention span just couldn’t take those long days in the boat, so after the first day I preferred to stay with my mum at the cabin.

I was much happier there, but after several days it, too, became mundane. What's a bored 8 year-old to do in the wilderness?