“I’ve been wanderin’ early late
From new york city to the golden gate
And it don’t look like
I’ll ever stop my wanderin’”
It’s Sunday afternoon in Austin, and as I sit in my new, South Lamar, artist loft, waiting for the Ikea truck to bring in the next load of furniture, I’m struck by a sense of nostalgia. I’m beginning the next chapter of my storied and humble life. I’m emotional.
James Taylor’s Album, “Gorilla”, is playing on Spotify, his voice echoing through the empty spaces, and I’m drawn into a conversation that feels almost real. I’m moved.
The track “Wandering” loops in my mind, taking me back to high school, where the irritating refrain “Jack, stop wandering” was a constant from my father.
It was never a discussion point, just a stern directive followed by, a one-time, gentle whack on the side of my head, at the dinner table-a realization to me that this conversation wasn’t negotiable. Pass the potatoes please. Where’s the paper? Can someone grab me another beer from the frig?
To him, and many of his generation, wandering was synonymous with aimlessness, a waste of time.
Suck it up. Be someone. Be like me. Stop wandering. That was my Dad’s simple mantra.
It worked on the gridiron, as a coach, it would surely work in the home, with his kids. Not so fast.
But for me, and others like me who grew up in the 60s and 70s, wandering was something more. It was a close cousin to wondering, a way of navigating a world that felt both new and urgent. We weren’t just roaming without direction; we were searching for answers, for meaning, for ways to make the world better. We were wonderers, not wanderers.
We wanted to understand our place in the grand reordering of things. Even if we blended a bit of wandering into our wondering, it was driven by a deep sense of curiosity.
We didn’t care to replicate the mistakes of a past generation. We wanted to make our own mistakes.
As J.R.R. Tolkien famously wrote, “Not all those who wander are lost.” This line has always resonated with me, especially as I reflect on my journey into photography. After college and graduate school, I began my career as a photographer, and it was here that I discovered the true power of wandering and wondering. Far from being liabilities, like my Dad insinuated, these qualities became essential tools in my creative process.
Wandering and photography are synonymous.
In photography, as in life, wandering opens up possibilities that structured, purposeful movement might miss. It allows for serendipity, for the unexpected moment of beauty that would go unnoticed if you were too focused on a specific goal. When I wander with my camera, I let go of preconceptions and plans. I allow myself to be guided by the light, the colors, and the shapes that present themselves. In these moments, my wandering becomes a form of meditation, a way to be fully present and engaged with the world around me.
But wandering alone isn’t enough. Wondering is the other half of the equation. It’s the part of me that questions, that seeks to understand and connect. Wondering is what drives me to look closer, to explore the deeper meaning behind what I see. It’s what turns a simple photograph into a story, a reflection of the world as I experience it.
Together, wandering and wondering create a powerful synergy. They push me to explore new perspectives, to challenge the familiar, and to find beauty in the unexpected. In both life and photography, these twin impulses keep me moving forward, not aimlessly, but with a purpose that is both personal and profound.
So, as I sit here, waiting for the next chapter of my life to be delivered, I’m reminded of the magic that comes from embracing both the wanderer and the wonderer within. It’s a journey that has no fixed destination, but one that is rich with discovery, creativity, and meaning. And in that, I find my greatest joy.
Here are a few priceless treasures from my world wanderings.
Click.
Jack.
