Since my story began in the early 1980’s of North central Montana, I’ve been wandering like the southern Chinook winds that blew through town. When the opportunities arose, I road-tripped through the United States and toured western Europe by train. I walked among ancient Mayan ruins and consorted with limbo dancers in the Bahamas. I lived simply outside a National Park for a summer. Eventually, my hunger for new places and new faces landed me in Honolulu, Hawai’i, a place I felt I could really discover more about myself without the crutch of anyone I knew around to rely on. Everyone that loved me was 3,000 miles away. So I tried sushi and Thai food. I surfed. I started teaching myself guitar. I jumped off cliffs into sparkling fresh-water pools and marveled at waterfalls. I learned to dance Latin-style. I played underwater hockey and the Honolulu single scene. I discovered how single-minded people could be. I was turned on to printmaking and photography. I had my moped stolen. I switched majors. In my search to find my personal niche, I studied sociology and religion alike. I fell asleep, rolled up burrito-style on a beach, to a barrage of falling stars. I broke my heart and learned how to love again. I went all out for Halloween. I bicycled through monsoon strength downpours. I lived on granola bars and cans of guava juice for months at a time. I found work in my field. I learned stained glass and interned with amazing gallery design and administration personnel. I started teaching my craft. I made a website and discovered how satisfying boiled soy beans and a beer can be at the end of a long day of laboring. In the end, I know how much I value my family and the handful of good friends I’ve had the good fortune to keep throughout my wanderlust stargazing. I know that happiness, comfort in my own skin, is not reliant on a physical location or the accessibility of events or people. I know who I am. I wander, because I need something to look forward to. Life moves on; I just want to move with it.