I wasn’t sure what to expect from Paris.

Like most places that have been photographed, filmed, romanticized, and written about for generations, it felt impossible to arrive without carrying someone else’s opinion with you. Some people describe it as the greatest city in the world. Others seem almost eager to tell you how disappointed you’ll be. By the time I landed, I felt less like I was arriving in a city and more like I was arriving in an idea that millions of people had already formed on my behalf.

What I discovered instead was something far more personal.

This was my first visit to Paris, which surprises even me considering how much I’ve traveled throughout my life. I was there with my mother and my sister, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that who you travel with often matters more than where you go. The destinations tend to blur together over time. The people don’t. Some of my favorite memories from this trip have very little to do with Paris itself and everything to do with the conversations we had while walking through it.

There was also something quietly meaningful about being there as the son of a French father. France was always present in my life growing up, but mostly through stories, family history, food, language, and small traditions that somehow survived moving across continents. Walking through Paris didn’t feel like discovering a new place as much as it felt like filling in pieces of a puzzle that had always existed somewhere in the background. Nothing dramatic. No profound realization. Just a sense of familiarity that appeared when I least expected it.

What surprised me most, however, wasn’t the city itself. It was what the city awakened in me.

Photography has been a constant companion throughout most of my life. Long before it became a profession, it was simply how I moved through the world. Carrying a camera gave me a reason to pay attention. It forced me to slow down, to notice details that most people walked past, and to appreciate how light, texture, and timing could transform an otherwise ordinary moment into something memorable.

Somewhere along the way, though, that relationship changed.

I don’t think it happened because of one event. If anything, it happened because of many. Work became busier. Life became heavier. Responsibilities accumulated. Photography became less about curiosity and more about execution. I was still creating, still shooting, still delivering work, but there is a difference between using a camera and feeling inspired to pick one up. For the first time in my life, I found myself going long stretches without feeling that pull.

It wasn’t that I had fallen out of love with photography. It was more like the spark had become buried beneath everything else demanding my attention.

Then came Paris.

What struck me wasn’t necessarily the famous landmarks or the postcard views. It was the rhythm of the city. The way morning light moved across stone buildings that had been standing for centuries. The worn corners of café tables. The reflections in windows. The imperfect details that gave everything character. I found myself stopping more often, looking longer, and noticing things that I had unknowingly stopped noticing back home.

Without realizing it, I began carrying my camera differently. I wasn’t bringing it along because I felt obligated to. I wasn’t searching for content or trying to justify the weight around my neck. I simply wanted it with me. The act of photographing became enjoyable again. Not because I was creating anything important, but because I was rediscovering the pleasure of observation.

Looking back, I think that’s what Paris gave me.

It wasn’t inspiration in the grand cinematic sense. It wasn’t some dramatic creative breakthrough. It was quieter than that. It reminded me of the version of myself that first fell in love with photography. The version that photographed things simply because they were beautiful, interesting, or fleeting. The version that wasn’t thinking about clients, deliverables, algorithms, or outcomes.

For the first time in a long time, I found myself excited to go out and make photographs again.

As strange as it sounds, after a year that often felt defined by loss, rebuilding, and focusing on what needed to be done next, Paris offered something I didn’t realize I had been missing. It gave me permission to be curious again.

And sometimes, that’s all creativity really needs.

A city can give you photographs. A trip can give you memories. But every now and then, a place gives you a piece of yourself back.

For me, Paris did exactly that.

-cb

It began with a yes.

A quiet yes from a woman who has spent most of her life putting others first. A woman who raised two children on her own without ever asking for help. Who worked hard, stayed strong, and rarely gave herself permission to simply be. After years of traveling with someone by her side, losing that companion left her hesitant. She became unsure of how to move through the world alone. Unsure of how to say yes without someone next to her. She got scared of the world, scared of what people might think, scared of taking up space.

But the woman I know is brave. Not just in the way people use that word lightly. Her bravery was quiet and constant. She raised me and my sister on her own, working part-time jobs that somehow stretched far enough to cover not just our needs, but our dreams too. I never felt the absence of a father figure or the lack of his income. What I had was a mother who showed up every single day. Who made us feel whole, even when she was carrying more than her share. Because of her, I became a man who understands what strength looks like. A man with integrity. A man who respects women, not because he was told to, but because he was raised by the best example there is.

So for her 70th birthday, I wanted to remind her. Not with speeches or gifts, but with the kind of journey that starts in your feet and works its way to your heart. I wanted her to feel life again. To feel the freedom of saying yes, even when it’s scary. To remember how strong she is.

She thought we were heading to Miami. But instead, I picked her up at JFK and turned the wheel north. Just me, my mom, and the pups, Freyja and Frigg. We let the map unfold without much of a plan, weaving through cities and towns, driving the coastline, and following whatever felt right in the moment. From New York City’s old neighborhoods to small harbor towns in New England, we shared meals, walked new streets, and talked more than we had in years. There was lobster, bookstores, salt air, slow mornings, and the kind of laughter that only happens when time stretches.

We made our way up through Portsmouth, Newburyport, Gloucester, and Boston. Then out to Provincetown and finally the quiet hills outside Rhinebeck, NY, where we stayed in a cabin surrounded by trees, built with care and intention. We watched movies, lit fires, and made s’mores together for the first time in our lives. Something simple we had never done as a family. We visited the Woodstock monument, stood in silence, and let the past meet the present. Every part of the trip felt like a return. Not just to places, but to ourselves.

Two weeks. A stretch of time that gave us more than just memories. We didn’t just visit places. We felt them. We were in them. And through it all, I saw my mom begin to remember who she is.

Not someone who needs to be taken care of.

Someone who can still say yes.

Bravery isn’t always loud. Sometimes it looks like boarding a plane alone. Sometimes it’s ordering a glass of wine at a quiet bar, solo. Sometimes it’s walking into the world again after a long time away.

This trip wasn’t just overdue. It was necessary. For her. For me.

And I hope she carries that courage home with her. So the next time life calls, she doesn’t wait for a plan.

She just goes.

I have not slept better in my entire life than I have this past year.

One year of transformative change.

One year of true freedom.

One year of finally letting go.

It was around this time last year that I fully understood how free I truly was: free from the accident, from its endless echoes, and from the invisible chains life had wrapped around me.

Freedom is a funny thing. We often think it’s about being allowed to roam where we want or not being told what to do. But real freedom, I learned the hard way, runs deeper. It’s the unseen ties, the ones you don’t even know you’re tangled in, that hold you back the most. For me, those ties weren’t just the scars left from my accident five years ago. They stretched back 23 years, years spent wrapped in admiration and love for a country and a dream so big that I would do almost anything for it. → Passion can do wonders for dreams.

The past twelve months have been the most freeing of my life, and one of the biggest moments was earning my American citizenship. America. You know — the United States of America, USA, Land of Dreams. You know exactly which one I mean.

I’ve been here for 23 years, but now I can finally call myself an American. With that comes an overwhelming sense of relief, joy, and gratitude.

Quick rewind before we move forward

I arrived in the U.S. as a twenty-year-old kid, hockey bag slung over my shoulder, heart wide open, and no real idea what to expect.

Land of Dreams, Hollywood, cheeseburgers — bring it on. The plan was just one year, but life had other ideas. A second year followed, playing college hockey in Wisconsin. If my first year in Ohio was an awakening, Wisconsin was a full-blown revelation.

I learned quickly that the America I knew from movies and ads didn’t exist everywhere. Palm trees? Hardly. Hot babes? Not in every corner. Who knew?! (This was before we had computers in our pockets to research every step. You just went.) I took a chance on America. I took a chance on myself.

We’re not about to walk through my entire American story, but it’s important to sketch the outline. Because it all leads to this simple truth: I feel genuinely, soul-deep happy today. The kind of happy you feel when everything around you is calm.

After realizing Top Gun wasn’t filmed in the Midwest (laugh all you want), I flew to San Diego. College. First jobs. First real life.

Later came San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York City. Then Portland. And eventually, Montana. Montana, where a severe motorcycle accident would change my life once again.

Life, I’ve learned, doesn’t give you what you want. It gives you what you need, exactly when you need it. Imagine if we actually lived by those words. We’d all be better for it. I can almost promise you that.

Trying to build a life in a different country with no real support? It’s not easy. If you’ve done it, you know. If you haven’t, it’s hard to explain. You’re not just changing your address. You’re changing your skin. Learning a new culture, a new rhythm of life. Sometimes I wish more people had to go through even a small version of this journey, because maybe, just maybe, we’d be kinder to the ones who come seeking refuge, hope, and a new beginning.

I did what I had to do.

I worked harder than most. I figured out how to get the visas I needed. I took jobs I didn’t always want. I paid my dues so I could stand where I stand today, free. The road here could have been shorter, but I wasn’t willing to compromise too much on my dreams, or on who I am.

One dream, though, has taken longer than most to bloom: my Denim Dream.

It sat on the back burner for years, quietly waiting for me to be free enough to chase it properly.

2025 is the year I start.

One pair of jeans. Maybe a couple more. Maybe even more after that.

But the point isn’t quantity. It’s the word itself:

Start.

Hell yes, I’m American.

Hell yes, I’m proud to be American.

Hell yes, I’m proud of myself for making it all the way here.

Hell yeah.

(With a little twang, if you please.)

All of this — for one simple thing:

To sleep better.

To feel calmer inside.

To close out one heck of a beginning to the 2020s with my head high, my heart in the right place, and a fire inside me brighter than ever.

We’re stepping into the second half of the decade now, and I’m walking into it with open arms.

Excited to chase dreams.

Excited to find my people.

Every year, I try to take a few photos of myself and my little ladies. Little time capsules to remind myself, years from now, of where I was and who I was.

If you don’t already do it, I can’t recommend it enough. Do it for you. Do it for your heart. Forget what anyone else says. Pull out that dusty camera or phone, grab a tripod, and shoot your memories. They’ll mean more than you can imagine.

I have not slept better in my entire life, and everything I wrote above is part of that. But there’s so much more. I’m letting the words flow freely again, because I missed writing. I got caught up somewhere along the way, lost without even realizing it. But that’s human nature. It’s okay. I’m grateful to be back.

And I’m grateful you are here too.

With love,

-cb

I am rich. I can control my time, and therefore, I am rich.

When someone says they are rich, the first instinct is often to measure it. How much money do you have? How many cars? What’s your salary? What’s the value of your house? Society equals wealth with numbers and possessions, but for me, being rich has nothing to do with financial metrics. It’s not about digits in a bank account or trophies of success parked in a garage. Richness, to me, is something far easier — a change in perspective I discovered during my recovery and also self-discovery.

This realization didn’t come easily. It wasn’t the kind of wisdom I stumbled upon while scrolling on my phone or flipping through books. It was born out of pain, reflection, and the quiet hours spent piecing myself back together after my accident. For so long, I believed in the narrative that wealth was external, that success was about accumulating, striving, and achieving. But the more I examined my life, the more I saw the hollowness of that chase.

I decided to redefine what being rich means for me. And when I peeled back the layers of what I truly valued, one thing stood out above all else: time.

Time is the most precious currency we have, and yet it’s the one we are most careless with. We spend it mindlessly — on things we don’t care about, with people who drain us, in jobs that suffocate us — all because we think we have no choice. But here’s my truth: if you can control your time, you are rich. You are truly, deeply, unimaginably wealthy.

I am fortunate to have found a way to control my time. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t easy, but by reclaiming my time, I unlocked a happiness I didn’t even know was possible. For me, it means being intentional. It’s about designing a life where my time aligns with my values, where every hour feels like an investment in my growth, my relationships, and my peace.

This doesn’t mean I live in some utopian bubble of endless free time. Life still demands responsibility and work. But the difference is choice. I’ve stopped letting the clock dictate my worth. I’ve stopped chasing someone else’s definition of success.

Now, I choose how to spend my mornings, my afternoons, my evenings. I pour my time into projects that excite me, into relationships that fulfill me, into moments that allow me to breathe deeply and feel alive. I’m no longer enslaved by the rush to “keep up.”

Happiness isn’t something I wait for anymore — it’s something I create in the present moment. And isn’t that the richest life one can lead?

So yes, I am rich. Not in dollars or assets, but in time, in freedom, in the quiet, profound joy of a life lived on my own terms. This kind of wealth isn’t flashy or loud. You won’t see it in a photo or a headline. But it’s real, and it’s mine.

And the beauty of this kind of richness? It’s something anyone can have. All it takes is the courage to redefine what wealth means for you. The moment you stop letting the world decide your value, the moment you reclaim your time, you, too, will be rich.

-cb

Howdy, Hello, Hej.

What a wild year it’s been. Sitting here, thinking about the last 12 months, all I can say is: wow. Wow, because life can be so damn beautiful. Wow, because it has a way of flipping upside down when you least expect it. And wow, because, even with all the hard times, life is good.

The year started with a huge weight finally being lifted off my shoulders — the end of a four-year legal battle. Those years were heavy, draining the life out of me. Legal battles take their toll on anyone, but with a brain injury on top of it? It was brutal. When it was finally over, I could focus on something I hadn’t had the time or energy for in years: me. It was like I could finally breathe again.

The accident left me with a laundry list of injuries: two broken hands, torn ligaments in my elbow, and serious damage to my neck (C3, C4, C5, C6, C7) and thoracic spine (T5, T6, T7, T8, T9). I had two spine surgeries to try to fix some of it, but they both failed and left me in even more pain. The hardest of them all was my TBI, Traumatic brain injury, as I could never imagine how life with a broken brain would be. Short version; hell.

For years, I felt trapped in my own body. But somehow, through strength training, time spent in nature, and stubborn determination, I found my way back. Montana, with its peace and open spaces, saved me. I’m now living mostly pain-free, which feels like a miracle I wasn’t sure I’d ever get.

This year has been all about slowing down and finding purpose. After five years of hitting rock bottom — mentally, physically, emotionally — I needed 12 months of just…nothing. I took on less work and focused on myself for the first time in a long time. My dog Freyja was my constant through it all. After the accident, my doctor prescribed her as a service dog, and she became my anchor. Her love pulled me through the worst of it, and even now, she’s still by my side. Freyja and Frigg are more than just dogs; they’re my joy. I need them in my life.

June 25th, 2019, The day everything changed. The day I crashed my motorcycle. I remember the beginning so clearly, but the end? That’s a blur.

It was late morning, and my boss called me about a big meeting. I packed my stuff and hopped on my bike like I had done a thousand times before. The streets of LA were their usual mess.

If you’ve been to LA, you know the traffic is always the villain of the story. I was heading north on Lincoln Boulevard toward Santa Monica, a route I knew like the back of my hand. Traffic thickened and came to a sudden stop. When you ride a bike, you learn early on that when cars stop suddenly, you move. It’s instinct and second nature.

I was behind a black Volvo — an XC90, I think. When it slammed on the brakes, I adjusted, passing on the left like I had done so many times before. A little flick of the hip to shift the bike’s path, and then —

KABOOM.

Blackness. My arm hurt. My head hurt. My body hurt. I couldn’t see. Voices were swirling around me. Someone was asking if I was okay.

“You were hit by a delivery truck, sir,” a voice said. I tried to make sense of the words, but I couldn’t. A police officer told me an ambulance was there to take me to the hospital. “No thanks,” I told him. Ambulances in the U.S. aren’t cheap, and I figured I was fine. Right?

I wasn’t fine.

At the hospital, the only thing they focused on was my broken left hand. No full-body scan, no real care. I was sent home with instructions to schedule surgery. And like an idiot, I showed up at work the next day at 6 a.m., pretending everything was fine. “I’m fine,” I told everyone. But I wasn’t.

The next five years were the hardest of my life. The pain was constant — physical and emotional. I hit rock bottom more times than I can count. But Freyja kept me going. She pulled me out of the dark when I couldn’t do it myself. Slowly, I started to rebuild. It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t easy, but here I am.

Tattoos and Healing.

One unexpected change? Tattoos. For my 40th birthday, I went to Mexico by myself and decided to get a tattoo — or five. The process — the art, the pain — felt healing in a way I didn’t expect.

I’ve always been a minimalist when it comes to design, but with tattoos, I’ve let go of the need for perfection. They’ve become a messy, imperfect way to express myself.

I just finished a piece on my back, and it tells my story in ink:

- The skulls remind me that I survived.

- The denim reflects my love of craftsmanship, my work, and my identity.

- The bottle represents a turning point in my creative career.

- The scene, inspired by an old Mexican movie, honors the culture and the impact Mexico has had on my life.

This tattoo is more than just an image — it’s a map of where I’ve been and a reminder of where I’m going.

Denim and Coffee: A New Chapter.

As I look ahead to the new year, I’m diving headfirst into two passions that have carried me through so much: denim and coffee.

mer / form isn’t just a denim brand — it’s my lifelong dream. It’s the culmination of everything I love about craftsmanship, community, and living authentically. Every pair of jeans is handcrafted on vintage machines from the early 1900s. Sustainability isn’t just a buzzword for me; it’s the only way I know how to do things right.

But mer / form is more than just fabric and thread. It’s about connection. Picture this: sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee while your jeans take shape, or stopping by to chat and enjoy some sips. It’s a space where community thrives, and life feels a little slower, a little more real.

In a world where everything is digital and fleeting, mer / form is a tribute to tradition, to the art of creation, and to the beauty of things that are perfectly imperfect. Every stitch, every cup of coffee, every shared conversation — it’s all part of a story about living life unfiltered.

This next chapter feels exciting and full of promise. Making jeans and roasting coffee isn’t just work for me — it’s my way of bringing a little more connection, a little more joy, into the world.

Here’s to what’s next and I am excited you decided to join the journey.

-cb

I want to chuck my iPhone into a lake and never see it again. Seriously, I’d love to never again feel the social pressure to reply within a certain timeframe on a digital device, just because it happens to be within arms reach.

This isn’t a new feeling. I’ve written about it before — back in 2013, twice, in fact. And yet, here I am, eleven years later, still tethered to the same kind of device and ecosystem. I didn’t throw the phone into a lake back then, though I tried a few approaches to break free. Every time, I landed back in Apple’s world. So yet to have done the phone chucking…

But today, this urge feels different. Instant communication is more intense than ever. You send a text, and if the person doesn’t reply within five minutes, your mind starts racing. “Did I upset them? What’s happening? Is the world falling apart?” Sound familiar? I’d bet past trauma is at the root of it for all of us but we are quite good at ignoring those signals, aren’t we?!

After my head injury, I was introduced to emotions I wasn’t used to — like worry and stress. The old me wasn’t much of a worrier or too stressed. I lived life, tried things, and if they didn’t work, I moved on. But the head injury messed with that. I started over-communicating to prove I was okay, which only created more stress. The snowball effect was real, and suddenly, I was shaking when I’d see an email or a text come through. Communication became the hardest thing to handle post-accident, but I made sure you did not know or notice.

This anxiety trickled into every part of my life — family, friendships, dating — even something as trivial as dating apps. So, when I say I want to chuck my phone into a lake, I mean it. I’m done being a servant to a device and the relentless communication that’s rarely life or death.

Things shifted when my accident lawsuit finally closed. The weight was lifted, and I felt free — free to write this journal, free from the constant pressure to respond instantly. And while I still believe in replying, does it have to happen right now? No. That’s something I’m learning to navigate, especially with friends and dating. Dating apps are a whole other beast. Instant responses are the norm, and if you hesitate, the person on the other end moves on. Zero patience. No time to actually get to know someone. It’s frustrating, but that’s a topic for another day.

Before the accident, my desire to disconnect from devices was mostly about rejecting Apple’s ecosystem. But after the accident, it became about something deeper. Being less tethered to tech has been life-changing. Maybe it sounds silly, but when you work in tech and advertising for as long as I have, you’re always plugged into what’s next. Now, my friend Cole keeps me in the loop about the latest tech, and honestly, it feels good not to be “the guy” anymore. But I’m still trying to figure out why I feel this need to disconnect when I’ve already distanced myself from the everyday city life I once lived.

That’s probably why I’m writing this journal — to get these thoughts out and maybe hear from you. How do I break free from the iPhone? Sure, it sounds easy — just change it, right? But my work comes through iMessage, and some of my family only uses FaceTime. There are alternatives, sure, but how do I make them part of my world? That’s what I’m hoping to figure out. One day, one day my friend.

Reading through my old notes, I realize I’ve been a slave to both myself and society. In 2018, I tried breaking free with a Google Pixel, and I loved the experience. It didn’t quite give me the minimalism I craved, but it freed me from Apple’s chains — until work pulled me back. I had to get an iPhone again, or I’d miss out on important conversations. How absurd is that? I realize now that I was weak then, and I still am in some ways. But it’s okay — it’s on me to find the solution.

It’s been a while since I’ve written here, and part of that is because this summer was a whirlwind. Writing felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. But here I am, still thriving, still figuring it out.

To whoever reads this, thank you for being part of my journey. I appreciate you.

— cb

We are too busy with chores and musts, kids to school, social media. We put ourselves in situations that forces us to compromise on our own truth, and perhaps mostly our wants and or needs.

If we can manage to stop ourselves in our own tracks and reset we will find ourselves in a place where we can authentically be ourselves. Imagining being able to join that cooking course you always dreamed about while also being a mom or dad as well. Same with the musts we don’t feel like doing right now. Don’t want to work in the yard? Don’t do it.

Now I may have lost a few of you and some others may consider this mindset lofty or even a bit too out there. Bear with me folks. This is still about you, and partly about myself as I am asking me and you these questions. Statements? Either way, they deserve its own light to be pondered upon.

Context. Growing up I was raised in an environment where we need to do things and be certain people that society needs us to be. Perhaps that’s the Swedish way and in the time I was raised in, but one thing about myself is that I always do things to one hundred percent, more if I could.

If I can’t be the best I don’t want to do it. That was my youth. The best at sports. The best at school. The best bla bla bla. So clearly I wanted to be the best “person society told me to be”, Until I woke up.

The beauty of hitting your head really damn hard, so hard that you see stars for years, yup THAT hard, helped me wake up. I had to rewire my own brain in ways I never knew I needed to do in order to overcome surviving a normal day. When I was diagnosed with my TBI, traumatic brain injury, it all started to make sense but prior to knowing what was wrong, I struggled to do simple things such as putting on my socks in the morning. Life got very hard and I felt as I had no one to truly communicate this with. So I did what I thought was best for me, withdraw from society and anything that would make my TBI worse. Bright lights, big crowds, people in general.

Being stuck in this state for months and years made me truly ponder about why I am here. What is my damn purpose and what is truly important, to me. Perhaps it was the isolation in Montana and nature that helped free myself from the burden that was my old way of thinking or perhaps it was the mushroom journey I went on in Joshua Tree, whatever unlocked that next level, for you video gamers out there, of brain power helped me see what I never saw before and to me, it changed everything.

Why are you here was no longer an issue. I know why I am here. I know what my purpose is. I know where I want to go in life and the best part? I am doing it. I am taking action every day to become the person I dream of. I chase weird and strange dreams but that is ok. I learned the hard way that whatever you dream of, is ok. Do you amigo.

Fear from the past.

However, while it sounds simple as I write it in this journal, it was anything but simple. I struggled with what was etched into my mind from my youth on what society tells us is a good human vs the human I wanted to become. Days, weeks and months have been spent working through these thoughts in my lonesomeness of the American west. It was me and Freyja and now it is me, Freyja and Frigg. We are family and have a beautiful path ahead of us following dreams, exploring new places and always waking up being excited for the adventure that is life.

I will leave this journal now, because it is an ever evolving thought and I am by no means done just yet. This thought right here is a daily reminder within myself to always be grateful for my past and the experiences I have been through, yes even those dark days. My reminder to look at life glass half full and never stop exploring. Myself and the depths of other humans… plus adventures.

We are only here for a short amount of time, no need to make that time harder than it has to be.

Thankful for those who are joining me on my journey back.

-cb

A timeout was needed.

After my accident I needed a timeout from the world. Humans. Traffic. 9–5 grind. Social media. Basically anything that is considered “normal” from a basic society point of view. We use the term “normal” here to give us some context in what deviated from my precious life.

During my darkest moments I could not pick up a telephone and call a friend. It always sounds so simple. “Hey man, I’m here for you. Just give me a call if you need anything.”

Well… I needed so much but could not muster myself to just reach out. Hey friend, I miss you. Seems so simple to say, today but when you are deep in it, it is everything but easy.

Add to the mix that I’ve almost always lived in a dense population city, Downtown Los Angeles, NYC but now moved to a rural location, Montana; where I did not know a single human within 1000 miles distance. So here I was, healing in my own solitude doing the best I could, without even the tiniest sense of community.

It was me and Freyja and many days if not weeks, we managed to spend time together without seeing another human. That is how remote I put myself and did so because I needed to heal. Heal without community and/or professional help. I think I came out on the other side ok, but this is also why you are reading this. The healing was not finished, if not finished and the words that I put down in this journal is my way to release some of the built up anxiety and hurt I have had over the years.

Bring back human connection.

As time passed I started to feel better, I started to come back to a new reality, my new reality, and my new self. The old me who you potentially knew and met over the years does not exist today.

I left him behind after lots of healing on my little mountain top. Reflecting back I would say old me liked to be seen and heard in a social setting, almost too much. You’d know if I was there.

Years later I now realize that was a behavior to protect myself from how I truly felt. Slightly uncomfortable in social situations. Me today, loves social settings but rather not be the center of attention. Probably a characteristic of growing older but also part staying true to my inner self.

How on earth do we bring back community into all of this now? We all live digital lives and feel content poking into humans lives through our digital devices. There’s no need to call a friend because you watched said friend’s vacation and family news through that device you probably are reading this on. You feel like you were part of friend’s life because you followed along. Similar in how we feel invested into movie characters.

Sadly, it is not real nor helping in building your community. There is no foundation to stand on and we all know how important a solid foundation is, in anything we do.

Just do it, they say.

You might be thinking along the lines of: but dude, why don’t you just pickup the phone and call someone. Totally valid assertion and I don’t have an answer to that question just yet.

Perhaps that’s why I am journaling. To get my thoughts to make sense. To bring out what’s missing inside. Help me nudge myself across the terrifying imaginary boundary we place on ourselves. I’d like to call people. I’d like people to call me. Not because we have to but because we align and want to keep community alive.

Fika, we all need to move slower.

Years ago I started a similar thought process but slightly different. You’ve might have heard me preaching Fika already but to me, it represents community at its best.

Some may see it as a simple coffee break but I see it as a time away from whatever it is that makes us busy, and just relax. Time away with someone else and their thoughts and feelings. Community.

While I haven’t pushed hard on the concept, I did setup a small website with a link anyone in the world could book a fika with me.

Sure, it is not in person but I thought that it could be such wonderful idea to fika together wherever we are in the moment. Another way of normalizing a regular phone call.

Have you recently texted someone saying: Hey, is it ok if I call you in 30min? I hate to say it but that is not how it should be. Just call. You are not bothering anyone, you are just reaching out. Wanting to connect. Wanting more than just a simple little text message. I also bet you were hoping to have more of a human connection than speaking to a blue or green bubble. Calling someone is normal, yet we feel so damn bothered by it. WHY?!

We don’t have to have coffee but we can have 15 minutes of catching up and conversation together. We can talk about what’s going on in the moment or life as a whole. We can take a tiny pause out of our day to check in with another human.

So far it’s been varied success. Could be the platform. Could be that people don’t want to fika with me. Could is a hard variable to measure so it’ll be easier to just continue with what makes us passionate. Fika is something I am passionate about but only because it means community, to me.

It’s the missing piece in my life and I’m trying to figure out how to solve it. Do you have any ideas? How can I improve my universe when it comes to the concept of community or fika. I’d love to know.

While I know you and many others may never reach out with an answer perhaps one or two will. And that’s one or two humans that have a chance to become closer to me than before. That’s a lovely thought as well.

Growth comes from within.

My journal is to allow myself an outlet for holding on to thoughts and emotions over the past few years. It allows me to see myself from a different perspective and third person POV which has helped my own growth.

Who knew words on a paper or digital screen can be so soothing and also healing. Sure sure, probably “everyone” but it’s a nice revelation for myself. The journey is bumpy and not always comfortable.

Community is a topic that’s been hard to communicate about and this is the initial pen to paper moment I wanted to take. Action.

Action is everything and here we are. Wandering. Seeking. Growing. While trying to figure out what community in the future will look like, to and for me. Something tells me that I will circle back to this topic as all I have here is the initial release, word vomit if you will.

World, the thoughts out out there. Let’s take action! Perhaps even together if you’ve always felt similar or are curious.

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Many wise humans before me have used the philosophy of choosing to rise above our everyday expectations of life in general. After reading Unfu*k Yourself by Gary John Bishop, more times than I can count something finally clicked. Did he not pay attention the first 30 times reading it? Sure, but there is a lot to digest when you open yourself up to change and we all go at our own pace and do the work we need when we need it the most. After my accident, I know I know we will cover that shortly, the brain injury that I got put me in a place I have never been before and made me walk paths I haven’t had to encounter in my pre accident life. The brain is our best friend and our biggest enemy, so being able to manage your thoughts is key.

You are not your thoughts.

Yup, Quoting you again Gary, but it is very true and my thoughts during this process have been very dark and hurtful to my own progress. Being able to take charge forward and realizing that they are just simple little thoughts have helped tremendously. I bet you all can relate to the times where you’ve been so deep in thoughts that they eventually started to feel real, to you. Real as in, this is the truth, this is your truth in the moment, but guess what. They fooled you, played a little juvenile trick on ya. They are not real, they are simply just little thoughts that come and go and we can choose to entertain them, or not. Sounds easy but is harder than words can describe as I know you all know by now.

I expect nothing and accept everything.

Driving from Salt Lake City to San Diego the other day I had lots of time to ponder life’s biggest mysteries. Ok, not really just my own thoughts and how I view life. Convinced this is why I love driving long distances, it allows me to open up my mind and welcome in thoughts to come and go as they please while cruising down the open road. And open it is, if you have never driven around the US you may not be aware of how vast this country actually is. The wide plains, the endless stretches of highways and horizon more beautiful every time you glance at it. What made this trip different than the rest is that it clicked. It finally clicked and it is with excitement I can tell myself that removing expectations from myself will help see both my thoughts and the world differently.

I expect you to communicate the way I do.

I expect you to love me like I love you.

I expect you to like what I like.

I expect your reaction to be a certain way.

Why we have these expectations I do not know, but I am certain I am not alone. Expectations are good of course, but if I had to choose I would rather go without than with as it will simplify life, for me by a landslide. Being grateful for what the universe brings us allow us to have less stress in life and I sure don’t mind less of that evil thing.

Pondering these thoughts on my drive made me feel like I finally unlocked a new level of life, a life hack if you will. Perhaps I am late to the game of life and thoughts and most already have this realization, but that is also ok. My journey, my way because I am what I am and I do what I do. (Another wonderful quote I can relate to). Just be you man. (Woman). Be you, Do you, Your way. What should be in our life will come to our life and that is another realization I have had over the past few months.

When you let go you open yourself up to receive. You open yourself up to more abundance of everything. You open yourself up to new possibilities. Damn, that feels nice to say out loud.

Thoughts, ponders and life things are flowing much easier after releasing the stress of expectations within me. I highly recommend you to try it, or even reading the book by Gary. He is a great guy, never met him but would have a Fika with him in a heartbeat. Do you know Gary? Send him my invite and I bet he would enjoy the wonders of our Swedish little ritual.

As always, the journal I write is for me to keep. You being here is a bonus and I am grateful that you take time out of your day to follow along.

With gratitude,

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2014 is one of the highlight years of my life. I was living in New York City, on Manhattan, yes like the movies, and worked at an advertising agency doing the thing we all dream about. We attach ourselves to a dream and follow it as far as we can, some make it, some don’t which are both ok. I have always been determined to reach any goal I set for myself so when I realized that I reach this one dream of mine, life should work itself out, right?!

Violated? Sure thing.

Living in NYC was one of the greatest experiences of my life and I can reminisce even today about the good times I had and what I experienced living there. Yet, when I actually lived there it did not feel as full as perhaps my memories make it out to be years later, (Go figure huh). While living in NYC I felt trapped. I felt violated daily, taking the train or even walking anywhere. Wherever you look you could not escape humans. Make sense since there is over 8 million humans living in the big apple, so the idea of being alone was perhaps not what NYC living should be all about.

To me it was an inner yearning I never knew was boiling inside of me. I started finding myself looking at trips to nature, the mountains, ocean, wide open spaces. THE DAMN OPEN ROAD. I missed the freedom of space which I had taken for granted all my life.

When the magic hits.

Fast forward to 2024, as this is where the magic boils and why I am sharing these thoughts of mine. I scroll through my photos, as one does when you either are looking for a specific moment, or just have nothing else to do (damn our generation is terrible) and on this particular day I find this main photo. The photo that caught me off guard.

Back in 2014 I manifested my future I am now living in 2024 without me thinking twice about it over the years or even realizing when I reached this manifestation.

From the 25th floor terrace at my old office building I took a photo of the skyline but instead of showing the skyline, I am showing mountains. Open road. Freedom from humans. Posted to social media and never thought about it again, except… Did I? Universe sure as hell did not forget.

No one said you had to, or have to, be spiritual, but it is something that I am slowly discovering and doing it my way. Whether it is from meditating, talking to close friends or just experimenting with what the earth is providing.

Finding this gem of a memory flipped my own script and brought me deeper in my own personal journey which is still a healing one from my 2019 Brain Injury. One single photo brought more peace to my soul than years of trying to force happy thoughts to develop so I can move on.

It is just a simple moment. It is my moment and it means the world to me. You who managed to get here now also shares this with me, which makes it all feel slightly more wonderful and connected.

I am grateful you are here.

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What happens when you let go of the tight grip you’ve held on yourself and your own set of boundaries? You’re set f**king free.

At the start of this year, I began diving deep into my own hurts. Where do they stem from, and how do you move forward without dragging along a heavy suitcase full of baggage that no longer fits who you are, or belongs in your life now?

Opening your heart to more pain makes you more vulnerable than ever. But with this mindset, you’re setting yourself up for success because whatever comes your way will be genuine and sincere. Could you get hurt again? Sure, but think about how much love you can invite into your life with this outlook.

So, I took the leap. I opened my heart. And I found myself in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been to, Habitas Tulum.

Despite traveling around the world multiple times, I haven’t often allowed myself to visit places just for the sheer enjoyment of being there. Most of my travels had some sort of attachment, whether it was for visiting someone, work, or something else. So, allowing myself to visit a place simply because it feels right is entirely new to me. That’s why it fits so perfectly into my philosophy of keeping my heart wide open and welcoming what comes your way.

But is it just about visiting places? Not at all. Growing up with culinary traumas, my young life was more about nutrition than flavor. What do I need to survive? More often than not, it was a diet centered around pasta. So, when you ask me about my favorite meal, it’s simple: Pasta Bolognese. Approaching the culinary world with an open heart has allowed me to taste flavors I never thought I’d enjoy. Who would’ve guessed I’d savor the taste of a tuna steak? You kind souls reading this probably already knew and might’ve joked, “I could’ve told you that, ya goofball.” But hey, we all have our own little universe we’re living in, and in mine, these flavors didn’t exist until now. They didn’t exist until I began to open my heart and stop fearing pain. Fear of getting hurt.

We’re all so protective of our emotions and feelings because they’re what hold our world together. What we weren’t taught is that by doing so, we limit ourselves to experiences within our own bubble, missing out on a ton of amazing things, whether they’re related to food or friendships that blossom into love.

Opening your heart lets more happiness into your world.

Go ahead, don’t be afraid. Say it to yourself one more time.

Opening my heart lets more happiness into my world.

We’re all scared, and if we can loosen the reins just a little, even for a moment, we’ll all have a bit more spring in our step, a few more smiles for the strangers we pass by.

Remember, we’re all light.

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For as long as I can remember, dreams have been a significant part of my persona. You might laugh and say something like, “Don’t we all dream, ya fool?” Sure, we do. But go ahead, you write this then instead!

As I reflect on the depths of the past few years, marked by trauma and pain, I find myself pouring out my thoughts onto these pages, for all to see or none at all, my thoughts that needs to come out for me, not you. Each day, a small flame within me ignites with my dreams — goals to achieve before my time in this physical form ends, or simply aspirations with a set timeline. Dreams, nonetheless, propel me forward, driving me to take action.

Let’s take a moment to look back in time. This might resonate more with those Swedes out there than my friends elsewhere. My childhood dreams unfolded in my grandmother’s front yard, comfy with a coke in hand on the grass on summer days, flipping through the pages of the marvelous Hobbex Catalog, a treasure from a Swedish store cleverly named Hobbex in Borås. It featured everything imaginable, from toys to electric guitars to bikes to record players. As a young child, I wanted it all. While I never bought much from it, it taught me the art of dreaming. Sometimes, dreaming provided peace, offering an escape from harsh realities.

But how does this relate to being an “actionable dreamer” if I didn’t purchase anything back then? Perhaps it was the act of not buying that underscored the importance of action versus mere dreaming, distinguishing reality from fantasy. While we all have dreams, we don’t always act upon them, for various reasons. I know you have dreams; you wouldn’t be human without them. So, let’s stop the silliness and commit to pursuing at least one dream this month. Do it. Dooooo it! Simple yeah?

Dreaming served as my coping mechanism during the recovery of my motorcycle accident. I’ll dive deeper into that story in another journal, when the time is right. For now, let’s focus on my path back from my accident — marked by dreams, hopes, and goals. I firmly believe that without my dreams, I wouldn’t be where I am today, alive and kicking, still.

My most vibrant dream to date revolves around denim, though it took me a while to realize it. It all began at the age of six, helping my aunt at her clothing store, where I first encountered a pair of raw denim Levi’s 501 jeans. The texture, the scent, the feel of brand new, perfectly indigo-colored denim — it captivated me. This experience fueled my passion for denim, leading me to dive deeper into every aspect of it, from sales to organization to buying trips. Yup, a vidid memory is going on a buyers trip to Gothenburg and the office of Levis, listening and picking new stock for the coming season. It was all magical to me. This is where my dream took root, where my internal fire for denim ignited.

Like most dreams, it was overshadowed by newer, more enticing aspirations over time. Whether it was hockey, romance, travel, trucks or other interests, my dreams began to accumulate. Yet, the beauty of stacked dreams lies in the ability to choose which one to pursue on any given day, providing a safe space during challenging times. Options, where do we go today kind of mindset.

Recovery proved to be an uphill battle, especially alone, as every day required gathering the strength to take action, to confront what lay ahead. But wasn’t this about being an “actionable dreamer”? Indeed, but the mind doesn’t always comply. While progress within dreams is possible, the same cannot always be said for daily tasks. There were moments when the simplest tasks would be impossible to complete, the internal struggle. Friends and family often offered simple advice, like a damn Nike commercial: “Just do it.” Yet, recovery isn’t that straightforward; it means digesting external feedback, which isn’t always timely or comforting. What kept me going was the enduring flame of my dreams, particularly my passion for denim. Were there other dreams? Certainly, but none as strong or vibrant as my love for denim, which helped me through dark days… and sadly there were a lot of those dark dark days.

Now, this journal isn’t solely about denim or dreams; it’s about recovery and moving forward. Funny how you thought all along this was about something else. Yeah I know, my writing is not perfect but that is ok, who is… It’s about letting go of the past and slowly walk towards the life I envision daily. And in that daily vision, denim features prominently, a testament to its significance in my journey.

So, while this could easily be a journal dedicated to denim, it’s not. There will be a time for that, but for now, let’s focus on shedding the weight of the past and cultivating strength from within. Finding a safe space within yourself and the human connections we create. Safe is the keyword, slow is the action. For those not connecting the dots, dreams + slow = action.

Slow is the notion of this journal entry and while we did not accomplish it all this time, we will eventually.

Until next time,

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Howdy, Chair on the Edge of the World. We meet again. I have some thoughts I need to get off my chest so bear with me as they unfold.

Deep inside, there’s this weird feeling, kinda like a brown banana. It’s shouting, “This ain’t the life for me. We’re not meant to live like this.”

Peering through the dense fog, I take a deep breath, remembering the grind of my morning commute — be it a 10-minute subway ride in New York City, a 40-minute drive along the Pacific Cost Hwy, or the occasional two-hour traffic mess to downtown or the valley. I used to think, “Is this really living?” stuck in the trap of societal norms with no obvious escape.

Sipping on my perfectly crafted latte, I ponder the ongoing internal struggle to make sense of why society expects us to clock in 60–80 hours a week, playing a small part in the big machine. Disconnected from the outside world for five years, I don’t even know what people are up to on their morning commutes these days and that feels effortlessly ok inside.

This journal entry is me trying to make sense of my journey through this wild ride we call life and finding some pride in the changes I’ve made.

Life’s nothing like it used to be, and weirdly, I’m cool with that. Swapping city life for chopping wood and living solo with my pups up in the mountains has been a wild change. The old worries are replaced with clarity and a new motivation to take things slow, all mixed with a heap of love. Even chomping down on food is different; it’s not just about survival anymore — I’m savoring oysters for the taste and the experience it provides.

Thinking back to growing up, I’m thrown back to when our generation was all about “hustle hard” — yeah, sounds cliché now. Back then, it was all about grinding for the reward, living life like an elite athlete chasing success in everything.

This ain’t me hating on the past, just looking back on the crazy effort I put in. The idea that hard work gets you what you want shaped my worldview, steering me through my ambitions and whatnot.

As I weave through my thoughts and experiences, this journal is a mix of confessing and celebrating. It’s recognizing that life’s a rollercoaster, full of ups and downs. But in the middle of the chaos, there’s a chance to see progress and find comfort in the evolving story of me, myself and I.

So here I am, caught between the echoes of my past self and the serenity of my newfound existence. Life’s flipped, turned, and twisted into something I never imagined, yet oddly, it feels just right. As I pen down these words, I’m not waving goodbye to my past; I’m acknowledging the journey and the person I’ve become. It’s a wild ride, this thing we call life, and as I sit here on the edge of the mountain, I can’t help but feel a sense of contentment. See you on the flip side, Chair on the Edge of the World, or until next time vibes — wherever this rollercoaster takes me, I’m ready for the ride.

Until Next time

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Thought we were done with this Fika nonsense? Not quite, Amigo.

Fika, like any good mantra, is a forever-and-ever kind of love. The more Fika you do, the deeper into Fika you go, my friend.

Alright, but where did this all start for you and why?

Going back to my younger Sweden years, the ones that stand out most are my senior year in high school, where me and the other hockey bros practiced twice a day. Instead of grabbing the bus to school, we all went down to our favorite cafe downtown, Klaras. Fika is in every Swede’s gene, but one doesn’t need genetic optimization to bring this joyful movement into life. All you need is a bit of determination and a greater love for community, peaceful moments, plus a liking for treats and delicious beverages.

You can Fika anywhere. With anyone. By yourself. There are no rules. Be you, do you, and enjoy all those sweet moments.

Community

Part of my recovery has been learning to love community again and figuring out how to do it differently this time around. I’ve always wanted to bring people together, and a vivid example is when I joined a large advertising agency in Manhattan. Making the move to New York City was huge, with 8 million humans in one place and the world’s heart rate pumping day and night.

If we never had to sleep, NYC would be an epic place, as you’d be entertained every moment. What I never expected was how hard it could be to connect with humans in NYC or this magical advertising agency I joined. I remember being seated where I saw tons of co-workers walking by each day, but we never really connected. My department was closely connected with lunches, events, evenings of whiskey, and concerts together. I just couldn’t imagine that at an agency of 500+, I would “only” connect with the 30 or so in my little department.

So, I did what any normal Swede would do. I marched into the CEO’s office and asked if I could start a new “thing” at the office called Fika. After a yes, I recorded videos, engaged the whole agency, baked 400 chocolate balls until 5 am one morning, all in the name of Fika and community. Through Fika, I met some of the best humans to this day.

Believe me when I say that Fika works. More importantly, I realized how much I enjoyed being part of the greater community and spreading joy through a simple cup of coffee (or beer).

We missed you at Fika

Could you Fika here?

Onwards — Let us Fika

Now that you know a little more about my Fika obsession, you also don’t really know why I am pushing as hard as I am, and that is okay. We got time, we got nothing but time, babe. During my move to Montana, I got everything I needed to heal, and the healing has helped me grow into the human I am today. One bit still remains, and that is my love for community and wanting to connect with you. Living in Montana, there aren’t that many humans around, and fewer are the coffee houses I am used to walking into and people-watching. So bringing Fika to the people is my way of connecting back, connecting forward, connecting to the community. I set up this link where anyone in the world can join a Fika if they so choose. It may be awkward to see someone you’ve never met before on the other side of the screen, but what the heck. Life is too short not to have random Fikas with humans who are also craving community or are just curious. I welcome you all into my safe space, to a Fika.

Journal Pondering

As I am getting used to the format of writing my thoughts and opinions for the world, I am also warming up to how to structure these journal entries. For now, you get my raw thoughts and opinions as they come, in the moment. No pre-planning, no strategy, just me. After being in silence for so many years, it feels nice to peek out on the other side of the fence. Checking in, poking around, learning what works and doesn’t without feeling judged. I welcome feedback.

Talk soon,

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In the last five years, my life has been a battlefield, a struggle to recover from a motorcycle accident that left me with a plethora of hurt. We will dive deeper into them as this journal evolves, for now listed below:

• 28 Stitches

• 4 Broken Bones

• Torn Ligaments

• 2 Spine Surgeries

• Traumatic Brain Injury

• Post Concussion Syndrome

• Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

It’s been a lot to process, a lot to talk about. Not so much dwelling on the past, but focusing on the future that has been granted to me. Throughout this journey, I’ve often faced it alone, preferring solitude to repeating the same story over and over. A friend’s check-in, a family member’s outreach, a lawyer guiding me on how to navigate life — these were the intermittent connections during a time when facing such a massive challenge often meant facing it alone.

Blame was thrown around, mostly at myself, but this journal isn’t about blame. It’s about rebirth, a second chance at life, and the incredible fortune of having an amazing group of people waiting for me when the darkness was overwhelming.

During recovery, I envisioned the day I could stand atop a mountain, screaming about the freedom I’d finally attained — freedom from burdens imposed by others and myself. I’m liberated, released from the chains that were my thoughts, for we had plenty of those over the years.

A recurring desire during my recovery was the lack of human connection — to be close, to talk, to laugh, and perhaps, to hug. But where I was, how hurt I was, human connection seemed impossible. My body and mind rejected it, presenting one of the most challenging life lessons I’ve faced. If you knew me before, you’d say I was anything but people-shy. Now, life moves at a slower pace, and I listen more than I talk. The brain injury made life harder, interactions challenging, but I found solace on my mountain top in Montana with my loving best friend, Freyja.

Why journal and why now?

As my legal case neared its end, as my body regained strength and my mind sharpened, I felt a strong urge to reconnect with humans. How? I wasn’t sure. Why? Because I missed the stories we made together. When? That’s uncertain, but what I do know is that I’m open to connection from wherever it may come. At this time, the connection is me speaking out loud as all thoughts I have held in, wants to come out. Hoping to find humans who want to join in and connect deeper than your average surface level bullshit. Let us connect. Let us grow, together.

Journal

Writing is a love of mine, a hidden part of my creative side that surfaced unexpectedly. I’ve learned to say ‘fuck it’ to the mindset of seeking validation. I’m here to write for myself and those who want to listen. This journal will blend long-form text with visuals. While the text is new, visuals are not. Creating images, both moving and still, has been a longstanding passion, abruptly halted by the accident — much like an amazing first date that never led to a second. Yet, the desire remains, and this journey is about making sense of it all.

Why now of all timings

Life provides us with time — time to be a child, time to experience life as a teen, and time to live before it all ends. Rushing only makes time slip away faster. Sitting on my chair, gazing over the rocky mountains, I’ve realized the value of moving slowly. I’ve rushed through much of my life, always chasing the new. Time is all I’ve had over the last five years, and the change in myself is evident. I won’t let time be rushed again. Moving slow has taught me that completing tasks is faster when you embrace a slower pace. Slow is fast, and slow is for me. Now is the right time to tell my story — for me and those who want to listen.

№ 001

This is just the first journal of many, as many as my mind wishes to write. Summarizing the past five years in one go is impossible, but that’s also the beauty of it. The journey has only just begun for me, and there’s much more to share when my mind decides. It could be tomorrow, it could be in a month.

Excited that you are here; next time, we’ll chat about how a fika can bring us together, if you dare to join in.

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Photography did not come natural to me growing up, I never got to play with cameras or take that many photos. During my childhood we didn’t take that many photos, if we compare to parents today then I definitely was behind the curve. Yet, freezing moments in time comes very natural to me. I shoot what I see, how I see it, usually without much interference with what is happening in the scene. This has been true to a lot of my commercial work as well. Sometimes it’s better to let models, scenes build themselves.

I am a professional photographer. Today, there are more professional photographers than ever before. Sadly it makes me not want to title myself as a professional photographer anymore since the definition of said title is based on doing work for compensation and a very loose term. I remember how powerful that title was just a few years ago and for now, it’s just something I say I do, but not as my identity tag.

Over the years I have fallen out of love for the little things I used to love the most, taking photos daily. Shooting used to give me a sense of purpose but I never shot for anyone but myself. Which also means I am sitting on thousands of photographs on my own hard drive, or the cloud, that not one human will ever see. Surprisingly that feels ok which also gives me an odd feeling when I read it out loud to myself. I truly enjoy freezing moments in time and the tool I prefer to use is most likely a very expensive tool. The tool itself does not have purpose in this note, but more so the end result.

Technical perfection — a perfect photograph. Perfectly sharp. Perfectly balanced. Perfect colors. Should we worry so much about the technical aspect of capturing an image? To me, it seems to be more a byproduct of our over consumption society we live in today. I am the first person to love anything new that comes out, so its not about new vs old, but I think I asked myself this question a few years ago and that is when I fell back in love with photography.

Canon used to be a client I shot and worked for, their cameras are more or less perfect and can create the perfect photograph. Arguably, boring looking most of the time, lacks life, lacks depth. It’s too perfect, for my taste.

Would you still enjoy being a photographer if no one saw your photos? No likes, no comments, no instant gratification and that sense of euphoria that you are the chosen one. I got 19 likes!

My answer today is different from a few years ago but it is a strong yes. I shoot for me, not you or anyone else. I capture what I enjoy and I do it with a hope of freezing that moment in time, forever the way I see it. My way, with my tools. Having fallen out of love for shooting was hard, especially since taking photographs used to fill me with joy and inspiration wherever I went. A former boss’ negative outlook on life was the first one that made me withdraw from shooting like I used to.

It is remarkable to me that we can we so affected by another humans opinions that we stop what we love. I never planned on stopping, I never planned on not shooting, but from that built up negativity, my body and mind just said no. No more. I lost that love to shoot, for me.

I look back through my archive of photos and I remember every single one of them. What I was doing, how the world felt around me and each an ever time I go back in time, I want to create more. It makes me want to pickup any camera I have laying around and just hold it. Holding it gives me that good good feeling we all enjoy. I love seeing life through a lens or a rangefinder, deciding what moment I want to save for a rainy day. Pure and simple: I love capturing moments and I am writing this as a reminder to myself to not fall out of love ever again with the simple practice that is photography.

What if no one saw your photos, would you still be a photographer? Yes, yes I would be. Finding an outlet for placing the photos somewhere will always be a thing, human nature. I am taking a slightly different approach as I, myself, miss the tangible of holding an item in your hand. Imagine 1.8 Billion printed photographs a day, we’d run out of trees in no time. Also not my goal, but it took a long journey into myself to find the what, why and how of photography.

Postcards, a simple photo + a few well chosen words with a stamp and off they go. I want to make postcards, but not to sell, no that is not my hope with this. My goal is to capture moments from my life and travels and send these moments to friends and family in a simple format that is a postcard. 5x7, 8x10, 6x6. The format will change but I will still want to call them postcards as that is what they are.

I will be a photographer that shoot for me, but in a strange way I will have a gallery of images out there in the world, some will go in the trash but some, maybe some will be hung up on the wall, some possibly even framed. I do not know where this will take me, but it is my own solution to this passion of mine that is photography. As I get moving with my life long project I will write more of these, not for you, not for anyone but myself. My thoughts at this point in time, a journal for my own mental health.

If you made it this far and would like a postcard, send me a message on instagram and we can exchange details.

An honest letter to myself.

Unapologetically celebrating myself and learning self acceptance.

Forty also means twenty years in Sweden and twenty years in America. I never thought I’d be here as it was a running joke when I first moved but alas, here I am, thriving.

Two countries. Six states. Nine cities. Ocean and mountains.

My last twenty years have been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences. Adventures and life lessons. Friends won. Friends lost. Laugher and sadness. Love found and love lost.

I wouldn’t be the man I am today without these years under my belt. I wouldn’t know how to love as strong as I can without the heartbreaks that I lived through. Looking back at a life lived and I wouldn’t change a thing.

Professional hockey, college hockey, coaching hockey. That’s how the journey started. Without hockey I wouldn’t be me or in America. Without 90210 & Baywatch I wouldn’t have gone to college in San Diego. Hockey helped me gain a focus and will to win that led me to a career in advertising. Same will that turned no into yes many times over by out working not only others but also myself. I am grateful for the life lessons hockey taught me. From a simple thing as being on time to never accept failure. Early is on time, on time is late, don’t ever forget that.

It’s with tremendous gratitude I salute these past twenty years and I know that they prepared me well for the man I am today. For the friend I have become. For being a lover ready to love. For being the designer I am. Accepting myself as enough and never stop working on bettering the same self.

Today I celebrate my day of birth and my accomplishments up until today. I hope to spend the next twenty years doing the things I enjoy with the people I love.

I invite you to join me, we’ll have fun. I can promise you this much. Let us fika.

-cb

Jackson Hole — Yearly dose of happy

Nearly ten years have gone by since I first visited Jackson. Going back every year since has been the single best treat I can give myself each year. Jackson gives me nature at its best, with a touch of steep slopes and delicious beer.

A camera is packed for every trip, and this was no different. I decided I wanted to bring my Hasselblad 501c with 10 rolls of film. Aggressive amount but at times it’s better to carry too much than too little.

After being in Jackson for all of 30min I drop the camera. Being all manual I wasn’t too worried but soon after taking a shot I notice that I cannot advance the film. Something must have happened to my film back. I waste 3 rolls of film trying to solve the issue before giving up.

Not wanting to completely stay away from shooting I resort to my pocket and grab my Google Pixel 2 phone. I normally use to phone camera to capture things I see or need to remember. They are quick, brief moments for me to see and me alone. Although, I share a fair deal with my family and friends of course.

Below you will see how much power you actually have in your pocket. Since I had a plan of shooting film I wanted to emulate the look and feel of Kodak TRI-X 400 film.

Editing

Adobe Lightroom has been my go to for quite some time now. I have tried out capture one, like most professionals, but the color I make is achieved better in Lightroom. The new Lightroom CC app is superb and I have over 80K photos all accessible from laptop or my Pixel phone. While I don’t love the Mac app I use it for accessing shots I don’t want to store on my hard drive while traveling.

Conclusion

If you made it this far, congrats. I very much enjoyed shooting on the Pixel but I would rather use my Hasselblad. Regardless, I think the photo quality is superb and I would use it again for something like this.