I started playing piano at two and a half years old. My parents had an old Everett upright that became the catalyst for my musical and emotional growth. The piano sat beside a southwest-facing glass door, where sunlight streamed in from mid-afternoon to early evening. I remember playing with intensity, louder and more urgent, believing the sun would break from the clouds to embrace my hands as they danced across the keyboard with each crescendo.

To this day, I swear I could control the clouds with my music.

When my grandmother and then grandfather passed before my ninth birthday, I coped by matching my music to the sun. I raised the piano’s vibrations as high as I could, hoping they might hear the notes, an etheric beacon guiding them toward heaven. Since then, I’ve continued this ritual for many loved ones and friends, even arranging for my music to be played at several of their funerals.
In my teens, after signing my first record deal at nineteen, I began to notice hidden stories within the structures of my songs. These stories arrived as emotional visions so vivid I believed I was tapping into something far greater than myself. In time, the visions took on shapes as I began to see notes, not just hear them, alive in ways more profound than simple definition.
When the first digital cameras appeared, everything changed. I could now give sound to vision and vision to sound, even though painting was never my strength. Photography gave me another language to express what music had already revealed. Later, when I learned Photoshop in my mid-twenties, I became a force to be reckoned with.
In 1991, I released my first album, Without the Water. The CD’s back cover showed what looked like a glowing red-and-gold sunrise. Listeners called it beautiful, mysterious, and profound. What no one knew was that it was just a manipulated photo of a candle resting on the back of a toilet. To this day, my wife and I laugh at how deeply it resonated.
The next step came naturally: weaving stories through both images and music. What most people don’t realize is that when you’re on a creative mission, the true reward isn’t the final product, it’s the journey and all of the emotions that develop into positive memories throughout the process. Each experience, from idea to fieldwork to the studio, builds perspective, discipline, and yes, even preparedness.
At first glance, it may seem unusual to connect music and photography with preparedness. But both have shaped the way I live and the way I raise my family. They sharpen observation, foster patience and nurture resilience. I’ve even learned practical lessons, like exactly how long it takes for my fingers to go numb and no longer register on an iPhone screen in negative twenty-degree weather. (Three and a half minutes, in case you’re curious.)
These gifts remind me that beauty and peace can be found even in uncertainty. They’ve helped me create a positive space not just for myself, but for my wife and children, who each share in this creative journey in their own ways.
For children, the lesson is even more critical. A child who learns to see beauty through a lens or shape music from emotion isn’t just learning art, they’re learning self-reliance, confidence and resilience. These are qualities that will carry them through life’s challenges, both big and small, just as they have carried me.
To the readers of Parents with Preparedness Magazine, my hope is simple: encourage your children to pick up a camera, pluck at a keyboard, hum a tune, or strum a guitar. Photography and music are not merely pastimes. They are practices that build awareness, resilience, and hope. They give kids a way to make their world more beautiful and, in the process, prepare themselves for the future with strength and creativity.
The beauty of where I live reminds me daily: the waves of Lake Michigan will always rise and fall, but what matters most is how you frame the moment, and what song you choose to carry it forward. ❦

About the Author

Adam is a composer, writer, and photographer whose work reflects a lifelong connection to creativity, resilience and the outdoors.
He shares these passions through his work with PWPORG.ORG, helping families explore music, photography and preparedness as tools for strength and self-reliance.
He is currently working on his next album, Place of Echoes, a project blending his photography and music, set for release in summer 2026.
To listen to his music, view his photography, or connect with Adam, please visit PlaceofEchoes.com

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