I’m spending a week at a resort in northern Canada, a fishing camp catering to hard-core fishermen and women.

I watch as these singular-minded folks pull into the resort in their 3/4-ton four door Dodge Rams or the like pulling boats powered by 100 horsepower Suzuki outboards complete with swivel seats, windshields, depth gages, sonar fish-finders and mounted trolling motors. Big people mostly gathering around their cabins at days end, deep-frying their batter-coated fillets of Walleye on their propane deep-fryers, standing around in groups of six or so, beer in hand, watching their meal cook, talking of the days catch, I’m guessing.

I walk out the door of our cabin, they look at me, at my scratched up, dented 14-foot rental boat with the nine-horse Evenrude, ask how I did, “catch much?”; (better have a convincing answer to avoid the inevitable smirks, I’m thinking), “got a nice Walleye”, I lie.

I’m feeling pretty out of place here; I dream of spending time on one of the beautiful islands in one of these enormous lakes, enjoying a relaxing picnic away from the wave tossed boat and the competitive atmosphere of the camp.

I’ve been thinking lately about what draws people to get-togethers with their former high school classmates years after graduation. It makes sense of course to want to reconnect with those who were good friends, but I suspect those who wish to do so are in the minority, that there are a variety of other reasons compelling attendance.

High school was and is a contrived culture dictated by overseers in an artificial environment with time restrictions, attendance demands and pecking order. Those in charge, aware their charges harbor under-developed brains tolerate them on the basis of their cooperativeness, a fact not lost on the average intelligence who may opt to suck up to those in charge, rebel and play the renegade or simply accept the situation and persevere; we all know which behaviors can expect future social and economic success.

It’s mostly out of curiosity, then, that reunion attendance occurs. Everyone is wondering how so and so made it through life to this point given how tenuous his/her potential survival appeared back then.

I’ve been thinking lately about how one uses or wastes intellectual energy over the course of even one day. Would that IE be characterized as merely mental distraction? Allowing oneself to become bored, to slovenly slide into mundane existence would likely result in mental sludge, frivolous, insignificant, aimless meanderings; social, relational or escapist distractions of no redeeming worth far removed from any sort of constructive contemplation.

When, on the other hand one might find her way through reading, study or acute observation to realms of enlightening insight; finding concepts, building ideas with the potential to reveal applications useful in all sorts of ways, or, at the very least, result in something tangible.

As I think about it, there’s no doubt I waste intellectual energy every day; how long has it taken me to put together these three paragraphs? And can I honestly say any of my precious IE has been well used? At least I can say I produced a product I suppose.