I was standing on the train platform, wearing my black coat and skinny jeans, my Dolce & Gabbana thick black rimmed glasses, red lipstick… my farmer’s market chic accessories – I probably looked pretty cool. I also looked exactly like everyone else on that train platform. Maybe my boots were a bit ‘last year’ – fake fur trimmed, with those little balls of fake fur dangling from the top – Ugg knockoffs from the second hand shop in the little Swedish city I was living in.
I know who I am. I am 24 years old, and I’m fairly confident that I know what makes me happy.
That’s a big statement. This idea came to me in the shower a few months ago. It felt like a big moment. I’m thinking about it again right now, on the train from Stockholm to Gävle. It’s a beautiful summer’s day and I’m just spent the past day wandering about Stockholm by myself, savouring the opportunity to just think.
I feel like if I’m going to start writing a blog, I need some sort of grand introduction, but I don’t want to write with an airy sense of self-importance, as though my decision to share my cacophony of thoughts this morning with the online world, in a virtually invisible forum is of some sort of great importance. Really, I’ve realized that the way I live my life and think my thoughts is in a way that seems to require sharing. It seems to me that every perception and experience I have, I want to share. I see things through my own eyes, but immediately formulate them into a story of the experience. It’s not that I want to brag about what I’m doing or seeing or thinking, but more that I really enjoy the idea of crafting small, even mundane, details into provocative stories. When a small moment makes me smile or wonder or feel a lift of happiness, I’m ever curious about how to share it. How to communicate it to the rest of humanity.