I don’t want to be an author.
I don’t want to be a professional songwriter.

I don’t want to be a prose writer, a columnist, a poet. I don’t want to be a twitter phenomenon, an eternal wanderer, a runner, an actress. I am not a singer and I am not a publisher. 
I am the sum of all these things, expanded and built upon, creating something unique that I –and only I– can carry, and I am not a label. I am not a brand. 
I am not something you can touch or dress up, replicate or produce 
and I am nothing special. In the literal sense, for this speaks for all of us – or rather we who dare to throw off the labels, get off the paved road to a finished title and instead create our own undefinable titles. 
I am the sum of everything I do and learn and read and hear
and all these things become my paint. My melodies. My pencils. The decorations I will use to build my very own self. To look and feel and talk like I want to, and it might sound grand and naive, but I need to practice my belief.
My belief that the things that no one can touch but only feel, hear and remember, are bigger than any label or name anyone can ever give me. I must believe that what I create is bigger than myself. That I – Charlotte Eriksson – can go under the surface and not be remembered by name, not recognized by face, but what I manage to create and build, learn and acknowledge will. Forever. Eternally. Internally, be of impact, for someone.

I am a worried person with a stressed out soul, living a simple life with no capital. I am gathering knowledge in every corner I can with the abilities I have. I’m reading philosophy, politics, history and fiction. Greek tragedies and the arctic waste. I’m studying psychology, economics, plant based nutrition and I’m writing essays and manifestos, chasing bigger names with bigger frames, to ask a question or two, and I am learning to lead. 
I am reading to take the lead. 
Lead who? My self. My own life. My own future. I’m not chasing you, or them, or anyone else; I am chasing me.
For I have nothing to lean on, nowhere to call my home and there is nowhere I will go for Christmas to rest my head and touch familiar walls. I have no degree to show on paper or employment to take care of my health or the reassurance that I can pay my rent. And I have no right to complain because this is the road I choose and I built it myself, not really knowing where I wanted it to lead, but I have hope in all things ahead and behind and I am learning to let myself go. Forget my own ego and believe that what I am doing is grander than my very own self.

I’m not exactly sure where all this will lead me, but as long as I live every day to my fullest capacity, I know these things will slowly but beautifully sculpt and shape themselves, shape me, into something unique and of importance,
and though it’s months of cold and Berlin’s getting dark before it’s getting late
I must believe that there will be a day when the sun wakes up before I do, again. When the grass grows green and the soil will feed the marrow once more
and just like this, or that, I must believe that what I am building right now, here, with this, will one day bloom like the most wonderful of flowers, growing stronger underneath that soil.
I must believe in my own growth, for without it I have nothing.

As long as I am moving I am right on the path I made.

Charlotte Eriksson, Another Vagabond Lost To Love