“I packed light and spent 18 months on the road, homeless but at home. Lost but unable to be lost because I had no destination. I arrived in new cities every morning, scraped coins to afford coffee and then tried to find the busiest venue in town where I begged to get to play a set or two. If I was lucky I sold albums enough to afford the train the next day. If I was luckier I could afford whiskey and if I was a god damn star I got some tip from the sound-guy. You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you as the poem you want to be. One day, things will change and you will not have to struggle every day to convince people that you and your art is good enough. One day, you will simply be able to be you, and be okay with that ….

…

But somewhere on the road I started to feel drained. There I was with no belongings but my guitar and a few pair of clothes, ripping my heart out in every single way, but no one seemed to understand what I was saying, what I was singing about, what I tried to do. I screamed my heart out every night, and no one seemed to care. I pushed and cried and fought and struggled my way through the days, with nothing in return but the so called blessing of getting to do it the next day again. A constant fever from sleeping on floors, cheap instant coffee and if I’m lucky a little tip under the table from the bar-staff. I loved living like a wanderer, not owning keys, new beginnings every day, but I started to get scared. You’re never really relaxed, you’re always watching your back, always worrying. Will things ever change?

 

I learned more than I ever thought I would this year, and I learned it by the ruthless life itself. I’m ready to use my struggles, the strength I’ve grown and the lessons I’ve learned to tell the world about the artist, the person I’ve come to be. I’m not doing this to get the world’s approval anymore. I know what I want now. For so long I let my life slip through my fingers, like water. I’m holding on to it now, and I’m not letting go. “

 

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