On writing

Ever since I was five years old and saw my dad make detailed lists of what needed to be packed several weeks before we were to set off on a month-long road trip in northern Sweden, I have always been fascinated by the written word. Armed with paper, pen and a flora in hand, I made my first lists of the plants around the summer cottage (including the Latin name of course!) as soon as I had learned to write, and at the age of nine I made my first diary entry.

Since then I have always continued to write; memos, lists, notes about the wildlife outside the window; a notebook on every trip abroad was a given companion where I wrote down whatever came to mind; and then all these diary entries! There have been large amounts of text over the years, both handwritten and in digital form.

I can’t really say the underlying reason for what drove me to constantly write – it was something that came naturally, that felt like a necessity and often bordered on obsession; everything should be documented, no matter how trivial it might seem!

In retrospect, I can only feel a deep gratitude towards my younger self who had this talent so early on. When I browse through all the notes today, much can feel banal and frighteningly naive – but just as often I can find little gems in the form of interesting observations about events and phenomena that only confirm that many of my personal qualities were there from an early age.

It is of course doubtful whether there can actually be any greater interest in all these notes I have saved, but the joy that can arise when a few words suddenly bring dormant memories back to life is indescribable! Whether it is for your own, personal reflection on the time that has passed, or to be able to share little stories with those closest to you, writing for me has ultimately always been about one and the same thing: a kind of documentation of what it means to be human.