I'm Gry Ellebjerg, a Swedish journalist and photographer. Sometimes life is not logical. You are struck by a fever, an urge you must follow without knowing why. To me, it was as necessary as eating and drinking to find what stories and pictures I had in me—if I had any at all. I quit my job and hit the Pink Road in Europe to look for lesbians. I desperately wanted to know how they lived their lives.

To me, lesbians are a symbol of practical democracy. Like no other, they have been breaking down wall after wall of patriarchy in a way that has never been done before. That is worth an investigation. Ever since I was a little girl, I have always reacted strongly against gender injustice. Growing up in a patriarchal power structure in my family, and sitting in the front row of the coastal town Trelleborg with a view over East Germany, I can see that my choices, both big and small, have always been about challenging power. I am proud that as an adult, I do what I can to expose patriarchy in everyday life.

I also wanted to see if it was possible to work in a different way. Without planning any interviews beforehand, I did it the "gut way." With three Interrail cards in my pocket, I simply showed up, connected, and had heart-to-heart conversations without too many filters. I believe my need to do things from the gut had to do with my state of mind. I had lost my parents and the world's best cat, Doris. I was in grief, and grief makes you raw.

Ever since I started traveling in the footsteps of lesbians, it has been an overwhelming experience. Instead of entering countries, I enter different queer rooms. If you put them next to each other, they build a country of their own with similar challenges and structures.

The lesbian world is very international. Every time we gather, it's like a Eurovision rehearsal. In my own hometown of Malmö, I met love refugees from Russia, Poland, Italy and the USA. Against professional advice, I decided to write it in English—a language that is not mine. At first, it was terrifying to lose control, but perhaps my cracks of imperfection were what I needed. Writing in English was a shortcut to no bullshit.

When I left my job as a local editor after 17 years, I told my colleagues I wanted to write about what it means to be alive. On the Pink Road, I can't tell you how many times I thought I was completely off track. But now, in the process of writing a book, I look at my collection of stories and realize: it was all about life, all along.