If you were around in the aughts, Linkin Park might’ve been the soundtrack to your life. Along with his bandmates, rapper/singer/producer Mike Shinoda may have gotten you through something. They got a lot of people through things. But having already introduced himself across the world, Shinoda’s now in the unique position of having to introduce the world to himself—as himself. Alone.

Following two decades of music with Linkin Park, the death of bandmate Chester Bennington last July made it unclear what the band’s fate would be. But after a few months of silence, the group re-emerged in October, to over 17,000 fans, with a nearly three-hour set at the Hollywood Bowl. The set held a global audience. The band was accompanied by a quartet of strings. Shinoda performed a new song, “Looking for an Answer,” written eight days after Bennington’s passing. It was hell of a reemergence, with one eye on the past, and another on the future—and then, radio silence. No one knew where the band would go. The question is still up in the air.

But we had no way of seeing, then, that Shinoda would follow that performance with a handful of singles. And those singles would ultimately lead to what would become his first record under his own name—Post Traumatic. After and throughout the tragedy, Shinoda did what he’s done his entire career: He innovated, persevered. Because life went on. Because it has to. And Shinoda is on the cusp of what, despite decades in the music industry, will be a very new chapter for him.

GQ: So how are you doing? How have you been?

Mike Shinoda: I’m good. I mean, you know, I’ve been trying to say, “I’m doing well today,” you know? And I feel like the good news is that when I kind of check-in, and I think about that, I have more good days than bad.

At what point did you know that you wanted to make a solo record?

I’m always creating stuff. So if it’s a long car ride, if it’s a night off in the hotel, if I’m flying somewhere, I’m always on my computer. I’m always writing words, making beats, creating beds of music. And it kind of never stops. Like, I could just be walking around somewhere, have an idea, and I’ll sing something into my phone. It could be a beat, or a melody, or words. Whatever. So that’s just normal for me—that’s everyday for me. And it wasn’t any different in the last nine, ten months in terms of the process, and the frequency of writing.

But in terms of topics and things like that, it felt much different. And “the moment” was probably five or six months ago, I think. It was probably somewhere around August or September. I was listening to some of the stuff I was making and thinking, “Gosh, I think this is a solo record”.

That was a little scary. At the time, it wasn’t even what I wanted to do. And it came down to the fact that grief and the path out of grief are personal things. This record was inevitably going to be a personal, autobiographical journey. To me, the only way to present that process was a solo album. I just thought that was the most appropriate. In terms of even the path out of—it’s laid out semi-chronologically. The earlier tracks were in fact written and recorded earlier, while the later tracks were recorded later, and you’ll find that, conceptually, it starts in a dark place and comes out of that, to some place a little more open and broad and bright.