Alphabetical (travel) diaries

digitized my journals, alphabetized each sentence, and now I'm sharing them online for some reason

While in Portugal, I read Sheila Heti’s Alphabetical Diaries. I adore this woman’s mind.

To write the book, Heti took a decade’s worth of her journals, dumped all of them into a spreadsheet, put each sentence on its own row, and sorted them alphabetically. Without editing or adding anything, only cutting, she transformed 500,000 words of diary entries into this brilliant, bizarre 60,000-word book.

Creative work being done in a spreadsheet? I’m in.

underlining phrases at random

I’m a prolific journaler. As an adherent to Julia Cameron’s morning pages, I have a growing pile of slim black notebooks that I tote around with me in a plastic tub. I also journal frequently in a massive, unwieldy Google doc, divided by year. Last year’s reached book length at more than 82,000 words. (This also is why I’m a stickler for two-factor authentication.)

In Alphabetical Diaries, Heti’s thoughts from her 20s and 30s collapse into one another, completely denarrativized from a sense of time. The effect is like poetry. Or, really, like memory itself.

On the Granta podcast, Heti says chronology is overstated.

“If you exist in the mind, there’s not really chronology happening there. If you think about a friend of yours, for instance, you’re not thinking about the friend as you know them in the present moment. It’s a mish-mash of them throughout time, of all the impressions you’ve had of them.”

The same is true of the self. As a dedicated notebook-keeper, I see exactly how my 30-year old self was written as a palimpsest of my 20-year old self. I see how I have to keep learning the same lessons over and over. 

Alphabetical Diaries asks the question: How much do we actually change over time? Heti’s conclusion: not much.

“The self is more or less a stable form. I’m a person who’s concerned with these things, eternally.”

As I was reviewing my journal entries for this post, I found this quote from Carl Jung, which I’d jotted down in August:

“Psychologically you develop in a spiral; you always come over the same point where you have been before, but it is never exactly the same.”

Inspired by Heti and the wealth of digital journals I’ve accumulated over the years, I thought it would be fun to try my own version of alphabetical diaries — the travel edition. 

I pulled my digital journal entries from March through September, which originally totaled over 25,000 words and cover my time in Mexico, Portugal, Nashville, and Scotland. As you’ll see, I jot things down as I hear or read them, so it’s a fragmented mix of reflections, memories, quotes, and Co-Star horoscopes (in italics).

Methodology

• Upload journals to ChatGPT (in terms of digital privacy, I do not recommend this)

• ChatGPT formats each one into its own row in a table

• Dump them into Google Sheets

• Sort A→Z

• No editing, no adding, only cutting

I had so much fun doing this. Come with me into the spiral. 🌀 

•••

A

“Advice is a form of nostalgia.” All of Portugal was on fire. Ambition is a way of avoiding unhappy endings. “And even then, not really,” Libby said. And I’ve come to grips with the fact that I am fundamentally incompatible with Hot People. And in her kitchen, on the wall was a giant bird made of hundreds of tiny copper pots. And maybe there’s that: I am tightly wound. And that kind of relationship always requires an end, doesn’t it? “And then a plank in reason broke.” And though I did not want anything from either of them, I loved the attention on me. “Aspiring horse girl,” said Libby, about my vibes in middle school. At dinner, I coughed up a fish bone. At the time, that’s what success felt like.

B

Bliss on the pontoon boat. Blitz humor. Bored with Nashville. Bought a Porsche convertible during cicada season. B came downstairs and told us about the podcast he had listened to on toxic masculinity. But isn’t that what womanhood is? But something forces you to anyway. But then I remembered how much work I put in, how exhausting it was to be that beautiful. But where has that gotten me?

C

C’s discernment like a blade, a guillotine. Children taught me how to love something for someone else without wanting it for myself. Clapped as the plane landed. Clapped at the sunset. Coming back to my senses after three days of sleep deprivation, jet lag, Sudafed, and wildfires. Competition as devotion. Couple holding hands lifted their linked arms for me to pass under. Credit card went under the lip of the host stand of the Jamon Jamon in Óbidos and the guys got it out with a cake froster.

D

Dad told us men don’t get compliments or flowers. Darksites. Demanding certainty in a world where it is impossible. Desire path. “Desire thinks it wants to be satisfied, but really it wants to go on desiring.” Did I look pretty? Disqualified bananas if they have more than 12 black scratches. Dreading starting things. Do you know how rare that is? Dutch researcher went to record fragments of language and song. Despite all my journaling, I can still be bamboozled by my own mind. During this time, it may be hard for you to accept contradictory emotions.

E

E said that she and her husband always thought of me as an example of someone who was wildly kind and friendly to them for no reason. E asked what my vices were. E greeted the wrong blonde girl when we were meeting for coffee. Even then, I was observing myself like a narrator, detached. Every time someone is weird to me, I explain it by them being in love with me. Every year on July 15th, I must leave. Everyone tried to steal the meteorite, but it was too heavy, so they eventually stopped guarding it.

F

Feeling my own mind make a tiny prison. Fighting my demons in Madeira. Finally lost my gold bracelet. Fires started by a celebration at a church. Fleeing the city. For me, they cannot be separated. Found myself on a hill sanctuary overlooking the ocean, taking part in a cacao ceremony led by a Portuguese shaman. Friendship love as an undoing, disassembling—then constructing—of oneself.

G

Giving away some stuff on Buy Nothing. Giving myself the gift of being unreachable. Girl whose personality seems entirely built around protein consumption. German dude put on techno at 6am on the way to our hike. “Goo,” he said mournfully. Good books act as a hatchet for the lumber inside you. Googling for answers. Got in last night and we chatted about morning movies and medium friends. Grand scheme.

H

Hanging out with them makes me feel like I’m in college again. Has this happened to anybody else? He clasped my hands twice and wished me peace and tranquility. He got my email to send me a book of poetry. He told me that not using a woman’s name is an easy way to dissociate from her. He worked slowly and expertly with an enormous knife. He would periodically feed me bits of fruit as I waited. He’s a man of many obsessions. Heat rising off the black rocks of the Madeira beach after the sunset, a cool breeze at my back. Here’s a take. How can I do this more?

I (the longest section, of course)

I always say I can avoid it. I am at ease. I am calculating every decision. I am happy right now. I began crying when I saw Frida and Diego in the garden. “I bless everything there is to bless.” I didn’t even speak. I didn’t find it funny. I didn’t know you could write like that.

I feel like I’m dealing with a confused animal. I feel myself getting drawn back into my girlboss era. I feel so benevolent and light after I’ve completed big, hard tasks. I felt it lift me off the ground. I felt so stuck, and traveling like this has indeed gotten me unstuck.

I have a little crush. I have a pet theory that God has been speaking to me through Little Free Libraries. I have developed a nemesis at Outsite. I have plans to hike. I invite chaos into my life when thinking becomes too much. I looked over and the only thing on his plate was a single lemon slice.

I loved the relief of having someone else there to document my existence. I no longer need to assume the simplest conclusion to unfamiliar feelings. I showed up late to class, carrying a bag of refrigerated groceries. I stayed very professional. I took them, wiggly and slimy, in my bare hand and ate them on the street.

I want to be a writer. I want to feel locked in. I want to feel worshipped. I want to meet someone the old-fashioned way: by leaving notes in David Sedaris books abroad. I want to walk the Camino. I was 18. I was also wearing a plunging black halter top and getting sidelong glances of clear disapproval. I was very lost when we met.

I’m feeling healthier and happier. I’m feeling real grief and pain. I’m trusting that this trip will be a source of inspiration and revitalization, as they all have been, and that leaving Nashville was the right thing to do, as it always proves to be. Image of the ethereal girl at the sample sale raining down her discards upon me. In the 2005 hit book series, Twilight, Edward watches Bella. Indigenous lore was that only people who were mean to dogs and babies deserved punishment. It will not lead you astray. It’s just a cicada, it can’t hurt me.

J

Jumped into the sea from a rocky cliffside.

K

K as a crow bringing us little offerings: kombucha, fresh bread with peanut butter, coconut milk mocktails.

L

Libby said I’m cool. Lifelong belief that a bath can baptize and reinvent me. Lime ride back from Shelby in the dark. Lo and behold.

M

Maggie Dickson survived her hanging and was set free. Man sprinting with a bouquet of flowers. “Me too,” I said. Mom told me, “We kept a fawn in our basement for a few weeks when I was a kid.” More often, the fear of rejection. Mutual artistic respect and curiosity as the foundation of any relationship. My biggest fantasy is being seen as intelligent. My hairstylist recently revealed that she’s been relying on a Reddit thread to figure out if she should break up with her boyfriend (their unanimous vote: yes). My loyalties turn so quickly. My writing practice involves a lot of not-writing.

N

Not to mention all the hair removal.

O

Obsession as a guiding force. Once I feel dizzy from caffeine, it’s finally done the trick. Only 100 people speak Itzotlan. Our gods were substituted by saints and our goddesses by virgins. Our guide lit a small fire and cooked us a sausage with Portuguese cheese, wine, and bread.

P

People sometimes think the sunset is what you have to be present for, but actually it’s the moments right after. Perhaps is one word you can use to speculate. “Please stop bringing out nuts, he’ll die.” Proving I could love something completely and give it up. Psychologically, you develop in a spiral.

Q

Queerness as a utopian longing. Queerness as reimagining how power is exchanged. Quetzalcoatl, and my obsession with the Aztecs as a kid in elementary school. 

R

Real world supremacy. Research unveils excitement. Returning to my phone, hoping for…what? Reversible decisions. Rumored sighting of ivory-billed woodpecker back in 2005.

S

“Saint, muse, lover, mistress, bisexual, victim and survivor.” She asked me: “When did you start identifying with the Southern part of your identity?” She became a marigold and her soulmate became a hummingbird. She had three pink flowers in her hair. She is the kind of girl who always scared me to be around. Should we kiss? Show up the next morning to a swept altar. So disturbed by my machinations. So many ladders and stairs. Stop before you’re finished.

T

Tearing my life to the studs. Tears of mourning are one of the ingredients of black mole. Tennis racket for the cicadas. The guy next to me on the plane bought the WiFi pass to Google different dog breeds sitting on the toilet with phones. They expect me to continue but I don’t. This has been my third theory. This part reminded me of myself, and the fact that it appears to be advice for aspiring clowns is not lost on me. Those were among the gorier Jesuses I’ve ever seen.

Try loving yourself with the same exhilaration of a new crush. “Try to remain permanently confused.” Try to remember that you are neither absolutely erratic nor consistently stable. Trying to dislodge the bullet. Trying to make myself the likable protagonist of my own stories. Trying to think of something helpful I’ve done recently.

U

“Using the mirrors in this space, Frida became reacquainted with herself.”

W

“We fed him with a baby bottle.” We forget the titillating details. We want more. With foreknowledge of impending boredom. Woke up early and walked the streets where everybody was sweeping Jacaranda leaves from the sidewalk. Woman in a robe and towel, with a paperback book after a sunrise swim. Wow, a new way to feel bad about myself. Writing my own is a machete through the wilderness.

X

X realized long before me that we were made of the South.

Y

Y’s mom had a surprisingly sweet and girlish voice when I finally heard her speak. Yet are they all important? You don’t always do it, but at least you know. You either love the work or the rewards. You have to learn to cross the street in every new city. You may have been lying to yourself. You're complicated, and feel embodied when you are able to balance your need for freedom with life's repetitive mundanity. “You’ve selected all to my life story.”

Z

Zoom causes self-alienation because looking at yourself is proven to have psychologically harmful effects.

•••

If you make an appearance, tag yourself. If you see a mistake with the alphabetizing, blame ChatGPT. Finally, if you liked this post and want to incentivize me oversharing online, give it a heart!

Love,

Lane 💋