Remember the future

In March 2021, life was blurry in a way I wasn’t used to. I had felt the blurriness that comes with nomading and endlessly waking up in different places, groping around in that distinct sea of newness, centering experience above connection/comfort/consistency. COVID was a different kind of blurriness–I found myself collapsing onto the floor, hugging trees, struggling to find food that tasted good (some of that might be a reflection of the poor food scene in SLC, Utah), and watching hours of YouTube videos of live music to feel even a simulacrum of togetherness. I stopped career coaching months prior, unable to imagine the future and unable to spend any energy on anything that felt out of reach. Each day I tried to do something that would make that day feel distinct and most days I failed.

This was the backdrop that made me snag a “One Line a Day” journal. It’s a small five year journal that leaves you only a few lines to scribble in each day. I could feel a growing sense that I wanted to learn from this time and remember it. I also wanted to find a way to force myself to remember the future. As I’d write in each day, I’d look at all the empty spaces of the potential years ahead. Slowly over time, wonder returned and the world opened up.

I just finished my first “One Line a Day” journal and am on day two of my second one, writing these entries from Florence, Italy. It’s hard to put into words how much changes in five years and I’m profoundly grateful to have captured this time. Per usual, I am also panicked about having it in the physical form that could so easily be destroyed and am toying with trying to create a version in Day One (or just letting it be and practicing letting go).

Looking over it, you can see some days where my handwriting is barely legible. Other days, it’s printed neatly. Sometimes I fight against the small space, writing all around the edges. Some entries hardly fill the space. I went through phases of documenting my day vs trying to capture emotions or insights rather than stale facts. For stretches of time, I consistently wrote each entry the following day. Intermittently and more often in the last year, I’d fall behind and play catch up, using photos, call logs, my calendar, my texts to buttress my memory and piece together what happened.

A fun side effect of having so many years stacked on top of each other is that I have come to be aware of weird repeat days and to create them, like my own bespoke holidays. August 11th is Seward Park day for example. Here’s a text I sent my partner when I must have been filling in my line a day and noticed the chance to add more overlapping memories:

How are you this morning?
This time two years ago was our third date in Seward. “Had anxiety ahead of seeing katy for our third date. Met at Seward park, drank wine, and three hours easily passed”.
Last year we went back there ❤️. Maybe we go again this year?

In another case, I saw a dear friend in Brevard, NC for a few years in a row on August 6th. Part of that is due to my usually heading to that part of the world for a family reunion but now it’s become a tradition to uphold. We missed it in 2024 and agreed “never again”.

A few weeks ago, Kelly and I went on a hike/bike hang where she mountain bikes while I hike with her dog. Strava notified her and my line a day confirmed that we had done the same hike/bike routine the year prior. There’s a calendar event in place for next year now. Usually, these stacked days would happen by accident and then after at least two years of back to back days, I’d find myself trying to continue the streak. Considering how much I travel and don’t really stick to a routine (yet have very strong habits), I absolutely delight in creating layers of memories like this.

It’s been painful too to see how I’ve lost people over these years, sometimes to death with my grandma and brother and sometimes to the ways of life evolving in different directions. People I spent many days talking to and visiting become scarce in later years while people I never knew when I started this journal suddenly come onto the scene in my life. Starting this new journal, I find myself wondering who will last? Will I? What can I do to cultivate connections that persist?

Physically holding five years in this form has been profoundly centering and has helped me feel a longer horizon to my life. For those who aren’t very attached to life, I highly recommend it as a counterbalancing device to the urgency and primacy of emotions/experiences that can sweep one away too deeply.