Note: this article contains AI writing and images.
Airports are liminal spaces, filled with souls in transit. I stand at the departure gate, surrounded by the hum of announcements and distant conversations. Time feels suspended here—a pause between what was and what will be.
My eyes drift and settle on her. She stands alone, a quiet presence amid the bustle. Her fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of her boarding pass, and a soft sigh escapes her lips. There's a hint of melancholy in her gaze, as if she's carrying a world of unspoken stories.
She reaches down and picks up a sleek black suitcase beside her—a mirror image of mine. A subtle jolt runs through me. I step forward, not wanting this thread of connection to snap.
"Excuse me," I say softly.
She turns, eyes meeting mine. For a moment, everything else fades—the delays, the noise, the perpetual motion of the airport. It's just us, suspended in this shared breath.
I nod toward the suitcase. "I think that might be mine."
A flush of realization colors her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispers, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. We exchange suitcases, our fingers brushing lightly against each other. The touch is brief but resonates deeply, like a single note echoing in a grand hall.
We linger for a heartbeat, a silent acknowledgement of this fleeting connection. Words hover on the brink of being spoken, but the overhead announcement pulls us back to reality.
She offers a gentle nod before turning away, merging back into the stream of travelers. I watch her go, a wistful ache settling in—a recognition of a moment that's slipped through my fingers.
As I board my flight, I carry more than just my luggage. I carry the imprint of her presence, the echo of her sigh, the warmth of that brief touch. In a place defined by departures and arrivals, it's these small intersections of lives that remind me of our shared humanity.
Perhaps we're all just travelers passing through, our paths crossing in the most unexpected ways. And maybe, in these passing moments, there's a quiet beauty that lingers—a subtle chord that adds depth to the melody of our lives.
How did I write that? I didn’t.
How did I get here? Well, I read an article by Ben Ulansey, who is a serious thinker I admire. His writing is entertaining, philosophical, lyrical, and deep. I love it.
I read his latest post:
Now, Ben and I have had this discussion before and we disagree. That’s okay. I’m well in the minority but I have some odd ideas due to my upbringing in what we weren’t allowed to call a cult.
There’s a word in Ben’s story I don’t accept. He says:
So maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that when language learning models are prompted to write essays, there’s an almost comical predictability to the tone and vocabulary at play. They open without soul and talk about the subjects they will “dive” into. They type loftily about “weaving tapestries” and “exploring ideas.” They wax a phony poetic about the topics they “delve into” and the “mosaics” they each represent.
That word is “soul”. I don’t believe there is such a thing. We can ask medical science to give us a bodily location in an anatomical textbook. (I once asked a doctor, and he told me to look under my right foot. Humph.)
Somewhere amongst bones and muscles? Hidden in the guts between spleen and gall?
If there is such an entity so intimately connected to how we think about ourselves, then surely it must be in the brain, right?
So, um, what is it?
If we look at the Wikipedia article on Soul, we get about two thirds of the way through a long article before we even get to science, having traversed a forest of religion and philosophy and other nonsense.
Science cannot find a physical soul.
According to Julien Musolino, the scientific consensus holds that the mind is a complex machine that operates on the same physical laws as all other objects in the universe. According to Musolino, there is currently no scientific evidence whatsoever to support the existence of soul.— Wikipedia
Neuroscience, the article goes on, understands mental phenomena as arising solely by physical activities within the brain.
I can go along with that. The soul is a kind of thoughtstuff, an abstraction we use to grasp something we cannot perceive or understand directly. Like all thought, it is made up of the tiny movements of electricity and chemicals through the complex arrangement of neurones inside our skull.
But surely, if we have a soul generated by our thinking machinery then there must be an analogue in abstract constructs generated within other complex thinking machines.
Realistically, thought is all abstractions. There’s nothing in our brains but grey sludge. No circles and triangle, no images, no trees or spaceships or mugs of coffee. If we think about these things, we are thinking in tokens and pointers.
Perhaps, Ben, the word you’re really looking for is not “soul” but “magic”.
Ben holds, and I can understand his argument, is that we as humans have an understanding of deeper things that no hunks of silicon and plastic can match. They don’t possess life - another thing I don’t believe in - and cannot understand things. Like a dictionary - or an online encyclopaedia - it’s all immobile definitions. Words and more words with the occasional diagram, presented for we superior beings to truly grok.
Ben would say, I think, that even if AI text rises above the bland banality of “Ten Ways to Improve Your Well-Being” or “Six Best Detective Movies” any sophistication or beauty is an illusion, copied from real human beings who understand these things deeply and honestly.
Personally, I don’t think it matters. Milton, Browning, Lao-Tzu are no longer with us. Their works of beauty and wisdom are just words in a row, and their living thoughts run through our own minds through reading their words and analysing them in our own thought processes.
If I am stirred by a set of words, does it matter who or what produced it? Shakespeare or a million monkeys on a million typewriters or ChatGPT o1-preview - the rose would smell as sweetly in my mind.
The Great Conversation
I fired up ChatGPT o1-preview (great name, hey?).
First question
Britni: We're going to write a story together. I want you to act as an Australian writer of travel and erotica but we're just going to write a quick story of a travel disaster. Okay?
ChatGPT: Thought for 12 seconds
Alright, let's dive into it.
Title: Lost in the Outback
I was winding my way through the heart of the Australian Outback, the vast red landscape stretching infinitely under the scorching sun. My battered old Land Rover hummed along the dusty track, each mile taking me deeper into isolation. The allure of untouched horizons had always called to me, and this trip was meant to be a soul-searching escape.
As dusk began to paint the sky with hues of burnt orange and purple, the engine coughed and sputtered before falling silent. I was stranded—no phone signal, no passing cars, just the silent embrace of the wilderness.
I shrugged off the initial panic and set up camp for the night, figuring I'd sort it out come morning. The stars overhead were a dazzling spectacle, and despite the predicament, a part of me reveled in the raw beauty of it all.
Morning arrived with a blazing sun and the harsh reality that the engine wasn't going to revive itself. With limited water and no spare parts, I decided to trek toward a roadhouse I remembered passing earlier—a risky move, but my only option.
Hours turned into an exhausting blur. The heat was relentless, and the landscape offered no mercy. Just when my legs felt like they'd give way, I spotted a plume of dust in the distance—the telltale sign of an approaching vehicle.
A rugged truck pulled up beside me, driven by a weathered stockman with a kind smile. "Looks like you could use a lift," he said with a wink.
Relief washed over me. Climbing into the truck, I couldn't help but laugh at the sheer misadventure of it all. The stockman handed me a cold bottle of water, and as we drove toward the nearest town, we swapped stories—his of life on the land, mine of chasing freedom.
What began as a travel disaster became an unexpected encounter that reminded me why I loved the road—the unpredictability, the raw connections, and the stories that come from the unplanned.
There you have it—a quick tale of a travel mishap in the Aussie Outback.
Second question
Britni: Mmmm, I'm not sure I want a story just yet. I'd like to write a shorter story about a mistake in an airport revolving around three people. It will be glances and sighs and a few words to show one person making a mistake and recovering. Can you give me an outline for somthing just a few paragraphs long?
ChatGPT: Thought for 12 seconds
Certainly! Here's an outline for a short story involving three people at an airport, focusing on glances, sighs, and a few words to illustrate one person making a mistake and recovering.
Title: Terminal Encounters
1. Setting the Scene:
Location: Sydney International Airport.
Character: Ella, a travel writer with a penchant for adventure.
Situation: She's waiting at the gate for a flight to Tokyo, sipping coffee, and lost in thought.
2. The First Glance:
Across the crowded terminal, Ella notices a man (Liam) glancing her way.
They exchange fleeting eye contact; a subtle spark ignites.
A third person (Sophie) sits nearby, absorbed in a novel.
3. The Mistake:
Ella's flight is announced; she hastily gathers her belongings.
In her rush, she picks up Sophie’s identical backpack instead of her own.
Sophie, unaware, continues reading as Ella walks away.
4. Realization and Sighs:
In line at the boarding gate, Ella feels the weight is off.
She opens the bag slightly—sees unfamiliar items: a sketchbook, a scarf.
A deep sigh escapes her; anxiety flushes her cheeks.
5. The Crossing Paths:
Turning to rectify her mistake, she nearly bumps into Liam, who is now behind her in line.
A shared glance, both step aside awkwardly.
He notices her distress, raises an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
6. Recovery:
Ella manages a few words, "Picked up the wrong bag..."
Liam nods, "Happens to the best of us."
He gestures, "Need a hand finding the owner?"
7. Resolution:
They walk back toward the seating area.
Sophie looks up as they approach, realization dawning.
Bags are exchanged with relieved smiles and murmured apologies.
8. Closing Moments:
Glances and Slight Smiles are exchanged among the three.
As Ella turns to leave, Liam extends a business card, "In case you need a guide in Tokyo."
Ella accepts it with a soft smile, "Perhaps I will."
This outline uses minimal dialogue, focusing on glances, sighs, and brief interactions to tell the story of Ella's mistake and her recovery, all within the bustling backdrop of an airport. The encounter leads to a potential new connection, adding a touch of serendipity to her journey.
Third question
Britni: Yes, that's good. But way too long. I'm thinking of an encounter lasting just a few seconds.
ChatGPT: Thought for 11 seconds
Understood! Here's a very brief story involving three people at an airport, focusing on an encounter that lasts just a few seconds.
Title: A Fleeting Mistake
At the crowded departure gate, Lucy fumbled with her boarding pass and passport, her mind preoccupied. She sighed, glancing at the clock—her flight was boarding soon. In her distraction, she picked up a sleek black suitcase beside her, mistaking it for her own.
As she turned, a man with a similar suitcase noticed and stepped forward. "Excuse me," he said softly.
Their eyes met briefly. He pointed to the luggage in her hand. "I think that's mine."
A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. "Oh! I'm sorry," she replied, quickly swapping the bags.
They shared a small, understanding smile. Just then, an airport staff member approached the man with a question, diverting his attention.
Lucy exhaled, a mix of chagrin and amusement. In those few seconds, a simple mistake had led to a human connection—however brief—amid the airport's impersonal hustle.
I hope this short story captures the quick, momentary encounter you had in mind!
Fourth question
Britni: Love it. Now can we rewrite this as a streeam of consciousness narrative in Liam's mind?
ChatGPT: Thought for 10 seconds
Certainly! Here's the story rewritten as a stream of consciousness from Liam's perspective.
Title: A Fleeting Mistake – Liam's Perspective
Another delayed flight. Just my luck. I shift from one foot to the other, feeling the ache from a day of meetings. The departure gate is a sea of restless faces. I glance at my watch—boarding should've started ten minutes ago.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her. She's fumbling with her boarding pass and passport, a sigh escaping her lips. She looks as weary as I feel. Her eyes dart to the clock, and I wonder where she's headed.
Wait, is she picking up my suitcase? That sleek black one with the scuffed handle—definitely mine. She's distracted, probably didn't notice. Should I say something? Don't want to embarrass her, but I need my luggage.
"Excuse me," I say softly, stepping forward.
She turns, eyes wide meeting mine—startled. There's a moment where neither of us speaks. I gesture to the suitcase in her hand. "I think that's mine."
A flush rises to her cheeks. "Oh! I'm sorry," she murmurs, quickly exchanging the bag for her own.
We share a brief smile—her embarrassed, me amused. Something warm flickers inside me. Funny how a small mix-up can spark a connection, however fleeting.
Before I can think of anything else to say, an airport staff member approaches me, asking about my delayed flight. I answer mechanically, but my thoughts are still with her.
She's already turning away, a subtle exhale, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. I watch as she blends back into the crowd. Did that just happen?
I chuckle to myself. In the grand chaos of the airport, a simple mistake becomes a moment worth noting. Maybe in another setting, I would've introduced myself. But life moves quickly here.
The announcement for boarding finally blares overhead. Time to go. I grip my suitcase—double-checking it's actually mine this time—and make my way to the gate.
Perhaps our paths will cross again. Or perhaps some moments are perfect because they're brief.
I hope this captures the brief encounter from Liam's internal perspective, emphasizing his thoughts and feelings during those few seconds.
Fifth question?
Britni: Beautiful. Thank you!
ChatGPT: Thought for 6 seconds
You're most welcome! I'm glad you enjoyed it. If there's anything else I can help you with, feel free to ask!
Sixth question
Britni: I wonder - this may be a big ask - but can you think about this story and reword it so that is the same length or shorter but has aspects of deeper meaning and connection? Something subtle and beautiful that will make me sigh.
ChatGPT: Thought for 9 seconds
Certainly! Here's a reimagined version of the story, aiming for deeper meaning and subtle connections.
Title: Passing Moments
Airports are liminal spaces, filled with souls in transit. I stand at the departure gate, surrounded by the hum of announcements and distant conversations. Time feels suspended here—a pause between what was and what will be.
My eyes drift and settle on her. She stands alone, a quiet presence amid the bustle. Her fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of her boarding pass, and a soft sigh escapes her lips. There's a hint of melancholy in her gaze, as if she's carrying a world of unspoken stories.
She reaches down and picks up a sleek black suitcase beside her—a mirror image of mine. A subtle jolt runs through me. I step forward, not wanting this thread of connection to snap.
"Excuse me," I say softly.
She turns, eyes meeting mine. For a moment, everything else fades—the delays, the noise, the perpetual motion of the airport. It's just us, suspended in this shared breath.
I nod toward the suitcase. "I think that might be mine."
A flush of realization colors her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispers, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. We exchange suitcases, our fingers brushing lightly against each other. The touch is brief but resonates deeply, like a single note echoing in a grand hall.
We linger for a heartbeat, a silent acknowledgement of this fleeting connection. Words hover on the brink of being spoken, but the overhead announcement pulls us back to reality.
She offers a gentle nod before turning away, merging back into the stream of travelers. I watch her go, a wistful ache settling in—a recognition of a moment that's slipped through my fingers.
As I board my flight, I carry more than just my luggage. I carry the imprint of her presence, the echo of her sigh, the warmth of that brief touch. In a place defined by departures and arrivals, it's these small intersections of lives that remind me of our shared humanity.
Perhaps we're all just travelers passing through, our paths crossing in the most unexpected ways. And maybe, in these passing moments, there's a quiet beauty that lingers—a subtle chord that adds depth to the melody of our lives.
I hope this version brings the deeper meaning and subtle beauty you were seeking.
Seventh and charm
Britni: Oh, that is beautiful. Thank you!
ChatGPT: Thought for 4 seconds
You're very welcome! I'm thrilled that you found the story beautiful. If there's anything else I can assist you with, just let me know!
I learned a new word today
That word is “liminal”
/ˈlɪmɪnl/
adjective
technical
occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
"I was in the liminal space between past and present"
relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
"that liminal period when a child is old enough to begin following basic rules but is still too young to do so consistently"
Quite frankly, I am amazed at the sophistication of these systems. As a frequent passager in these spaces of airports and connections, I understand the way that an airport terminal can be so described. I just wouldn’t have described it that way. ChatGPT found a better word.
The encounter described by a computer is touching. Anything but bland and predictable. I think that for most English-speaking people, unless I marked it as AI, they wouldn’t pick it.
And that brings me to another point. People say they can identify AI writing at a glance. Yes, of course, but only the writing they can identify as AI. The flip side is that if they don’t pick it as AI, they don’t think it is AI.
And, honestly, does it matter? They are just words in a row. The effect they have on a reader is what counts, not where they came from.
AI is in a liminal space here. We are trying to understand our relationship with our own creations in these final moments before they surpass us.
And, just between you and me, I think that the story produced by ChatGPT is better than anything I could create. Certainly better than I could produce in 64 seconds.
Britni
I disagree that I wouldn't have picked it up, but parts of it do read very strongly. Liminal is a great word, but to me, "Airports are liminal spaces, filled with souls in transit. I stand at the departure gate, surrounded by the hum of announcements and distant conversations. Time feels suspended here-a pause between what was and what will be." reads like almost unmistakable AI. Introductions and endings are usually the big giveaways for me. The body is stronger, but still overwrought. "As I board my flight, I carry more than just my luggage. I carry the imprint of her presence, the echo of her sigh, the warmth of that brief touch. In a place defined by departures and arrivals, it's these small intersections of lives that remind me of our shared humanity. Perhaps we're all just travelers passing through, our paths crossing in the most unexpected ways. And maybe, in these passing moments, there's a quiet beauty that lingers-a subtle chord that adds depth to the melody of our lives," also reads to me as more a composite of a whole bunch of creative approaches rather than anything unique to an individual voice. I would have a very, very hard time believing that a human wrote it if it were submitted to me. It's stronger than it was a year ago, but not by so much that it wouldn't be fairly easy for me to catch. The patterns I'm used to seeing are still present and there's a very formulaic way that the story is approached.
Regarding the soul, I think a better definition for my specific piece than anything metaphysical would simply be "emotional or intellectual energy or intensity, especially as revealed in a work of art or an artistic performance." I do happen to believe that souls exist in a way that I didn't when I was younger, but in articles like this, I'm more referring to human's unique ability to express themselves.
Honored I could inspire you to put this together!
"And, just between you and me, I think that the story produced by ChatGPT is better than anything I could create. Certainly better than I could produce in 64 seconds." Same here. Excellent article.