humanity

The real lives of businessmen, professionals, the everyday man, stay at home parent, healthy lifestyle influencers, and general feel good human stories.

Writing About Writing
When I think of what I do that I want people to support, there are just so many things that I'm not really sure where to even begin with. When I was streaming regularly I could point people towards my various channels and hope they would click the "subscribe" or "follow" buttons. I'd like to think that in the future I can point someone in the direction of the page for whatever my next project that manifests in reality is. As for the present, I can only ask people to read what I'm writing, and doing that might be the most important thing in the world.
By John Dodge5 years ago in Journal
Five-Minutes
It's May 2010. I'm 32 years old. I hear "Lily!" yelled over the mic. I scan the room to cheer on the other Lily in the room. My eyes lock with my friend, who I reluctantly agreed to meet at this jewelry store open mic. She yells from across the room, "B, that's you"! Me? What? Why? I didn't agree to do this. I'm here to get my mind over the pirate dude I allowed to live with me for almost a year rent-free while he got his life together, ONLY to have him rob me blind and drive me to a mental hospital. I did not sign up to perform, is what I was thinking.
By Lily Be5 years ago in Journal
Purpose
Purpose - a word filled with so much pressure. Pressure to find exactly what it is within ourselves that will change the world. What is this one thing I'm supposed to do? Why am I here? All of these questions are beyond our control of ever getting a straight answer to - unless we live our lives to slowly unravel the revelation until it hits us square in the heart one random Tuesday morning.
By Mary Strause5 years ago in Journal
H.
Most of my life has been one big social shock. Its never really easy fitting in...well for me anyways. I seem to be a drifter mostly, but from time to time I find family along the way. As the years flown by each interaction made seems to have more meaning behind it, and for the last 6 years of my life its had none. Its like I froze, and stopped being me for 6 long depressing years. Oh well, I thought just a mere infraction for how ever long this insane journey will be, and now that I have passion for life once again; control is taken back. I have pain just like others, and sometimes choices are made on how to deal with said pain. Rather it be spiritual, emotional, cerebral, or physical pain. I can not remember clearly what possessed me to try heroin for first time, but this one choice led me to discover what the actual disease of addiction done to me.
By Andromeda 5 years ago in Journal
I Was a Teenage Alien
Form III-S, Poole Grammar School, Dorset. 1969 (Motto: "We Are Better Than You.") There is a huge difference in academic curricula between British and American schools. At around age fourteen, American students are still struggling with English, while British students have already moved on to Latin and French. Since I was to spend the equivalent of the 8th grade in a British all-boys prep school, I had to be tutored in French and Latin before going over. That was how I spent my entire 7th grade summer vacation; amo, amas, amat – il porte un rouge cravat.
By Frank Oden5 years ago in Journal
Oreo, More Than a Cookie
Oreo, More Than a Cookie Black on the outside, White on the inside. Oreo is a term that plagues the Black community. A double-sided coin either used as an insult to accuse its victim of not being “Black enough,” or a backhanded compliment (also an insult) to suggest someone’s Black, but not “too Black.”
By Gaybrielle Michelle5 years ago in Journal
The Subconscious Storymaker
I always knew I was different. Whether it was characteristics outlined by others or those I saw internally within myself - the parts of me that were individualistic to me were always openly on show for the world to see. However there was one piece that until recently was something only I knew about myself - my ability to create. Empathy was something I always felt. The ability to put myself in others shoes - feel what they were feeling as if their story or life experiences were a part of my own. Even if it was only for a few minutes, those short conversations I shared with strangers about their lives held the power to reconstruct the way I viewed life for the rest of that day, week or even month. I guess that is the power of words you never know what might move you. At first, that ability came with a lot of weight, often too much and that heavily impacted my mood during the day. At any given point the metaphorical graph representing the strength of my soul could dip. The only thing that came with that though was the immeasurable sense of humanity. Something which I witnessed being lost every day in the world. Having this weird relationship with people, with stories - when times got tough, provided the perfect distraction, allowing me to temporarily detach myself from my issues and view the situation as if it was just another story falling upon my ears. The entire time repeating to myself “this would make a great story someday”. Now older, the path before me has never been clearer. They say you have two options: either make the thing you love your work, or work to earn and keep the thing you love as your hobby, and do it everyday so you never fall out of love with it. For me, putting the stories I conjured for many years finally onto paper in the form of stories is that love. The thought that all my expericences can become a learning, stepping stone for others, the lessons that were never thought and can only be learnt through the hardest of experiences. All the conversations of the mind that I weren’t able to speak out loud and probably never will. what I would like to be followed for is my perspective. An embodiment of the quote “nobody is me and that is my power”. Based on the thought that what I have to say, the words I will utilise will be different to any way others may put it because my eyes are my own and thus my thoughts are something only I can have. While people may think alike, where those thoughts come from come from, the context behind them, the lessons and experiences pushing these opinion will always be different. It is for that reason that my passion lies in writing. To create a body of work that not only illustrates my life, all I have been through in the short time I have lived but also conveys it in such a way that puts forth a hope evoking story based on love, optimism and perseverance. To collect all the scenarios and stories I have made up in my mind and create a novel that ties them together, providing the perfect seal for me to put it all behind me, on the corner of some back shelf in my mind - only to be visited for the sake of seeing my growth. When I think of my ideal outcome, the only image that comes to mind is a small cottage in the middle of no where, surrounded by countryside, maybe a small town nearby where everybody knows everybody, a proper community - where I could just peacefully write and find new ways to fall in love with life everyday.
By Maariya5 years ago in Journal
Waking Up
Saturday morning rolled around sooner than I’d wish it would have; the sunlight that poured into the bedroom felt blinding. I rolled over and swung my legs from the side of the bed, something felt off but I disregarded it as morning grog. My eyes were barely open as I stumbled across the room to the door. Upon stepping into the hallway I realized to my horror that something was very wrong, the walls felt like they were folding in and as I looked out into the house I felt a chill run up my spine. I didn’t recognize the living room before me. The table and the assortment of letters and dishes scattered across it were foreign to me, I didn’t recognize anything. I turned, feeling deeply sick to my stomach, and poured myself into the bathroom and over the side of the toilet bowl. My stomach renched for a minute but finally my breathing slowed and I gathered myself. There were plenty of reasonable, albeit still uncomfortable, situations where one might wake up in an unfamiliar setting. I could handle this, I just needed to get myself together, perhaps just wash my face and then move from there. I rose slowly from the tile and with a heavy sigh turned to the sink. A flick of the wrist produced a cool stream of water that burbled against the quartz. I tried to ignore the urge to absorb the room around me but I was growing increasingly curious about my surroundings.
By Thaer Fama5 years ago in Journal
Stuck in the Mud
“Well, you do have a lot of extra-curricular – charity, course-related, music. Even Student Governor.” I was sitting, upright waiting for the inevitable impressive, very impressive. I was being interviewed for the receptionist job at my student union, and in my mind, I ticked all the boxes. “No sport though?”
By S. Hawkins5 years ago in Journal
The College Resident's Secret Dumpling Society
Hello, good morning esteemed guests, and welcome to my presentation. Is my mic on? Can you hear me at the back James? Good! Everyone have their seat? Ok awesome. Let’s begin. Ladies and gentleman thank you for this opportunity for me to present to you today the pitch for the College Resident’s Secret Dumpling Society. I promise this innovative, niche, and practical residential campus initiative shows some truly great potential, and I appreciate all of your openness to an implementation at various academic campuses, your purchases of shares, or your donations and funding for it’s success. I have prepared a brief history and summaries on the powerpoint to help capture the essence of what we are trying to bring to you today. Bear with me, technology is not my best friend, as it mustn’t be yours I imagine Susan ahaha.
By Anna Harrison5 years ago in Journal
SOCIAL SHOCK REMEDY
All my life I have felt misplaced and displaced. I never felt like I fit into my own family. I would hide in closets or somewhere no one could find me and just read.
By Novel Allen5 years ago in Journal
Journaling back to myself
Journaling my way back to myself Journaling is truly a form of meditation in its own way. It’s literally prayer, taking place on paper. Right there . Journaling allows me to unpack my thoughts and self realizations.
By IAM SimplyShan5 years ago in Journal