A Notebook with no words.
Retro 80’s Purse For Sale
I would say one of my biggest flaws is saving Money. No matter how hard I’ve tried I’ve failed. You would think at 35 I would of at least saved couple thousands for some sort of emergency. I can’t do it. Or maybe I don’t want to.
My new obsession is thrifting
Sure beats my prior obsession which was
Playing scratch offs. Boy did that take a lot time and loosing yo pass it up. I still play my lottery every Saturday night but had to slow it down I was addicted to that feeling of just maybe hitting it big. See thrifting is a gamble you go in there no knowing what you will find, I also resell item online or add to my hoarding collection.
Went into the Goodwill today just to see what I would find .
I go nice and early beat the rush
I have my eye out on purses and shoes they sell quick online with time I’ve gotten pretty good on spotting the good sellers.
Only thing I found worth buying was a white retro 80’s hobo purse. Have you ever looked at something and thought that is so hidious ?
I loved it
Came home and snuck it in my house
My husband gets on my case with my junk buying issue .
I prepared to sanatize my purse
Something about buying vintage items I guess they transport me Back yo my childhood or the memories come back to me that makes me feel happy in a way .
Inside the purse was a black notebook journal and two pennies .
I have this superstitious Belief never throw away money even pennies. So I kept them and the notebook was brand new
I opened it hopping to see a caleandar from the 80s or something cool in that way but
It was all blank looked like it was never even opened. I put it back in the purse just because I didn’t want my little son to scribble it up the minute he saw it.
4 months had past before I actually sold the purse online . For $ 25 dollars so I made a 20 dollar profit not bad .
I left the notebook inside i I figured
Every one loves a free gift right ?
She gave me a 5 star review and wrote on the review your an angel
I thought wow as my face turned red and warm from blushing
That was nice of her guess she really liked the purse.
Sales were slow lately I really wasn’t going thrifting anymore. Guess just got tired of the clutter in my house .
Few months had past
I got a notification from my online store
New Offer 100,000
What the hell is this
I had nothing over 100$ selling
When I saw is was the same buyer who bought my purse . She had made an offer on some vintage Levi’s I was selling for 120$
Listen I was broke as a joke I knew or thought this is a scam trick or a mistake but I accepted the offer.
Laughing out loud a message came in
Dear Carina,
You saved my life in a way I could never begin to explain. That purse I purchased from you was the same one my grandma would wear when we would go out shopping on the weekends do I purchased it just to have it as a keepsake.
That black note book was the same note book I use to use for writing I gave up when my grandmother got sick and when she passed away I just couldn’t pic up the pen .
I know my grandmother sent me that book.
She always loved my writings and poems.
Pelase accept my offer
Nothing in life just happens by chance
I’m passing it forward I’ve sold enough copies of my new book
to have some money to pass it forward .
Ps. Notebooks are only empty for so long
Sooner or later we all need one
Thank you
Enjoy
Her name was a wired username I could not make out even in the shipping label
Had no info just a P.O. Box
But all I know I was 100,000 richer
The End
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Lost but Trying
There are moments in life when everything feels lost—not dramatically, not loudly, but quietly. The kind of loss that settles into your bones and makes even simple breathing feel heavy. For Adam, that moment came on an ordinary Tuesday morning when he realized he had nowhere left to go. At twenty-seven, Adam wasn’t supposed to feel this tired. He wasn’t supposed to feel like life had already passed him by. Yet there he was, sitting on the edge of a narrow bed in a rented room, staring at peeling paint on the wall, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. He had once been full of plans. Big ones. Dreams of building something meaningful, of becoming someone his younger self would be proud of. But life, as it often does, had other ideas. Adam grew up in a small town where hope was common but opportunities were rare. His father worked long hours, his mother carried silent strength, and everyone believed that education would be the escape route. Adam believed it too. He studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and dreamed even harder. But dreams don’t always come with instructions. After college, rejection letters became his daily routine. Job interviews led to polite smiles and empty promises. “We’ll get back to you,” they said. Most never did. Slowly, confidence turned into doubt. Doubt turned into fear. And fear became a constant companion. When his father fell ill, Adam returned home. Medical bills piled up. Savings vanished. Dreams were postponed, then quietly buried. After his father’s death, the house felt too empty, too loud in its silence. Adam left again, this time not chasing dreams, but running from memories. The city welcomed him with indifference. He worked temporary jobs—delivery rider, warehouse helper, night security guard. None lasted long. Each job paid just enough to survive, never enough to grow. Failure followed him like a shadow, whispering reminders of what he hadn’t become. One night, after being laid off yet again, Adam walked aimlessly through the city streets. Neon lights blurred into streaks of color. Laughter spilled out of cafés he couldn’t afford. He felt invisible, like a background character in everyone else’s success story. That night, he considered giving up. Not dramatically. Not with a note or tears. Just a quiet decision to stop trying. To accept that some people were meant to struggle forever. He sat on a bench near a bus stop, head in his hands, when an old man sat beside him. “You look like someone who’s lost,” the man said gently. Adam didn’t reply. The old man continued, “Being lost isn’t the problem. Staying lost is.” Adam finally looked up. The man’s face was lined with age, but his eyes carried a calm confidence, the kind earned through survival. “I’ve tried,” Adam said bitterly. “Nothing works.” The man smiled softly. “Trying doesn’t guarantee success. It guarantees growth.” Adam wanted to argue, but something in the man’s voice stopped him. “I failed more times than I can count,” the old man added. “But each failure taught me something. Most people quit right before life changes.” The bus arrived. The old man stood up. “Don’t stop trying,” he said. “Even slow steps are steps forward.” Then he was gone. Adam sat there long after the bus left. For the first time in months, something shifted inside him—not hope exactly, but curiosity. What if stopping wasn’t the answer? What if trying, even imperfectly, still mattered? The next day, Adam did something small. He updated his resume. It wasn’t impressive, but it was honest. He applied for jobs he felt un for. He watched free online courses at night. He started writing—short thoughts, reflections, anything that helped him release the weight inside. Days turned into weeks. Rejections continued, but so did effort. One evening, Adam posted a short piece of writing online. He didn’t expect much. But comments came in. Strangers resonated with his words. Someone said, “This feels like my life.” Another wrote, “Thank you for putting my feelings into words.” For the first time, Adam felt seen. He kept writing. Months later, he landed a small content job—not glamorous, not permanent—but real. It paid little, but it paid consistently. More importantly, it gave him purpose. Life didn’t magically improve overnight. Problems didn’t disappear. Some days were still heavy. But Adam noticed something new: he no longer felt stuck. Trying had changed him. He learned that progress isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It arrives quietly, disguised as persistence. He learned that being lost doesn’t mean being broken. Sometimes it simply means you’re between versions of yourself. Years later, Adam would look back on that bench, that night, and that stranger. He would realize that the turning point wasn’t a job or success—it was a decision. A decision to keep trying, even when trying hurt. Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do isn’t winning. It’s not quitting.
By Inayat khan6 days ago in Motivation
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