“Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated—with one another; with the rainy, sleety weather; with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you’ve had a rough day and you’re frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here’s what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight—just leave ‘em with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I’ll open the window and throw your troubles in the water. Sound good?”

It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who’d been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?

Oh, he was serious.

At the next stop—just as promised—the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up—but everyone did it. The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.

We live in a hard world, my friends. Sometimes it’s extra difficult to be a human being. Sometimes you have a bad day. Sometimes you have a bad day that lasts for several years. You struggle and fail. You lose jobs, money, friends, faith, and love. You witness horrible events unfolding in the news, and you become fearful and withdrawn. There are times when everything seems cloaked in darkness. You long for the light but don’t know where to find it.

But what if you are the light? What if you’re the very agent of illumination that a dark situation begs for?

That’s what this bus driver taught me—that anyone can be the light, at any moment. This guy wasn’t some big power player. He wasn’t a spiritual leader. He wasn’t some media-savvy “influencer.” He was a bus driver—one of society’s most invisible workers. But he possessed real power, and he used it beautifully for our benefit.

When life feels especially grim, or when I feel particularly powerless in the face of the world’s troubles, I think of this man and ask myself, What can I do, right now, to be the light? Of course, I can’t personally end all wars, or solve global warming, or transform vexing people into entirely different creatures. I definitely can’t control traffic. But I do have some influence on everyone I brush up against, even if we never speak or learn each other’s name. How we behave matters because within human society everything is contagious—sadness and anger, yes, but also patience and generosity. Which means we all have more influence than we realize.

No matter who you are, or where you are, or how mundane or tough your situation may seem, I believe you can illuminate your world. In fact, I believe this is the only way the world will ever be illuminated—one bright act of grace at a time, all the way to the river.“

–Elizabeth Gilbert

You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.

I think I’d have minded less if I’d committed a truly heinous crime. Something that warranted death. Or even if I was the kind of person who would enjoy flinging a last defiance at my execution.

It was all just a show, anyway. They did it every year. They brought out a selection of criminals, and the Sorcerer who ruled us showed his power by bringing about their deaths by magic. Just to show, every year, what happened to anyone who crossed him.

There was a time, probably, when the people he executed really were rebels or assassins. In latter days he had to take what the dungeons offered. I was dragged up in chains between a pickpocket, sobbing in terror, and a man who’d killed another man in a brawl. There were few criminals of any note, by then. So instead of choosing the wickedest criminals, they chose based on appearance. The man who’d been in the brawl had a face like a clenched fist, and looked like a ruffian. The pickpocket, aging and with hands beginning to tremble, was a different kind of example. As was I.

“There aren’t many pretty ones, this year,” the man who chose me had said, examining me. “But this one will do. Not young, but not old, a woman, well-favoured enough for the gallows… what was her crime?”

The warder shrugged. “She tried to kill one of the sheriffs.”

The man looked down at me and I shrugged. “I hit him with a washing stick, because he tried to extort money from me, and he was a baby about it.” I refused to treat this as anything but pathetic, even after my sentencing. “I didn’t even break any bones.”

“Treason, then,” the man said, nodding. “Attacking the servants of the law. That will look well on the list. Send her.”

I had been debating ever since what to choose. Something quick? Something painless? I considered demanding that I suffer the attack I supposedly made on the sheriff, but then I realized the Sorcerer would only give me what the man had said I was going to do, and that was not a pleasant way to die. I had all but decided on something swift and relatively painless. Beheading with the sharpest of blades sounded good. It would be quick. 

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I always see the “where else would i find this but on tumblr” thing said about things that are funny, but I can’t think of anywhere else where I can randomly run into a short story that shakes my core

Eye of the Beholder

I’ve never found myself pretty so I made a quick comic that might help others with the same feelings

Yes good comic

Full Pink Moon in Scorpio by Rami Ammoun (Apr. 2021)

Art Block

I got an art block and I thought to do something about it. We’re friends now! \o/

Steven Bradbury – you know, the Australian speed skater who won gold because all of the other skaters fell down – has gotta be one of my favourite athletes for the context that most posts about him don’t mention.

Y’see, throughout his career, Bradbury’s opponents falling down had basically been his curse. He’d been skating competitively for over a decade, and in that span, he’d been knocked out of contention in major events by opponents either stumbling into him or falling in his path on at least six separate occasions. In some cases, he suffered considerably more damage than simply losing out on a medal; in one incident, a stumbling opponent’s skate-blade sliced open an artery in Bradbury’s thigh, causing him to lose four litres of blood and spend the next eighteen months in physical therapy; in another, Bradbury tripped over an opponent who’d fallen down in front of him and broke his own neck. Following the latter incident, Bradbury’s doctors told him he’d never skate again.

In spite of those warnings, Bradbury would later qualify for the 2002 Winter Olympics, though most commentators – and, by his own admission, Bradbury himself – believed that his age and the lingering effects of his past injuries made it unlikely that he’d win.

On the day of the 1000 meter short track event, it looked like those predictions would bear out. Going into the semi-finals, having made it that far only due to the disqualification of stronger competitors, Bradbury was already exhausted (it was his third event of the day), and he trailed far behind the pack. However, three of his four opponents stumbled on the final lap, allowing him to advance. In the final, Bradbury’s opponents fared even worse, becoming entangled in a massive wipeout just fifty meters short of the goal, and Bradbury was able to weave through the resulting pileup and coast to the finish line, capturing Australia’s first Winter Olympics gold.

Following the 2002 Oylmpics, Bradbury immediately retired.

never give up.

but also know when to call it quits

comparing our bodies

welp. i was THISCLOSE to posting an adolescent “i hate everything” post… and then i saw this.

Literally just let this play 8 times in a row and my smile never faltered even once 😁

This healed me….

Grave Cleaning by ladytaphos

(Tags via @itspileofgoodthings)

Tell me you love me.

Tell me with your face of dainty spring

Show with your mind and soul of darkness.

Love me with the beast beneath your skin,

Let your rage,

With my darkness sing.

Tell me you do not regret,

For you lost everything when you came here.

Tell me I set you free.

Tell me that you were longing for this

For this new breath,

Tell me it was me,

That gave you happiness,

This life.

Because my dear Persephone,

My fierce wife,

And regal queen,

You are the storm that breaks me,

The life I need.

And if I have wronged you,

Forgive me, my darling.

My love, Persephone, if only you knew,

How deep it runs

My life,

My throne

All laid bare before you.

If you could do it again,

Would you stay?

Would you stay in this world you brought life to?

Say yes.

Say yes, Persephone,

For you are all I want,

All I wish for

All I need.

Say yes,

You'd do it again.

You'd break free of those

gold, jewelled chains.

That diamond choker,

Was still a noose.

A golden cage is still a cage.

The God of the Dead,

Who loved a goddess of life.

The fates might have chosen it,

This lovely thing we share.

This dance of dark and passion,

That no God would break,

Would even dare.

Say yes.

Yes.

I would.

That's all I want to hear.

Hey if u like the ocean look at this its rly cool I think

as someone who was already scared of the ocean uhhhhhh

This is so cool! Whoever made this, mad respect!

How I Go to the Woods, Mary Oliver

OK HERE IT IS!!

I’m a sucker for that good domestic covert life

This is beautiful.

@manfieme, have you seen this? Brings me lovely memories of your fic, the man under the armor.

A comic about being (possibly) neurodivergent, deeply rooted fears and overthinking

Reblogs are love | do NOT repost

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u know what makes me cry..... that one van gogh quote about life changing for the better..... “many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. and it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘what do i care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ yes, evil often seems to surpass good. but then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. one morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. and so i must still have hope.” yeah..... Crying....