humanity
The real lives of businessmen, professionals, the everyday man, stay at home parent, healthy lifestyle influencers, and general feel good human stories.
It Was Just a Game
The dinner had been going well. That's the part I keep coming back to — how easy the evening felt before it wasn't. We'd been dating for a few months, long enough that the first-date anxiety had burned off and left something more comfortable in its place. He was in his thirties, I was late twenties, and the dynamic had always felt low-maintenance in a way I appreciated. Good conversation, no drama, the simple pleasure of someone whose company you don't have to work at. We'd gone out after work, somewhere with decent food and no pressure, and the talk had drifted the way it does when two people are genuinely at ease — from the new GTA release to gaming generally to the specific question of what we each actually played.
By Bertyl Kently4 months ago in Journal
My Birthday, His Feelings
We'd been at the beach for a few hours by the time it happened — long enough that the drinks had done their work, that the afternoon had gone golden and loose, that the whole outing had acquired the pleasant formlessness of a day without a schedule. My aunt had suggested the beach as an early birthday celebration, and I'd said yes immediately, the way you say yes when the offer is simple and the company is people you've known your entire life.
By Bertyl Kently4 months ago in Journal
We are the Champs
First day of the Wimbledon Championships . Bright sunny morning, still early, crisp and cool. Just the way I like it for my journey in. Love to walk around the club grounds, early, too. The calm sense of purpose of those preparing the grounds for the day ahead. The quiet, still, feeling of anticipation. Everything keyed up, ready to go.
By Raymond G Taylor4 months ago in Journal
What the Water Asks of You
There is a particular quality to a lake at night that's difficult to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it. The cold hits you in a specific sequence — ankles first, then thighs, then the sharp intake of breath when it reaches your torso — and then something shifts, and the cold becomes simply the temperature of the world, and you stop registering it as something to endure. The stars overhead are different out here than they are anywhere with streetlights. The water is dark and very still at that hour, and when you lie on your back and let it hold you, the sound changes too: muffled, interior, the particular silence of being almost completely submerged.
By Bertyl Kently4 months ago in Journal
Moonshadow
My mother loved a Cat Stevens song. That's where it starts — not with astronomy, not with mythology, though both play into it. She heard the song young and carried it for years, and when I was born she gave it to me. Moonshadow. It's on my birth certificate, same as anyone's name is on theirs, the first thing officially recorded about a person before they've had any say in who they'll become.
By Bertyl Kently4 months ago in Journal
