advice
Advice that will put you on the path to success; tips, tricks and nuggets of wisdom from trusted experts and motivational mentors.
Whispers of Rain and Daffodils
Whispers of Rain and Daffodils A Mountain Afternoon of Tea, Tranquility, and Golden Blooms The rain had begun as a whisper—soft, steady, and soothing—as if the mountain itself had decided to exhale. Elena stood at the window of her little wooden cabin, tucked high in the emerald folds of the hills. Outside, the world was washed in silver mist and muted greens, and a field of daffodils danced gently in the rain, their golden heads bobbing like a thousand cheerful nods. She smiled. This was the kind of day that some might call gloomy. But to Elena, it was perfect. She had always loved the mountains in the rain. They seemed more alive, more secretive—like the trees and stones were whispering ancient stories only the clouds could understand. She reached for her favorite shawl, a handwoven piece of sky-blue wool, and wrapped it around her shoulders before heading to the little kitchen. The kettle was already steaming, singing a gentle tune. She prepared a tray with care: her favorite porcelain teapot painted with tiny bluebells, two delicate cups, a small jar of wildflower honey, and a plate of freshly baked lemon shortbread. Even though she lived alone, she always set out two cups. One for herself, and one for the spirit of the day—rain, daffodils, peace—whatever you wanted to call it. There was comfort in ritual, in treating even a rainy afternoon as something worthy of celebration. Elena carried the tray to the window seat—a cozy nook filled with cushions and a thick wool blanket. The view was nothing short of magic. The daffodils shimmered in the mist like drops of sunlight caught in a dream. Beyond them, pine trees stretched toward the sky, their branches heavy with raindrops. She poured the tea and took a deep breath. The scent of bergamot and honey filled the room. Just then, a soft knock echoed from the front door. She blinked. Who could be visiting on a day like this? Opening the door, she found her neighbor, Thomas, standing there in a raincoat, holding a small bouquet of daffodils wrapped in twine. His gray curls were damp, and his eyes sparkled beneath the brim of his hat. “I saw your daffodils blooming and thought you might like a few for your table,” he said, smiling. Elena laughed softly, touched. “You brought the sunshine in with you,” she replied. “Come in. I’ve just made tea.” They settled by the window, sipping from their matching cups, watching the rain together in quiet companionship. The sound of the rain played like soft music on the roof, and time seemed to slow. “You know,” Thomas said after a while, “I think days like this remind us to pause. We’re always chasing something in the sun. But here, with the rain and tea and flowers… this is life, too. Maybe even the best part.” Elena nodded. “It’s like the world is whispering, not shouting. And when we listen, we hear things we’ve missed.” They sat for hours, talking sometimes, and sometimes simply watching. The rain never let up, but it never felt heavy. It felt like a gift. By late afternoon, the daffodils outside were brighter than ever, their petals holding tiny raindrops like jewels. Inside, the room glowed with soft lamplight, laughter, and the warmth of shared peace. As the kettle whistled again, Elena smiled to herself. There was something magical about rainy days in the mountains—something most people overlooked in their hurry for clear skies. But not her. Not anymore. She had tea, daffodils, the rain, and company. And in that quiet, golden-lit moment, everything was exactly as it should be.
By Muhammad Saad about a year ago in Motivation
Why the Elites Fear Creativity
Every empire in history has feared one thing above all else — not war, not rebellion, but imagination. Every generation has its creators, the people who look at a broken system and say, “We can do better.” They don’t wait for permission. They grab what’s around them and build something new. They fix, remix, and reimagine the world while others stay locked in patterns of obedience.
By DJ for Changeabout a year ago in Motivation
. “5 Lessons I Learned from Losing Everything
I never imagined that life could fall apart so quickly. One month, I had a good job, a small apartment in the city, and plans for a future that felt steady. The next, I was sitting on the floor surrounded by half-packed boxes, wondering how everything had disappeared—my career, my savings, and even the relationship I thought would last forever.
By Zahoor khanabout a year ago in Motivation
The Fool’s Staff: Bahlool’s Wisdom and the Caliph’s Last Journey
The Fool’s Staff – A Story of Bahlool and Harun al-Rashid BY:Khan During the golden era of the Abbasid Caliphate, when Baghdad was the heart of the Muslim world, there lived a man known as Bahlool. He was a curious figure—sometimes seen as a madman, sometimes as a saint. His behavior was eccentric, his words often strange, yet hidden beneath his apparent madness was a wisdom that pierced the soul. The great Caliph, Harun al-Rashid, ruler of one of the most powerful empires of his time, often found amusement in Bahlool’s company. His court was full of scholars, poets, and advisors, but Bahlool’s words carried a flavor of humor and truth unlike any other. Sometimes he joked like a fool, and at other times he spoke truths so profound that even the mighty Caliph would fall silent. One day, as Bahlool entered the royal court, Harun al-Rashid decided to indulge in a little jest. Picking up a staff that lay beside him, he extended it toward Bahlool with a playful smile. “Bahlool,” said the Caliph, “take this staff from me. But remember, it is not an ordinary staff. You must keep it safe until you find a man more foolish than yourself. Then, and only then, you may pass it on to him.” The courtiers laughed. Harun al-Rashid chuckled. Bahlool, however, accepted the staff with the utmost seriousness. Without a word, he bowed, tucked it under his arm, and left the palace. The incident was soon forgotten by most. Perhaps even the Caliph himself dismissed it as a passing joke. But Bahlool kept the staff with him, carrying it everywhere he went. --- The Final Illness Years passed. One day, news spread across Baghdad: the mighty Caliph, Harun al-Rashid, had fallen gravely ill. His physicians had exhausted every remedy, and the court whispered that his end was near. When Bahlool heard of the Caliph’s illness, he made his way to the palace to pay his respects. Despite his odd mannerisms, Bahlool was no stranger to the royal household, and no one dared to bar his entry. He entered quietly, his staff still tucked beneath his arm, and stood before the ailing Caliph. Harun al-Rashid, pale and weak, lifted his eyes and faintly smiled at the sight of Bahlool. “How do you fare, Commander of the Faithful?” Bahlool asked gently. The Caliph sighed. “Bahlool, what can I say? A great journey lies before me now.” “A journey?” Bahlool tilted his head in curiosity. “And where does this journey take you?” Harun al-Rashid closed his eyes and replied softly, “To the Hereafter.” Bahlool’s brows rose in innocent surprise. “The Hereafter? And when do you plan to return from this journey?” The Caliph gave a sad smile. “Oh, Bahlool, you ask as though I were traveling to a neighboring city. This journey has no return. No man who has gone has ever come back.” For a moment, Bahlool was silent. Then, with genuine astonishment, he asked, “If there is no return, then tell me—what preparations have you made? How many guards did you send ahead? How many companions will ride with you?” The Caliph’s face grew somber. “None, Bahlool. This is a journey where no army, no servants, no family may accompany me. One travels alone, empty-handed.” Bahlool’s eyes widened. He slowly pulled the old staff from beneath his arm and placed it beside the Caliph’s bed. “Then take this staff back,” he said firmly. “For all these years, I have searched for one more foolish than myself, yet I could find none. Now I see it clearly: you are the one. Whenever you set out on even the smallest journey, you made endless preparations—soldiers marched before you, servants trailed behind, baggage was carried in abundance. And yet, for this greatest of all journeys, from which there is no return, you have prepared nothing? Truly, O Commander of the Faithful, none is more foolish than you.” --- The Awakening At Bahlool’s words, the Caliph’s eyes filled with tears. His chest heaved as he whispered, “We thought you a madman, Bahlool, but today you have shown more wisdom than all my scholars and advisors. In your madness lies the sanity of truth. In your folly lies the wisdom of eternity.” The courtiers, who stood silently nearby, were struck with awe. They had often laughed at Bahlool, calling him a lunatic who wandered barefoot in the streets of Baghdad, but now his words rang louder than the sermons of the greatest preachers. The Caliph wept openly. The weight of his power, his palaces, his treasures, and his armies seemed to vanish. For in that moment, he realized what Bahlool had said was true: he had prepared for every worldly journey but neglected the eternal one. --- The Lesson The story of Bahlool and Harun al-Rashid has echoed through centuries, carried in books of wisdom and tales of the mystics. It reminds us of a simple truth: the journey of life is brief, but the journey beyond life is endless. Bahlool may have been dismissed as a fool by many, yet his words remain timeless. We, too, prepare meticulously for our worldly travels—booking tickets, packing bags, arranging companions. But how many of us prepare for the journey from which no traveler returns? The staff that Bahlool returned to Harun al-Rashid was not just a piece of wood. It was a symbol, a mirror reflecting the folly of forgetting the eternal for the sake of the temporary. Perhaps that is why Bahlool, the so-called madman, is remembered not for his madness, but for his wisdom.
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
The Physician of Peace: A Tale of Finding Calm Within
The Search for Peace BY:Khan In this world, every human being is chasing one thing above all—peace. Some seek it in the quiet wilderness, others in the shallow comfort of sleeping pills. Some find temporary calm in music, while others lose themselves in the beauty of nature. For Karim Bakhsh, peace seemed like a distant dream. His life was filled with the constant noise of his wife and children, and though he loved them dearly, their chatter and chaos often overwhelmed him. Whenever the clamor of home became too much to bear, Karim would escape to the old wooden bridge over the river. There, he would sit for hours, staring at the waves as they danced and rippled beneath the sky, hoping the flowing water might wash away his restlessness. One evening, in a moment of despair, Karim confided in the village imam, Tabarak Ali. “Mullah sahib,” he sighed, “my heart longs for peace, but I cannot seem to find it anywhere. Tell me, what should I do?” The imam stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, “Karim, I have heard of a wise physician in the nearby village of Kesar Ganj. They call him ‘Hakim-e-Pur-Sukoon’—the Physician of Peace. Go to him, perhaps he will help you.” The very next morning, Karim saddled his humble donkey and set off for Kesar Ganj. After a long ride, he arrived at the Hakim’s clinic. To his surprise, the renowned physician was not busy treating patients but was instead lying back against a bolster, snoring peacefully. Karim coughed politely, and the Hakim stirred, lazily opening one eye. Without moving from his place, he reached out, felt Karim’s pulse, and asked in a drowsy voice, “So, you want peace?” “Yes, sir,” Karim replied earnestly. “How much of it?” Karim was startled by the question. “As much as you can give me. Complete peace, if possible.” The Hakim smirked. “Then bring me four people.” “Four people? Why?” “Because true and complete peace,” said the Hakim, yawning, “can only be found in the graveyard across the river.” Karim frowned. “No, Hakim sahib, I don’t want that kind of peace. I only wish for some relief from the constant noise of my household. Not a single moment passes in silence.” The Hakim nodded, then asked abruptly, “Do you have a rooster at home?” “No,” Karim replied, confused. “But why do you ask?” “Buy one today. Now off you go!” With that, the Hakim pulled the quilt over himself and went back to sleep. Though puzzled, Karim obeyed. On his way home, he bought a rooster from the marketplace. The children were delighted. They clapped and laughed, chasing the bird around the courtyard. But within two days, the rooster’s loud and untimely crowing had driven Karim nearly mad. At dawn, at noon, even at midnight—the bird’s voice shattered whatever calm remained. Helpless, Karim returned to the Hakim and poured out his complaint. The Hakim, half-asleep, asked, “Do you have a dog at home?” “No,” Karim replied suspiciously. “Then get one. At once.” The Hakim turned over and fell asleep again. So Karim went to the wrestler Suleman and bought a big dog. The children rejoiced even more. But now, alongside the rooster’s crowing, the dog barked at every passing shadow. Day and night, noise engulfed the house. Karim’s misery grew unbearable. Once more, he trudged to the Hakim’s clinic and recited his woes. The Hakim stretched, yawned, and asked, “Do you have a donkey?” Karim, frustrated, snapped, “Apart from myself, there’s no other donkey in my house!” “Then get one,” the Hakim said firmly. And so, Karim purchased a donkey from Bhulo the washerman. But that night, the rooster crowed, the dog barked, and the donkey brayed until even the neighbors came knocking. “Karim!” they shouted angrily. “Your animals are driving the whole street mad. Get rid of them immediately!” Karim returned once again to the Hakim, who calmly instructed, “Return the donkey.” Karim did so. The following day, he noticed a strange quiet in the house. For the first time in weeks, he slept peacefully. He hurried to tell the Hakim. “Now get rid of the dog,” the Hakim advised. “But my children love the dog,” Karim protested. “And it guards the fields at night.” “Do as I say,” the Hakim insisted. Reluctantly, Karim parted with the dog. That night, the silence felt overwhelming. The absence of barking unnerved him. Life seemed too quiet. When he reported this to the Hakim, the physician said, “Now slaughter the rooster.” Karim’s patience broke. “No, Hakim sahib! That I cannot do. My children love the bird, and its crowing greets our mornings. Without it, the day feels incomplete.” “Your treatment is not finished,” the Hakim scolded. “The rooster must go.” Defeated, Karim obeyed. But when the rooster was gone, the house felt empty and lifeless. The silence was so heavy it frightened him. For the first time, Karim realized how much those little sounds had meant. Finally, he returned to the Hakim. This time, the physician was fresh, dressed in a spotless white sherwani and a velvet cap. Smiling, he asked, “And now, how do you feel?” Karim sighed. “My home is peaceful, but it feels hollow. The silence chokes me. I realize now that my wife and children, their chatter, even their chaos—these are the true joys of my life. Without them, there is no real peace.” The Hakim placed a gentle hand on Karim’s head and said softly, “Exactly, my son. That was your cure. Peace does not lie outside—it lies within. Those who seek it only in silence or in escape will never find it. True peace is in gratitude, in family, in embracing life with all its noise and color.” Karim returned home, no longer restless. The shouts of his children, the clatter of the kitchen, even the rooster’s absence—all became part of a deeper calm. He had finally understood that peace was never about the world around him. It was always about the heart within.
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
The Generous Stranger
The Generous Stranger BY: Ubaid Based on a true account from the Abbasid era During the second century of the Hijri calendar, there lived a nobleman named Ma’n ibn Zaida al-Shaybani, a man of remarkable courage and legendary generosity. His fame as a brave warrior and kind-hearted benefactor had spread across the Arab world. Poets sang of his valor, and the poor prayed for his long life, for he never turned away anyone who came to his door in need. But even the most honored of men are not safe from the wrath of kings. One day, the mighty Caliph Abu Ja’far al-Mansur became angry with Ma’n for reasons that history does not fully record. The Caliph ordered that Ma’n be captured and brought before him. Knowing the seriousness of the command, Ma’n realized that his life was in grave danger. He went into hiding, moving from place to place, constantly looking over his shoulder. Every sound, every whisper of the wind made his heart race. “How long can I live like this?” he thought. “The Caliph’s men are everywhere.” Finally, Ma’n decided to flee Baghdad altogether. Disguised in simple clothes and mounted on a camel, he rode quietly out of the city under the cover of dawn. The desert stretched endlessly before him — golden, silent, and full of uncertain hope. He had not gone far when suddenly, from behind a cluster of rocks, a dark-skinned man appeared and seized the camel’s reins. With firm hands, he forced the animal to kneel and said sternly, > “Get down! You’re coming with me.” Startled, Ma’n demanded, “Who are you, and what do you mean by this?” The man replied calmly, “Never mind who I am. What matters is who you are. You are Ma’n ibn Zaida, the man the Commander of the Faithful is seeking. The Caliph has promised a great reward to whoever captures you.” Ma’n’s heart sank. “You are mistaken, my friend,” he said quickly. “I am not the man you think I am.” The stranger smiled knowingly. “Do not try to deceive me. By Allah, I know your face well. And before others come and claim the reward for themselves, I intend to deliver you to the Caliph.” Realizing that escape was impossible, Ma’n decided to appeal to the man’s greed instead of his loyalty. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a necklace of glittering jewels, each stone worth a fortune. Holding it out, he said softly, > “Brother, take this. These gems are worth far more than whatever reward the Caliph promised. Spare my life, and you’ll have riches beyond measure.” The man took the necklace, turning it over in his rough hands. The jewels sparkled in the sunlight, throwing tiny rainbows on the sand. After a moment’s silence, he said, > “Indeed, this is a treasure. But I will decide whether to keep it or not only after you answer one question truthfully.” Ma’n nodded. “Ask your question.” The man looked straight into his eyes and asked, > “It is said that your generosity is unmatched in all of Arabia. Tell me, have you ever given away all your wealth to someone in need?” Ma’n hesitated and said, “No, not all of it.” The man continued, “Half of it, then?” Ma’n shook his head. “No.” “A third, perhaps?” “Not even that.” The man raised an eyebrow. “A tenth?” Ma’n thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, perhaps once or twice, I may have given away a tenth of what I owned.” At that, the stranger smiled — a calm, confident smile. “Then listen carefully,” he said. “I work for the Caliph himself, as a simple servant. My salary is only twenty dirhams a month — barely enough to survive. Yet this priceless necklace you just offered me, worth thousands upon thousands of dirhams, I now give back to you.” He tossed the necklace at Ma’n’s feet. “Take it,” he said. “Keep your life and your jewels. I wanted to show you that true generosity does not come from wealth. It comes from the heart. And even a poor man can outshine a rich one in giving.” Then, without another word, he turned and began walking back toward the city. Ma’n was astonished. His throat tightened with emotion. “Wait!” he called out. “You have shamed me with your kindness. Please, take the necklace — I give it to you freely, with all my heart.” The man stopped and turned around, laughing softly. “You think you can win by out-giving me? By Allah, I will never touch that necklace again. I gave it to you for the sake of God, and once given, it is forbidden for me to take it back.” With that, he waved farewell and disappeared into the horizon, leaving Ma’n standing speechless beside his camel. Later, Ma’n ibn Zaida would recount this encounter many times, saying, > “In all my life, I never met a man with such dignity, courage, and generosity — and he was but a poor servant earning twenty dirhams a month.” It was a lesson that stayed with him forever. Wealth, he realized, was not the measure of generosity — the heart was. True greatness lies not in what one possesses, but in what one is willing to give up for the sake of principle. And so, history remembers not only Ma’n ibn Zaida, the famous nobleman, but also the unknown servant, whose single act of selfless honor left even the greatest of men humbled.
By Ubaid about a year ago in Motivation
“The Secrets of the Lower City: The Untold Heroes”
Story: The Lower City seemed ordinary at first glance, but beneath its narrow streets lay secrets long forgotten. Its residents lived their lives unaware that a hidden world existed behind the walls of their homes and the floors of underground passages. Amira, a curious and determined 19-year-old girl, had always been fascinated by books and mysteries. She lived with her mother and younger sister, and life had always been predictable—until the day she heard whispers about an ancient book with extraordinary powers. This book was said to reveal the hidden truths of the city, even showing glimpses of the near and distant future. However, it was guarded by a strict and mysterious elder named Hassan, who never allowed an ordinary person to read it. Many had tried before and faced grave dangers. Driven by curiosity, Amira decided to meet the elder. To her surprise, Hassan said: “Amira, I have been waiting for someone like you. But you must understand—the power of this book is double-edged. It can illuminate the truth, but it can also bring great danger.” Her heart raced, but Amira accepted the challenge. Her journey was thrilling and terrifying. She began exploring the city’s hidden corners—ancient underground floors, forgotten libraries, and forbidden places no one dared enter. Amira encountered the city’s forgotten residents, who shared tales long buried. She discovered that the Lower City held hidden conspiracies, deceit, and secret networks, all controlled by those in power trying to protect their authority. One day, Amira realized that the book could reveal potential disasters if the city’s secrets were misused. She saw glimpses of corruption in business and politics, acts that could destroy ordinary lives if left unchecked. Fear did not stop her. Using her intelligence, courage, and the book’s guidance, Amira devised a plan to reveal the truth to the people. She presented hidden evidence, reached out to trusted allies, and worked tirelessly to change the city’s fate. Weeks of effort brought visible results. People began to recognize the truth, some taking action to improve their lives. The Lower City gradually became more open, its citizens learning to trust each other. The long-hidden secrets were revealed, and the city’s untold heroes finally received recognition. In the end, Amira realized that courage did not come from the book’s power alone. True bravery lay in those willing to do what is right. She became a remembered hero in her community, a shining example that honesty and courage can overcome deception and secrecy. A Note: The Lower City is not as it seems. Its hidden secrets remind us that anyone seeking the truth can become a hero—even in the face of danger and fear.
By Hudaabout a year ago in Motivation
The Kitchen Table Empire
The sun was barely up when Mia sat at her kitchen table, clutching a mug of coffee and staring at her laptop screen. Bills were stacked beside her like a silent reminder of the life she no longer wanted to live. Rent was due in four days. Her car needed repairs. And her job at a local store had just been cut to part-time.
By MIGrowthabout a year ago in Motivation
🌟 The Mountain Within: A Journey of Resilience and Self-Discovery
Life has a way of placing mountains before us — not always made of stone or snow, but of doubt, fear, and uncertainty. These mountains often feel impossible to climb. Yet, within each of us lies the strength to rise, one step at a time, toward the summit of our own potential.
By Alexander Mindabout a year ago in Motivation
When Life Closed Every Door, I Built My Own
I never thought I’d start over in my late twenties. I had plans, dreams, and a life that felt safe — until everything fell apart within weeks. In 2021, I lost my job. The company I worked for shut down during the pandemic. One morning, I woke up to an email that simply said, “We’re sorry, but we have to let you go.” I stared at the screen, heart racing, not believing that a few sentences could erase years of effort. Bills piled up. My savings dried out faster than I imagined. Friends who once called every day started disappearing one by one. And the hardest part? Watching my parents worry silently, pretending they believed me when I said, “I’ll figure something out.” --- The Days That Broke Me There were nights I couldn’t sleep — scrolling through job listings, sending applications, and refreshing my email like my life depended on it. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. I remember one night, sitting in the dark, staring at the blinking cursor on my old laptop. My reflection looked tired — hopeless. I whispered to myself, “Maybe this is it. Maybe I’m not meant to make it.” But deep down, something small — something stubborn — whispered back: “Try one more time.” --- A Chance Encounter A few days later, while aimlessly scrolling YouTube, I stumbled on a video about “earning online.” I laughed at first. I thought it was just another scam. But curiosity made me watch anyway. The guy in the video wasn’t showing off cars or mansions — he was just explaining how he built small income streams through affiliate marketing. Something clicked. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have money. But I had time — and maybe, just maybe, I could learn. I started researching every night. I read blogs, joined forums, and took free courses. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, but my heart felt alive again. I was learning something new. --- The First Failure I decided to try Amazon affiliate marketing. I created a small Pinterest account and started posting product pins — the kind of stuff I saw others doing. Nothing fancy. Just consistency. The first month, I earned $0.00. The second month, $0.75. It felt laughable. But that $0.75 was everything to me. It wasn’t about the money. It was proof — that the system worked, and I could make it work better. So I doubled down. I started creating better visuals, writing real reviews, and focusing on helping people instead of selling. Slowly, things started changing. --- Building My Own Door By the fourth month, I made around $90. It felt surreal. I remember withdrawing that first amount and just staring at it in my account, whispering, “I did this.” No boss. No office. No fancy degree. Just persistence and late nights. I realized something powerful that day — When life closes every door, maybe it’s trying to tell you to stop knocking. To start building your own. So I kept going. I learned design. I started my own small blog. Later, I opened a YouTube channel sharing what I learned. I wasn’t an expert — just a guy who refused to quit. And people connected with that honesty. Within a year, I wasn’t just surviving — I was finally living on my terms. --- The Moment That Changed Everything One afternoon, I was sitting with my mom in the living room. She looked at me and said softly, “You look peaceful these days.” That’s when it hit me — peace wasn’t something I found; it was something I built, one late night at a time. I didn’t become a millionaire. I didn’t buy a sports car. But I rebuilt my life — one decision, one failure, and one quiet victory at a time. --- What I Learned 1. Rock bottom isn’t the end. It’s the solid ground you can rebuild from. 2. Consistency beats talent. I wasn’t the smartest or the fastest — I just didn’t stop. 3. Comparison kills progress. Everyone’s journey is different; the only person you should compete with is your past self. 4. Small wins matter. $0.75 may not change your life, but it can change your mindset. --- Looking Back Sometimes I think about the version of me who almost gave up. The one sitting in the dark, wondering if life had any meaning left. I wish I could tell him that one day he’d be free — not because someone opened a door for him, but because he learned how to build his own. If you’re reading this and you feel stuck, I want you to remember something: No situation is permanent. No pain lasts forever. And even when every door seems closed, you still have the power to create one — with your bare hands and your unshakable will. --- Because the truth is simple: Sometimes life breaks you, not to destroy you — but to rebuild you into the person you were meant to become.
By Umar Farooqabout a year ago in Motivation
