advice
Advice that will put you on the path to success; tips, tricks and nuggets of wisdom from trusted experts and motivational mentors.
The Age of Endless Alerts: How Constant Notifications Are Rewiring Our Brains. AI-Generated.
We used to hear church bells or town criers announcing urgent news a few times a day. Now, our pockets vibrate dozens—sometimes hundreds—of times before lunch. Phones, watches, laptops, even refrigerators keep us on call for every like, email, and “breaking” headline. The constant hum of alerts doesn’t just interrupt us; it is quietly rewiring how our brains think, feel, and relate.
By Ahmet Kıvanç Demirkıranabout a year ago in Motivation
Responsibility
Responsibility has a strange way of finding us. Sometimes we chase it, hoping it will prove we are capable. Other times, it lands on our shoulders without warning, heavier than we ever imagined. For me, it was never a choice. It was a calling that arrived too soon. I was fourteen when my father left. One slammed door, one shouted argument, and suddenly our home was quieter than I had ever known. My mother worked two jobs, coming home with exhaustion etched across her face. The bills piled up like unspoken truths on the kitchen table, and the house seemed to sigh under the weight of everything left unsaid. That was when responsibility stopped being an abstract word and became my reality. I started cooking dinner, helping my younger brother with homework, folding laundry at midnight so my mother could rest. I told myself it was temporary—that my father would return, that things would go back to how they were. But weeks became months, and months turned into years. The responsibility didn’t go away. It grew. At first, I resented it. While other kids my age went to parties, joined clubs, or complained about curfews, I was measuring grocery lists against the few crumpled bills in my pocket. I wanted freedom. I wanted a life where responsibility didn’t breathe down my neck. But wanting didn’t change reality. There were moments when the weight nearly broke me. I remember standing in the grocery aisle once, calculator in hand, trying to decide between bread and milk because we couldn’t afford both. I remember skipping school dances because someone had to babysit my brother. I remember the look on my mother’s face when she found out I had been secretly working weekends to help pay the bills—equal parts pride and heartbreak. But in those moments, something inside me hardened and strengthened. I began to see responsibility not as a thief of childhood, but as a teacher. It taught me how to manage time, how to make sacrifices, and how to keep going even when I was tired. It showed me the strength I didn’t know I had. Still, there were nights when the weight felt unbearable. I would sit in the quiet, my brother asleep in the next room, and wonder why this had become my life. Why did I have to grow up so fast? Why couldn’t I just be a teenager? The silence never answered, but in that silence I discovered something important: responsibility may feel heavy, but it shapes us. I saw this clearly the day my brother graduated elementary school. He walked across the stage, proudly holding his certificate, and scanned the crowd until his eyes found mine. He grinned. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t just carrying a burden—I was carrying someone’s future. My sacrifices weren’t in vain. They were building him a chance to dream bigger than I could. The years passed, and I carried that weight into adulthood. Responsibility followed me into my first job, my first apartment, and every decision I made. It taught me discipline, but also compassion. It made me notice the struggles of others more deeply, because I understood what it meant to carry burdens no one else could see. Looking back now, I don’t see responsibility as something that stole from me. I see it as something that gave me a different kind of childhood—one rooted in resilience. It forced me to step into shoes that didn’t quite fit, but over time, I grew into them. It’s easy to think of responsibility as a punishment. It feels unfair, especially when it arrives early and uninvited. But now I understand it differently. Responsibility is not just a weight we carry—it is a shaping force. It doesn’t always arrive when we’re ready. It rarely asks permission. But maybe that’s the point. It doesn’t wait for us to feel strong—it makes us strong. And as much as I once longed to run from it, I’ve come to understand that responsibility is not the enemy of freedom. It is the reason freedom has meaning. Without responsibility, we don’t grow, we don’t learn, and we don’t discover who we truly are. Because responsibility doesn’t just shape the life we live—it shapes the person we become. And though it once felt like a burden I never asked for, I now carry it with pride. Responsibility is not just what I do—it is who I am.
By LUNA EDITHabout a year ago in Motivation
From Dancer to Fractional CFO/CHRO: A Story of Intentional Work
In the late 1980s, I moved to New York City with $500 in my pocket, against my parents’ wishes, to become a modern dancer. My goal wasn’t to join a prestigious company or appear in the New York Times. My goal was simpler: to be good at the art form itself.
By Liz Anthonyabout a year ago in Motivation
What I’ve Learned Coaching 150+ Leaders: The 5 Habits That Separate Managers from True Leaders
Over the past eight years, I’ve coached more than 150 leaders—ranging from first-time directors to seasoned C-Suite executives—across industries from tech to professional services to consumer goods. While each leader brought unique strengths, challenges, and contexts, certain patterns consistently emerged. The biggest one? Many organizations blur the line between management and leadership.
By Liz Anthonyabout a year ago in Motivation
The Mountain in Her Mind
Anaya stood at the foot of the massive rock face, her eyes tracing the steep ridgeline disappearing into the clouds. Mount Kaala wasn't just a mountain. To her, it was the physical form of everything she had ever feared, avoided, or failed to overcome. She was not an experienced climber. In fact, she had never climbed a mountain in her life. But here she was — laced boots, trembling hands, and a storm of doubts in her head.
By Noor khanabout a year ago in Motivation
The Prayer of Five Minutes
The Value of Time in Prayer BY:Khan It was already three o’clock in the afternoon, but Hasan was still comfortably seated in the TV lounge, completely absorbed in his favorite show. His elder sister, Umama, walked past and grew irritated at the sight. “Hasan, you still haven’t prayed? The call to prayer was given right after one o’clock, and you’re still sitting here making excuses. If anyone asks, you say there’s time until five. If you had your way, you’d probably offer all the prayers together in one go, just to avoid making ablution again and again!” Her sharp words, however, didn’t seem to bother Hasan in the least. Without even looking up, he replied calmly, “Sis, this program ends around three-thirty. Once it’s over, I’ll pray.” Frustrated, Umama went off to complain to their other sister, Raima. Unlike Umama, Raima was known for her calm temperament and gentle ways. After listening, Raima smiled and said softly, “Let it be. Don’t worry. He’s coming to me for study after Asr prayer anyway. I’ll talk to him then.” --- The Conversation That evening, Hasan sat down with Raima as usual, his schoolbooks spread out on the table. Before he could begin, Raima stopped him. “No, Hasan. Today we will not study from your textbooks. Instead, we’re going to talk about something much more important—our real life and responsibilities. Tell me honestly, why don’t you pray on time?” Hasan shifted in his seat. “Baji, look, we have so many things to do. Other activities, hobbies, and sometimes I just get busy. So I think, what’s the harm in finishing those things first and then offering my prayer later? After all, there’s still time left.” Raima listened carefully and then spoke after a thoughtful pause. “Hasan, you know very well why we pray. It’s not just a ritual. We pray to seek closeness to Allah Almighty, to connect with Him out of love. Now think—when Allah has commanded us to pray at a specific time, is it really right for us to ignore that and decide our own timing? Imagine this. If a great and respected person invited you to meet him at a specific hour, would you dare to arrive late? Would you say, ‘I’ll come when I’m free’? No, of course not. Then who is greater than Allah? If we are ready to honor human schedules, shouldn’t we be more careful about the timings set by our Creator?” Her words made Hasan lower his gaze, but Raima continued gently. “Whenever the muezzin calls for prayer, every Muslim repeats those words after him. Do you know why? Because those words bring a wave of love and remembrance of Allah into the heart. And if we go to prayer in that very moment, our hearts are more likely to feel humility and sincerity. That is the real beauty of prayer. Besides, Hasan, how long does a single prayer take? Ten to fifteen minutes—twenty at most. And in exchange for those few minutes, we gain the love and nearness of the Lord of the entire universe. Isn’t that the best bargain a human being could ever make? If throughout our life we made the effort to pray at the appointed times every single day, both our worldly life and our afterlife would be blessed. That’s why our elders used to say: ‘Veley di namaz, veley diyan takraan’—a prayer performed on time is truly a prayer, while one delayed without reason is nothing but banging your head. As Muslims, we shouldn’t adjust our prayer according to our work schedules. Instead, we should adjust our work according to prayer times. That’s the true spirit of Islam. I hope, Hasan, that you will not only understand what I am saying but also put it into practice. Because knowledge without action is useless.” Her voice was calm, yet firm with conviction. --- A Change of Heart Hasan sat silently, his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t argue this time. After a few moments, he quietly gathered his things and left the room. Umama saw him walking toward the gate and called out, “Where are you off to now, Hasan?” “To pray,” he replied briefly. Surprised, Umama glanced at the clock. “But there’s still some time left before prayer!” Hasan gave a small smile. “Only five minutes.” And with that, both brother and sister burst into laughter. But deep down, Umama knew that Raima’s words had finally touched Hasan’s heart. From that day onward, Hasan began to look at prayer not as a chore to be delayed but as a precious opportunity to honor his Creator’s time. --- Moral of the Story This simple exchange between siblings carries a lesson for all of us. Prayer is not just about completing a duty; it is about discipline, love, and respect. When we prioritize prayer over our worldly distractions, we remind ourselves that nothing is greater than Allah’s command. The few minutes we spend in prayer have the power to bring peace into our hearts, order into our daily lives, and blessings into our future. Timeliness in prayer is not about rigid rules; it’s about honoring the most important relationship in our existence—the relationship between the Creator and His creation.
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
A Walk Through Silence
A Walk Through Silence BY:Khan We had come to Kharian Cantt to visit a close relative who was admitted to the hospital’s intensive care unit. Since only patients were allowed to stay inside for long, we decided to spend some time outside. The area itself was beautiful—lined with spacious bungalows reserved for army officers of major rank. Each house was blessed with wide green lawns, shaded verandas, and tall trees that seemed to guard the residences. It was the peak of summer, but the cool shade under the trees made the atmosphere pleasant. We sat on lawn chairs for a while, resting our tired bodies after the long hospital visit. After some time, my restless nature urged me to explore. I left the bungalow and stepped out onto the small road that ran past the house. Across the road lay a green belt, neat and manicured, beyond which flowed a narrow stream. On the other side of the stream, a row of tall trees stood proudly, forming a natural curtain. Behind the trees stretched another green belt, and alongside it ran a jogging track. Parallel to the jogging track was something that fascinated me even more—a small railway track that encircled the entire park like a delicate necklace. As I wandered closer, I discovered that the park was filled with charming attractions. For children, there were brightly painted swings and slides. In one corner, I noticed a collection of cages with colorful parrots, pigeons, rabbits, and even waterfowl. And there, standing quietly on its track, was the miniature train that carried children around the park. In the stillness of the afternoon, the train looked like a toy waiting to come alive. The park was empty. Not a single child laughed, no parents strolled about. A mystical silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional cry of a bird. The stillness was enchanting, almost magical. I crossed the small bridge over the stream and sat on a chair placed at the edge of the green belt. A soft breeze blew, its cool fingers brushing against my skin. Sinking into the chair, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let sleep pull me gently into its arms. I don’t know how long I dozed, but suddenly the rhythmic chug-chug of the train broke my slumber. I opened my eyes to find the afternoon had slipped into evening. The once-silent park had transformed. Now it was alive with the laughter and chatter of children. The train moved along the track, carrying delighted young passengers who waved excitedly at the world passing by. Near the swings, groups of children gathered, their playful energy filling the air with warmth. As my gaze roamed, it fell upon the center of the field. There stood a young athlete. He wore a bright sports shirt and long shorts. Expensive jogging shoes gleamed on his feet, and in his hands he held a football. His presence radiated energy and youth. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to approach him. Perhaps strike up a conversation, maybe even ask about the game. But then I glanced at my own attire—simple clothes, worn shoes, nothing fashionable or impressive. A sudden wave of insecurity washed over me. The thought of my ordinary appearance compared to his athletic charm held me back. I remained seated, locked in silence. But fate had other plans. To my surprise, the young man began walking toward me. As he drew closer, something unusual caught my attention. His stride seemed awkward, uneven. When he finally reached me, I noticed the truth—both his legs were deformed. Trying to mask my astonishment, I asked lightly, “Is this football yours?” He didn’t answer. His expression was blank, his eyes distant, as though the words hadn’t reached him. I repeated my question, this time slower. He stared for a few seconds longer before finally replying, “Yes.” His tone was flat, delayed, and it became clear that not only were his legs affected, but his mind also struggled to process quickly. I asked again, “Where are your teammates? I don’t see anyone else around.” After a pause, he lifted his hand and vaguely pointed toward the empty ground. “They’re over there,” he said. But the truth was plain—no one stood there. He was alone. Then, suddenly, he laughed aloud—a high, childlike giggle that seemed almost out of place. Clutching the football tightly, he sprinted toward the ground. Yet he hadn’t gone far before his twisted legs tangled with each other, and he fell flat on the earth. The football rolled out of his hands. Without thinking, I rushed forward. I helped him back to his feet and handed him the ball. He gave me a fleeting look, then, stumbling awkwardly, made his way back toward the field. I stood still, watching him retreat. My eyes followed his crooked steps until he disappeared into the distance. Then, almost unconsciously, I looked down at myself—at my old clothes, my worn-out shoes. Only a little while ago, I had felt ashamed of them. But in that moment, something shifted inside me. My shoes were old, yes. My clothes were simple, yes. But my feet—my feet were straight. They carried me wherever I wished to go. They held me steady. They gave me freedom. A quiet whisper of gratitude rose within me: Alhamdulillah.
By Khan about a year ago in Motivation
🌟 When You Fall, the Real Game Begins
Life is not always about winning. In fact, sometimes it feels like life is more about losing. We all face moments when things collapse around us—dreams don’t work out, friendships fade, money runs out, and confidence disappears. These are the moments when you feel like you are at the bottom of the mountain, staring up at how far you still need to climb.
By Zidaneabout a year ago in Motivation
From "Can't" to "Can"
As a writer, there's a particular monster that lurks in the shadows of every creative mind: the blank page. It’s not just an empty document; it’s a gaping void filled with self-doubt, procrastination, and the deafening silence of unwritten words. For years, this monster held me captive, turning what should have been a joy into an agonizing struggle.
By Maria-Goretti about a year ago in Motivation
