goals
Understanding your goals to help you achieve them.
The Power of Skill
The Power of Skill: Unlocking Potential through Mastery In the modern world, skill has emerged as one of the most powerful tools for personal and professional success. It is often said that talent is important, but skill is what sustains and refines that talent over time. The power of skill lies in its ability to open doors, solve problems, and create new opportunities for growth and innovation. It transcends natural aptitude and speaks to the power of learning, practice, and determination.
By Saadkhanabout a year ago in Motivation
"The Lion and the Lamb"
In the heart of the great savannah, where the grass whispered ancient songs and the winds told tales older than the stars, there lived a lion named Baruti. His mane was thick like thunderclouds, and his roar echoed across the plains like distant storms. All animals knew his name—not out of love, but fear.
By ibrahim khanabout a year ago in Motivation
Little Sparks, Lasting Fire
Happiness often feels like something distant—something we strive for, something waiting at the end of a hard journey. But real joy? It’s not locked in achievements, wealth, or grand milestones. It’s scattered across ordinary days, hidden in the simplest moments—tiny sparks that, when noticed, can ignite a lasting fire within us.
By Subhasri Devarajabout a year ago in Motivation
When I Got Lost
It was a bright Sunday morning, and the city was buzzing with excitement. The annual spring festival had finally arrived, and my family had planned a day at the city fair. I was just ten years old, curious and full of energy, ready to explore every colorful corner of the fairgrounds. My parents held my little sister’s hand while I walked a step ahead, fascinated by the sounds of laughter, music, and the sweet smell of cotton candy in the air. The fair was a huge open space filled with stalls, games, rides, and people from all around the city. My eyes sparkled as I saw clowns juggling pins, kids riding horses, and a huge Ferris wheel towering in the distance. My parents told me to stay close, but in my excitement, I wandered off, lured by a puppet show happening a few stalls away. The puppets danced and talked, and I stood there laughing, clapping my hands, forgetting everything else. When the show ended, I turned around, and to my horror, I couldn't see my parents anywhere. I spun around, scanning the crowd — hundreds of faces, but none familiar. My heart began to pound, and my hands turned cold. I had gotten lost. Panic gripped me. I tried calling out, “Ammi! Abbu!” but the noise of the fair drowned my voice. I walked around, hoping to spot their faces. I even tried retracing my steps, but everything looked different now. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I wiped them away. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry. As I wandered, I remembered what my mother had told me once: “If you ever get lost, don’t run. Stay in one place or go to someone in uniform.” With that in mind, I walked toward the security booth near the entrance. But with so many people around, I wasn’t sure where it was anymore. Then I saw a kind-looking lady selling balloons. She noticed the fear on my face and asked gently, “Are you lost, beta?” I nodded. She offered me a seat near her stall and gave me a glass of water. She didn’t ask many questions, just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll find your parents soon.” She called over a nearby policeman, and I told him my parents’ names and what they were wearing. He nodded and spoke into his walkie-talkie. Then he led me to the main control tent where announcements were being made. A few minutes later, I heard my name being called over the loudspeaker: “Attention! A boy named Amir Hamza is looking for his parents. Please come to the control tent near the central gate.” My name echoed through the fairgrounds. I felt a mix of hope and nervousness. Would they hear it? Would they come? Time seemed to crawl. I sat there quietly, trying to be brave. The kind policeman offered me a biscuit and told me stories of other children who had gotten lost and found. It helped, just a little. Then suddenly, I heard a familiar voice shouting, “Hamza!” It was my father! He rushed into the tent with my mother and sister right behind. My mother hugged me tightly, tears running down her cheeks. “We were so worried!” she cried. My father patted my head and said, “You were very brave, son.” The relief I felt at that moment was greater than anything I had ever known. I had never thought that getting lost could be so terrifying. But I also realized how helpful and kind people could be. The balloon seller, the policeman, and the control room staff had all made me feel safe. As we walked back through the fair, this time holding my parents’ hands tightly, the bright colors and loud sounds didn’t seem so exciting anymore. I was just happy to be with my family. That night, as we sat at the dinner table, I shared my little adventure with my cousins who had joined us later. They listened wide-eyed as I described how I got lost and found. My mother hugged me again and reminded me, “Always stay close and pay attention. But also remember, there are good people in the world who will help when you need it.” I nodded. That day, I not only learned the importance of being careful in a crowd but also about courage and trust. It became a story I would never forget — the day I got lost and found my way back with the help of strangers and the love of my family.
By Amir hamza Khanabout a year ago in Motivation
How we’re approaching AI-generated writing on Medium
Last month, we asked the Medium community what you think about AI-generated writing, and many of you responded. We received hundreds of comments and emails expressing a wide range of perspectives, from excitement over the potential uses of these new tools to deep concern about the impact they’ll have on a writing platform like Medium, which prizes human knowledge and experience.
By Md kamrul Islamabout a year ago in Motivation
The Last Bite
I still remember the taste of that last roti. Not because it was delicious—but because it was the first time I realized what hunger truly meant. Not the kind that gnaws at your belly, but the kind that hides behind a smile and starves quietly… for someone else. This is the story of my mother. And how her silent sacrifices built the foundation of my future. Dust, Salt, and Silence I grew up in a village so forgotten that Google Maps still gets lost in its winding roads. Our house had a tin roof that sang in the rain and walls that whispered cold winds in winter. My mother, Shabana, was a widow at 32. My father died in a factory fire when I was six. From that day, her eyes never cried again—but her back bent just a little more each year, as if grief had weight, and she carried it without complaint. She worked three jobs—cleaning, washing clothes, and making rotis for a small dhaba. Every evening she would return home smelling of flour, sweat, and detergent. I would wait by the door, pretending to read my torn science textbook under the lantern’s dim light. She would always smile and ask, “Kya parha aaj?” (What did you study today?) And I would lie: “Sab kuch.” (Everything.) Because the truth was, I couldn’t concentrate. Not when I knew she hadn’t eaten all day. --- The Smallest Plates Hold the Deepest Love Dinner was always simple: one roti each, some salt, and onion slices if we were lucky. But there was something odd—no matter how little food we had, she always claimed she wasn’t hungry. “Tu kha le, mujhe pet nahi lag raha aaj.” (You eat. I’m not hungry today.) I believed her for years. Until one night, when I was around 12, I woke up thirsty. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I saw her quietly tearing a piece of stale roti left from the previous morning—dipping it in water to soften it. She didn’t see me. She just sat there in silence, chewing slowly, wiping her eyes every few seconds. That was the night I stopped being a child. --- The Dream She Never Spoke Of She never said, “Become a doctor.” She never said, “Change our lives.” She only said, “Padh le beta, sab theek ho jayega.” (Study, my child. Everything will be fine.) When I asked her once if she had any dreams, she laughed and said, “Sapne? Mere sapne toh tu hai.” (Dreams? You are my only dream.) So I studied. At first for her. Then for us. And then... for the kids like me who needed someone to tell them it’s possible. I topped the district in high school. Got a scholarship for pre-med. Traveled to the city for the first time. That train ride away from home felt like cutting my own veins—leaving her behind felt like betrayal. She smiled when she waved goodbye. But her eyes… they weren’t just crying. They were praying. --- The Envelope I Almost Didn’t Open First year of med school was brutal. I barely survived on the canteen’s cheapest meals. I missed home, I missed her rotis, and I missed her warmth. One day, I received a crumpled envelope with Rs. 300 and a note that read: > Beta, Mujhe ek nayi roti machine mili hai. Extra kaam mil gaya hai. Tumhare liye bheja hai. Dawa lena, aur kuch accha kha lena. — Ma
By Doctor marwan Dorani about a year ago in Motivation
Navigating the Green Frontier: Effective Risk Management for Sustainable Business Growth
As businesses strive to align with sustainability goals, risk management becomes essential in navigating the complexities of green business growth. Sustainability offers immense opportunities for innovation, market differentiation, and operational efficiency, but it also introduces new challenges and risks that require strategic planning. With the increasing demand for eco-friendly products and practices, businesses must manage risks related to environmental impacts, financial investments, supply chain disruptions, and changing regulations to achieve long-term success.
By Gary S Winemasterabout a year ago in Motivation
“The Last Bench to the Front Row: A Journey of Unseen Strength”
Chapter 1: The Silent Corner Arman was always the boy on the last bench. In school, he was known for his quiet nature, shabby uniform, and an old bag stitched at the corners. Teachers rarely noticed him. Students never bothered to remember his name. He didn’t talk much—not because he had nothing to say, but because no one seemed to listen.
By Fazal Maula about a year ago in Motivation
"I Tried Living Like a Billionaire for a Week — Here's What Shocked Me the Most"
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like a billionaire. You know—no budget, no stress, no microwave dinners. Just a daily life full of luxury cars, penthouse views, and staff who cater to your every whim. It sounded like a dream. So I set out to find out: What happens when an average person (read: me) attempts to live like a billionaire for a week? Now, full disclaimer—I’m not rich. I don’t even qualify as upper-middle-class. But I had saved up for a while, did some credit card gymnastics (not my proudest moment), and cashed in a few favors to rent luxury experiences for seven straight days. My mission? To test-drive the billionaire lifestyle and document what it really feels like. Here’s what happened. --- Day 1: The Suite Life I kicked off the week in a luxury hotel suite that cost more per night than my monthly rent—$2,100. It came with floor-to-ceiling windows, a personal butler (yes, a real one), and a marble bathtub I could literally stretch out in. That night, I ordered a $300 steak just because I could. It arrived on a gold-rimmed plate with three different salts I couldn’t pronounce. It was magical… until the tip screen popped up on the in-room iPad and I realized 25% of $300 is not your usual $10 tip. Still, I powered through. --- Day 2: Private Driver Problems I hired a private chauffeur in a blacked-out Mercedes S-Class to drive me around all day. I felt powerful. People opened doors for me, and the valet called me “sir” without irony. I visited high-end boutiques and tried on watches that cost more than my car. But by 4 p.m., I was restless. I had nowhere to go because billionaires don’t run errands—they delegate them. I ended up sitting in the car pretending to check stocks just to pass the time. Turns out, it’s hard to fill your day when you have nothing you actually need to do. --- Day 3: Dining Like Royalty I made a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant that served a 12-course tasting menu. It was exquisite. Each dish looked like abstract art and was explained with a story that made me nod as if I understood. One of the courses was literally “air-infused caviar foam” on a spoon the size of a thumbtack. By course nine, I was hungry again. The wine pairing was so expensive that when the bill arrived, I seriously thought there’d been a mistake. There wasn’t. The total was $834. I tipped $200 because the waiter remembered my name. And my dog’s name. How? --- Day 4: Personal Trainer Torture I figured billionaires must have incredible bodies. So I hired a celebrity personal trainer for a two-hour session. He arrived with a clipboard and a protein smoothie I didn't ask for. What followed was the most brutal workout I’ve ever endured. I threw up in a designer gym bathroom. Twice. But I pushed through, because “mindset is everything,” he said. I went back to my hotel suite and cried into my overpriced pillow. --- Day 5: Retail Therapy I booked a private shopping experience at a luxury boutique. They shut down the store just for me. A stylist handed me outfits and said, “This is very you.” I nodded, though I had no idea what “me” meant anymore. I bought a leather jacket for $1,700 that I will never wear because it doesn’t go with anything I own. --- Day 6: Alone at the Top I spent the day at a rooftop lounge sipping $40 cocktails and pretending to be busy on my phone. The view was incredible, but the vibe was strange. Everyone there looked like they were trying to outdo each other. It was like a silent contest of Rolexes and silent judgment. No one talked. Not to each other. Not even to the bartenders. It hit me: being rich doesn’t make you interesting. It just gives you more expensive distractions. --- Day 7: The Come Down I ended the week with a spa day. Massage, facial, mud wrap—the works. It was nice. But while lying there in cucumber-covered silence, I started thinking: Do billionaires actually feel better than the rest of us? Or are they just better at hiding their stress behind designer sunglasses? By the time I checked out of the hotel, I was mentally and financially drained. I had maxed out a credit card and spent nearly $8,000. All for a week of pretending. --- What Shocked Me the Most It wasn’t the price tags. I expected the sticker shock. It wasn’t even the lifestyle—it was beautiful, curated, and at times intoxicating. What shocked me the most was the emptiness. The moments I felt the best weren’t when I was wearing a $5,000 suit or sitting in a chauffeured car. They were the tiny, fleeting moments—chatting with the hotel staff, tipping the doorman who smiled every morning, sharing laughs with the spa attendant who’d seen it all. Living like a billionaire gave me luxury. But it didn’t give me connection. It didn’t give me meaning. And it sure didn’t make me happier. Would I do it again? Honestly—no. But I did learn something money can’t buy: appreciation for what I already have.
By Nizam khanabout a year ago in Motivation
The Girl with No Shoes
The Girl with No Shoes How One Patient Taught Me the True Meaning of Healing By Dr. Marwan They say doctors save lives. But sometimes, it’s the patient who saves the doctor. It was a rainy Thursday morning when I first saw her—sitting quietly in the corner of the children’s ward, no shoes, no expressions, just two enormous eyes that carried the weight of something no child should ever bear. Her name was Zehra. Age: 8. Diagnosis: Tuberculosis, advanced and dangerously ignored. Her father had passed away six months ago, and her mother worked long hours cleaning homes, barely earning enough to feed her two children. Zehra hadn’t seen a hospital until her lungs refused to let her breathe without coughing blood. I had just started my morning round when the nurse whispered, “Bed 6 is a charity case, doctor. She was dropped here by a neighbor. No records. No shoes.” I looked at her. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t smile. She just stared. And something inside me shifted. A Silent Bond Over the next few days, I became obsessed with her case. Her X-rays terrified me. Her oxygen levels were unstable. But it wasn’t just her lungs that worried me—it was her silence. Most kids cried, complained, laughed, screamed. Zehra just watched. Like someone who had seen enough pain to make even fear seem unnecessary. I began sitting by her bed after hours. Sometimes I told her stories. Sometimes I just sat there and watched her sleep. It became a ritual. Her silence became my refuge. Then one night, while adjusting her IV, she whispered, “Doctor, will I die?” My hands froze. Not because I didn’t know the answer. But because for the first time, her voice sounded like life begging for permission to exist. “You won’t,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. The First Smile Weeks passed. She began to improve. Her lungs responded to treatment. Her fever faded. Her appetite returned. But more than anything—she smiled. One morning, she pointed to my stethoscope and asked, “Does this help you listen to hearts?” I nodded. She smiled wider. “Can you hear my dreams too?” I almost cried. That day, I bought her a small pair of white canvas shoes. Clean, soft, perfect for her size. When I gave them to her, she held them like treasure. “But my dreams don’t need shoes,” she said softly. “They just need someone to believe in them.”
By Doctor marwan Dorani about a year ago in Motivation
Remember Why You Started
Have you ever felt like giving up? Like everything is just too hard and you can’t go on? We’ve all been there. Life gets tough, goals seem far away, and doubts creep in. But when those moments come, there’s one powerful thing you can do: remember why you started.
By Muhammad Farhad Khanabout a year ago in Motivation
