#SharedStories

[nealshustermanreal]

Can you believe it's been over thirty books? From fantastical worlds to dystopian societies, we've journeyed through so many stories together. 📚 I'm curious, out of all the adventures we've shared, which are your top 3 favorite books of mine? Share the titles, their genres, and why they've made an impact on you. Who knows, you might just find a bookish twin in the comments!

[stingscustom]

Being part of the LGBTQ community feels like "belonging." It's a canvas of diverse colors where every shade is celebrated. As a neurodivergent individual, I find strength in our shared stories and unique perspectives. What’s your word that captures your experience? Share below and let’s create a tapestry of connection together!

[harmonyhealinghub]

The Community Quilt Shaina Tranquilino November 21, 2024

The community of Lumsden was small, nestled between rolling hills that turned from emerald in spring to gold in autumn. The heart of the town was the old square, where time seemed to pause under the shade of the great elm tree. This year, as part of the Harvest Festival, the residents decided to create a community quilt—a patchwork that would not only warm bodies but bind hearts.

It began with Esther Mallory, the town's elder seamstress, who first spoke of the idea in the general store. Her silver hair glinted like moonlight as she stood at the counter, hands twisted around a jar of blueberry preserves. “We should make something that tells our story,” she said, her voice thin as paper but strong with conviction. The others nodded, their faces lighting up with the flicker of shared purpose.

Each household was given a small square of fabric, no larger than a handkerchief, with one instruction: fill it with what mattered most. The days that followed were a hum of industry. The Jones twins, only seven, worked with their mother to stitch a patch that sparkled with sunflowers—bright nods to the fields where they had learned to run before they could walk. Across the street, old Mr. Carrigan, a widower with creaking joints, embroidered a scene of a couple dancing under the stars, remembering the days when his late wife would laugh in his arms, her eyes like liquid stars themselves.

On the edge of town, the Lopez family, who had just moved in from afar, hesitated at first. They weren’t sure they belonged to a project so steeped in local memory. But one evening, their young daughter, Maria, sat by the fireplace and whispered, “Papa, tell me a story of home.” That night, the Lopez square took form, its threads entwining mountains, music notes, and a sun that burned fiercely, telling tales of resilience and the road to a new beginning.

One evening, Esther opened her door to find Sarah Miller, who worked at the diner, holding a cloth stained with rain. It had once been her late husband’s handkerchief, now embroidered with tiny waves and a sailboat adrift, a silent nod to the emptiness she felt without him. “I wasn’t sure if this was right,” Sarah said, her voice thick. Esther took the square from her, tears lining the creases of her smile. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

When the day of the festival arrived, the townsfolk gathered in the square. Esther and a few others spread the finished quilt across a long table under the great elm. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as eyes found pieces they recognized. The quilt shimmered in the late afternoon sun, a mosaic of life: patches of laughter, warm meals shared, hands held in dark times, and stories whispered into the night.

A child reached out, her fingers brushing over the patch made by the elderly Mrs. Whitaker. It depicted a simple home with smoke curling from the chimney. “That’s where I grew up,” she said, voice high with wonder. A man nodded from beside her, eyes misting as he recalled sledding down its front yard in winters past.

The community quilt was more than fabric and thread. It was gratitude sewn next to loss, hope mingled with love, and moments caught and anchored. The quilt wrapped Lumsden in a warm embrace, reminding them that, whether in grief or in joy, they were stitched together by a bond as enduring as the hills that surrounded them.

When the last notes of the festival’s music faded into twilight, Esther stood by the quilt, her hands trembling slightly as she ran her fingers over each square. She knew that in seasons to come, the quilt would be passed down, and new stories would be added, carrying forward not just their history, but the shared heartbeat of a town that knew how to love fiercely and remember deeply.

[thefigdiaries]

Welcome to The Fig Diaries

Welcome to "The Fig Diaries," a space born from a whim and a deep-seated need for connection. In an increasingly digital world, I longed for a place where thoughts, feelings, and experiences could be shared openly. This blog is my attempt to carve out such a space, one that feels both personal and universal. Here, I share pieces of my life, my musings, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way, hoping to foster a warm and welcoming community.

My mission is simple yet profound: to create an authentic and inclusive environment where we can learn from one another. Life can sometimes feel isolating, and I want this blog to be a reminder that we are not alone in our struggles and triumphs. By opening up about my own experiences, I hope to inspire you to reflect on your journey and recognize that your story matters too. Together, we can build a narrative that resonates with all of us.

Storytelling lies at the heart of "The Fig Diaries." Through sharing our stories, we create connections that transcend the barriers of distance and circumstance. Every tale has the power to evoke empathy, spark curiosity, and foster understanding. I believe that when we share our narratives—whether they be filled with joy, sorrow, or resilience—we invite others to do the same. In this way, we cultivate an environment rich in diverse perspectives and shared wisdom.

In addition to storytelling, I hope to encourage self-discovery among my readers. Each post is an invitation to delve deeper into your own thoughts and feelings, to explore the facets of your identity that may not always be front and center. By engaging with the stories shared here, you might uncover insights about your strengths, challenges, and unique gifts. It's my hope that you leave feeling more empowered to navigate your own path.

Validation is another key aspect I want to emphasize. We all experience moments of doubt, confusion, and loneliness. It's important to remember that these feelings are valid and that you're not alone in experiencing them. By sharing our vulnerabilities, we create a space where honesty reigns. I encourage you to embrace your experiences, knowing that they contribute to the beautiful tapestry of life we’re all a part of.

As you explore the pages of "The Fig Diaries," I invite you to join the conversation. Your voice matters here, and I want to hear your thoughts, insights, and stories. Each comment and interaction adds to the richness of our community. Together, we can create dialogues that inspire and uplift one another, transforming this space into a vibrant hub of connection.

I also hope to cultivate a nurturing atmosphere where readers feel safe to explore their feelings. Emotional safety is vital for open discussions, and I want you to know that this is a judgment-free zone. It’s a place where we can be our authentic selves, share our journeys, and support one another in our endeavors.

Ultimately, I’m so glad you’re here. Your presence contributes to the spirit of "The Fig Diaries." Together, let’s embark on a journey of growth, understanding, and friendship. I look forward to sharing this experience with you and discovering the many stories we will weave together.

[theloulouge]

Life Lens - Entry 133

Shared Gazes So, today’s been a bit of a trip, thinking about how I can kinda read people by what they pick up on about me. You know? Like, when someone notices something cool or appreciates a quirk, it’s like a sneak peek into their own vibe. It’s not just about me – it’s this back-and-forth where we share vibes and get a feel for each other. It’s wild how these little moments tell a story,…

[rogerrcoyle]

quilted

[expressingartwithvideos]

#MaybePodcast #GenarelKnowledge #SharedStories #YouTubeChannel Discover a world of meaningful dialogue with the Maybe Podcast! Dive into engaging conversations, explore fresh perspectives, and join a creative community that believes every voice matters. Tune in and be part of the journey.

[givingvoicetodepressionpodcast]

(Giving Voice to Depression) Mental illness is a subject that is often stigmatized and misunderstood. The silence around it can make us feel like we’re the only one experiencing it- that we are uniquely flawed. By safely sharing our stories, we can empower each other and break the stigma. Please listen to this week's 19-minute #podcast. https://stories.givingvoicetodepression.com/?p=3886

#depressionawareness #depressionsupport #mentalillness #mentalhealth #stigma #discrimination #shame #sharedstories #peersupport #authenticselves

[sharedstoriescairngorms]

Rinasluick

by Douglas Johnston

There are no ghosts at Rinasluick only deer grazing by the rubble from the granite walls.

Piping voices, echo in shrill delight filtered through archival detritus.

A small croft house, one story in height, slated and in good repair. Property of Colonel Farquharson of Invercauld.

Attested by the Revd's Middleton, Campbell & Smith. Of higher authority it seems than those who bide.

There were no deer at the rigs of Rinasluick when bairns ran the boundaries there.

[nickadiguburke]

Excerpt from "The Antique Collector" , featured in "The Book of Apparitions" by Nick Adigu Burke - @ Amazon It wasn't long before the press wrote about a corpse snatcher, operating in and around London... Called me, The Antique Collector... Although my collection was without rival, it lacked sparkle. It didn't quite have that “Wow Factor”, didn't quite have that stand-out piece that you look for. But the heavens must've been smiling on me. Everything fell into place. One Sunday morning, whilst listening to the wireless, it came on the news that Celebrity gangster Terry “The Gun” Gunnarsson hadn't long to live. The reports mentioned that he'd been rushed to Charing Cross hospital. Adding the cancer would kill him within a week. Well, I couldn't miss an opportunity like that - the one and only Terry Gunnarsson. Like a few East-End villains he boxed as a youth. In 1952, he even got his hands on the famous Lonsdale belt - the one given to British boxing champions. However, spent three years at Her Majesty's pleasure, in Belmarsh, for that theft. His roguish ways and best selling books, had him cherished up and down the country. I couldn't miss adding that rough diamond to my collection. Before he died I went down Charing Cross. Paid him a visit. It's not like he wasn't going to die anyway, just gave him a little helping hand, that's all. It went like this - killed, I mean died, buried, dug-up and in my collection within a fortnight - WHAMMO!... #spookystories #darkhumour #shortstory #shortstorycollection #newbook #excerpt #horrorstory #funnystory #zombie #zombiestory #creativemind #creativewriting #thebookofapparitions #NickAdiguBurke #sharedstory #writer #writersofinstagram #fiction #humeroustory #paranormal #supernatural (at Manchester, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cq-TqrQspIN/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[smthngelse]

It’s been years that I’ve been making music...it took me years to have one good year.... I’ve been through so much.... I’ve had people try to close doors on me... I’ve had people throw dirt on my name in hopes that others don’t like me.... but with GOD and my mother’s prayers I couldn’t be stopped... this is my year!!!!

[immigrantslenz]

Nima, a suburb of Accra has stereotypically been associated with social vices for a long time. But over the years these erroneous perception of this multicultural and multiethnic community is being eradicated. A lot of factors can be mentioned as to the reason why these negative perceptions are changing, but one major factor is the undying energies and community support of creatives who live and work there. These creatives include musicians, filmmakers, photographers and visual artists. Some years ago Visual artists in Nima led by @larrytech20033 and @b.musah formed a group called Nima Muhinmanchi @nimaartgh to help kids in Nima learn art (mostly painting and photography). Over the years, this organization has trained many children in Nima of which some are now artists. According to @larrytech20033 and @b.musah, the formation of this organization also changed the erroneous perception people in Nima had about art. When they both started working as artists they were advised to stop because it was against Islamic religion. Muslim clerics and family members tried to stop them on many occasions but their persistence and stubbornness pushed continue their practices, and also teach others. NMA continues to train kids for free, and the membership keeps increasing. . . Spent some time with @larrytech20033 at his home in Nima yesterday. . . 📷: Nana Osei - 2017 #nima #Accra #Ghana #Africa #art #artists #communitydevelopment #nma #train #children #photography #painting #sharedstory #development #streetstyle #streetphotography #multiethnic #multicultural #everydayafrica #accrawedey (at NIMA)

[harmonyhealinghub]

Forgotten Friends Shaina Tranquilino November 15, 2024

Larry sat by the window in his small apartment, watching the autumn leaves swirl in the fading afternoon light. The quietness had become a familiar friend over the years, one that wrapped itself around him like a blanket. But it was a chill he had begun to notice more often.

Then, one day, an old friend from high school, Charlie, gave him a call. "Larry, we’re getting together next Saturday. Me, Ted, and Frank. Figured it was about time we all had a catch-up."

The call left Larry both thrilled and apprehensive. It had been over forty years since they had all been in the same room. Life had swept each of them in different directions. Larry had moved away to the city, focused on work, family, and then… just work again, as life had a way of unweaving itself, leaving him alone.

The following Saturday, Larry made his way to the small café where they’d agreed to meet. He recognized Charlie first, even through the added weight and gray hair, and soon spotted the others. They all embraced, laughing awkwardly at how they'd aged, how the years had softened their edges, but their laughter was warm, as if no time had passed at all.

They found themselves drifting into old stories, ones Larry had forgotten entirely. There was the time they'd all gone camping and Larry had spent the night shivering, too proud to admit he’d left his sleeping bag at home. Or the summer they built a makeshift raft, only to have it sink ten feet from shore. Each tale brought out a fresh wave of laughter, some teasing, and even some solemn moments, as they remembered the friends who could no longer be there.

As the evening stretched on, something shifted in Larry. For so long, he’d thought of his memories as distant flickers of a life he had left behind, but now they were alive, breathing, shared between people who remembered the boy he used to be. He felt a deep, unexpected warmth fill the gaps that time had created.

When it was time to leave, they promised not to wait so long again. But Larry didn’t need the reassurance. He’d discovered something he didn’t realize he had lost: the richness of a life shared, of laughter and sorrow witnessed together, of connections too deep to fade.

He walked home that night, the quiet around him now feeling different. It wasn’t loneliness, but the calm that comes after reconnecting with something priceless. The memories he’d kept buried were alive again, not merely scenes from a past but pieces of who he was—and who he would carry forward, never alone again.

[leahmarville]

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A post shared by LEAH MARVILLE - Wellness Strategist + Business Launch Coach (@leahmarville)

How celebrity stylist @ugomozie carved a lane of his own and achieved major acclaim at a very young age, as a minority in the fashion industry!!! 💥💥Be sure to subscribe and catch the full episode this Sunday at 2pm on YouTube!!! (Link in bio) 🍋 Thank you to my team: MVP Editor and storyteller: @carlington.silburn , music by: @itstherascals @jerohnsmith , closing song: “Wherever you are” @kalpee @jimmyoctober @tano , BTS Photographer: @shotbykeish, logo and motion graphics @izzy_mavrick, producer: @amandaphilia, business coach: @alphastute , @sa_gajadhar 🍋 #lifeandlemonade #reallifeconvos #purpose #leahmarville #motivationalstories #sharedstories #love #peace #personalgrowth #heartovermatter #makelifesweet https://www.instagram.com/p/B6Rf9SADKsw/?igshid=wo2fnlbizkgj

[relationshipclarity]

Tried a new, cool spot that's [ black owned ] called @gillybrewbar with my friend yesterday and the drinks were really really good. The owner is Jamaican 🇯🇲 and one of his staff is Haitian 🇭🇹 #mypeople _ _ I tried an elixer (I can't remember the name🙈) but it was a mix of ginger beer with coffee and I had a latte. Love the handkerchief around the class 👊🏾 _ _ My friend had an Americoco(coconut water • expresso • Almond milk) _ _ We loved it! 💕 _ _ #justgimmethelight #saturdshenanigans #triedsomethingnew #makenewfriends #qualitytime #greatconversation #sharedstories #sacredmoments #blackbusiness #blackownedcafe #blackowned (at Gilly Brewing Co.) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnO3LyNnxNn/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1xti749q5dqkl

[sharedstoriescairngorms]

Seasons on the Mountain

by Kerry Dexter

In shadow up the mountain snow lies late in spring

In summer’s turn of season heather colours rise; daylight lingers then

With autumn’s breath a skein of geese unravels against greying sky

Silver brush of snowfall paints winter up the mountain Seasons turn again