The Archive of Existence is a global participatory storytelling project that collects ordinary stories about the ordinary moments in people’s lives; so we can witness, document, and preserve our everyday experiences and the meaningful minutiae of being human.
If you’re about to submit your story (Existence Record) here and you’re looking for some inspiration, here’s a few stories to inspire you.
Remember, this isn’t a storytelling contest. It’s not about perfect writing or being the most polished speaker. We don’t care about grammar or spelling. This is a global project, so you can also submit in any language that flows best for you.
We sat in the car, preparing to come to a halt when the traffic lights turned red. Before they did, a man wrapped in his peacoat and navy scarf, excitement decorating his face, started to run into the road. He decided to go back to the pavement, where it was safe, not worth the risk he decided. My eyes glanced across to the other side, hoping to see the source of his excitement, or should I say, near-death. A lady looked back, with the same smile on her face as if they were mirrors of each other. They both waited in anticipation, for the traffic lights to safely declare that they could finally say hello. The lights change. He ran across the road, joy all over their faces, hurriedly sharing greetings and compliments. It made me smile, all tingly in my tummy, to have seen this moment of friends, maybe lovers, who knows, being in such a hurry to be together.
Marie, New York.
After a day of urgency. And a rushed TV dinner. I crawl into bed. Too tired to scroll, to read
I rest my head and ask. Read to me? And with my eyes closed I listen to the sounds, to the words. A snippet of the history of the Great North Wood. (I can’t remember it now). And the words bring distance from the noise of the day. The noise of my mind. Life moves slow. When you let it.
Tess, London.
As a mum, sometimes it’s hard to find quiet time, especially guilt-free. To notice any simple joys. I was rushing, off to the supermarket, something needed for breakfast the next day, listening to disco music to help me pick up my speed. Then I saw it, a trumpet shaped flower, blue as a robin’s egg, peeking out from a front garden, and in the centre, curled up, tired from his own busyness, a fuzzy bee. Covered all over in dusty, yellow pollen, fast asleep. A sign, for me to take some time just like him soon. Simple rest.
Rachel, London.
I hate commuting in rush hour and it always feels like rush hour. Trying to force my way onto the train and pushing past odours that I really don’t care for at that time of the morning. It’s why I don’t want to live in a city, but for now I have to work there. I was immediately in a bad mood, waiting to be annoyed even more than usual, then I saw a school trip. My worst nightmare. What felt like a little army of little people rushed onto the train. I know I shouldn’t have my laptop bag on the seat next to me, and I do move it when someone wants to sit down, but it’s kind of like a barrier between me and the rest of the world. Anyway, the kids piled in, noisy as you can imagine. As I was about to put my headphones in to drown them out, I saw two girls rushing to share a seat, squished together like two peas. They were in such deep conversation, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I tried to imagine. Probably too small for playground drama. They held hands for the entire journey, my eyes couldn’t leave them and their unbearable cuteness. The best of friends. Acting like nothing else existed but them, it made me feel bad for my misery. I got off the train feeling lighter and ready to take on the day, grateful for that moment of love that I let in. I wonder what I’ll see tomorrow if I actually pay attention.
Nicole, Surrey.
A couple of days ago I woke up after a bit of a grim start to the week. It was a dreary, too-chilly, morning, which really should say it all. I blinked open my eyes in the dark room, feeling already too tired for the day. And the light through the skylight above my bed delivered the most beautiful light. Hues of blossom pink smudging into an inky blue. Almost celestial. This kismet little reminder to look for the light and find the beauty, even when things feel dark.
Laura, Manchester.
