I always admire hearing people’s stories, thoughts and advice so when I ran across, TED, I thought I would spread the word! This is a great site that has an abundant amount of speeches from some of the most influential and inspirational men and women around the world.
Right now, my love life is all over the place. I feel like my heart is a paint pallet and all of the boys in my past, present and future are the different colors of paint. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, black, grey and all the shades in between. They are all so different. My mind is trying to paint my bedroom. It grabs a paint brush and puts one stroke of color on the wall, let’s it dry, looks at it and waits. After a while, the paintbrush gets emerged in water, everything that was once connected to the paintbrush is washed away. Used and disposed of, because my mind wants to try out a new color. So the paintbrush, once dipped in red, is now washed, dried and dipped into orange. A stroke of paint is streaked across the wall, but only a small line. Then, back into the water the paint brush goes and the same actions repeat. And repeat. And repeat. I have all of these beautiful colors, and they are all alluring it their own way, but it is me that is indecisive as to which color to paint my walls. Do I paint a tranquil colored room filled with soft hues where I can relax, a vibrant colored room that inspires me; colors that standout and are noticed, or colors that compliment the art hanging on the wall and serve merely as the backdrop?
A partner is like paint; and, paint is one of the most important parts of a room, it is the backdrop by which everything else evolves around and connects to. However I paint my room will decide for me as to what type of decor I fill the room with: elegant, country-feel, artsy, trendy or simplistic. What kind of room do I feel most comfortable in, what kind of lifestyle do I want to lead? Each color is so different, all with their own unique characteristics and all provoke completely different emotions: relaxing, inspiring, serious, playful, lively, boring, cutting-edge, old-fashioned. My surroundings are important to me because they change how I act. For instance, if I am in a super elegant room I wouldn’t dare jump on the couch, yet, if I was in a cozy room–game on! Some people are fortunate to be themselves in all kinds of rooms, but for me the room directly affects my behavior and actions. Whether this is a trait or a flaw I am still unsure of. Is it good to be so adaptable to your surroundings or is it a vice?
There have been a few times I have committed more to a color by painting an entire wall. Only one though. And, it filled the room for a while and made it feel cosey, made me feel more at home. But, I never let it go further than that…and the wall soon came to be painted over in white, small streaks of colors splashed across it’s surface like many times before as I continue to search for the color with which I feel most connected to instead of picking one and enjoying it.
So, my room remains unfinished, and in truth quite ugly. It’s not inviting nor is it relaxing or soothing because….it is not complete. I want to complete this room. I am ready to furnish it, to commit to a style and to call it my own. But, the question always comes back to me…what color do I choose when my mind changes so often? And, if I paint the whole room one color I want to be sure. I don’t want to someday repaint it again. I don’t want to do it all over. I would rather touch up the paint, or recoat it with another color. I want the color to last. I want my partner and my relationship to last.
Sometimes I just wish that a stranger would walk into my room with a bucket of paint and throw it on my walls. I would laugh at the madness. I would laugh at the realization of how easy the whole process can be: choose a color and throw the paint. Because, in the end a room that is painted and decorated feels like home. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it is cosy and warm. A room left unpainted, undecorated feels merely like a room in transit. It doesn’t feel owned, it only feels rented and above all, it feelsincomplete.
Your Life Descent… November 18, 2009
If your life was a movie what would you want to watch? If your life was a story what would you want to read? If you think of life this way…that with each second a camera is watching you…a pen is writing what you are doing, you may choose you actions differently. Life is not a dress rehearsal. There is no practice. You need to perform as though you are enacting the grand finale each and every day. Because in all actuality it could be. The crude fact of life is that you may die any second of any day. There is no certainty. Life is like water. Some days it may flow, others it may freeze, and still others it may dry up into nothing. There is no control over what happens to you–whether you become rain, hail, snow, or vapor–but you can choose that in the moments before outside forces enact on who and what you are, you lived your life to the fullest, and made the most of what you were in those moments you fell from the sky.
Life is simple. In the end, you blend into the trillion snowflakes that have fallen before you, the million balls of crystallized ice that have covered the ground, or the uncountable raindrops that have splashed across nameless faces on a warm summer’s night. When you touch your final destination, you become just like everyone else….but as you are falling from the sky, no matter what form or shape you take, you have control of how you fall. Slow…fast…gently… abruptly. You may not be able to change your size, texture or form, but you certainly can alter one thing…your descent. It is up to you and only you on how you want to fall from the sky and what kind of imprint you want to leave on the ground below.
Language Blunders November 17, 2009
I always have to laugh when I make language blunders. Actually, I start laughing when I see the look of shock or confusion on the other person’s face…
Cannibalism, The New Fashion:
After a coffee date with a friend the other day, we were walking back towards the car through the narrow cobblestone streets and I commented on his down jacket that zipped all the way up to the tip of his hood much like a mummy sleeping bag.
“Your jacket looks like un sacco di pelle,” I say to him.
He stares back at me, his eyes narrowed with confusion.
“You know…for camping,” I continue.
Then his eyes lit up and he bent over laughing. Historically might I add, to the point that I thought he might choke from not getting enough air in his lungs. Oh, cause don’t you know “un sacco a pelo” means sleeping bag, where as “un sacco di pelle” means skin. Yup, that’s right my friend, you’re jacket looks like a sack of skin. Nice one Cindy.
TMI….Too Much information:
Of course, not to be out done, my Italian friend who likes to practice speaking English with me also experienced quite the hilarious language blunder. We had just packed up our books and were leaving the library when she whispered something in my ear.
“I need to go to the bathroom to put on my fart,” she said.
Sometimes her English is missing a word or two, so I translated that phrase to, “I need to go to the bathroom to fart.”
“Uhh, huh….interesting…well, thannnnks for sharing friend,” was my first thought. That is until after I realized that she probably said “fard” which is another word for make-up.
Even so, Italian gals, when talking to someone in English, just remember the word make-up….never, never, say the word fard. I promise…you will get quite the shocked look if you do.
Top Five Moments November 13, 2009
When someone says that you are in one of their top five moments in life, that could possibly be one of the best compliments ever said. Think about it. How many moments do we make each day? Each week? Each year? How many memories do we hold in our intricate minds? To collect only five is a hard task to choose from, there are so many! Surely, these five moments can change like our list of five top favorite songs; however, like music there are some songs that I hold dear to my heart, that make me smile, that relax me when times are bad and put life back into perspective. Like a good song, so are our moments. They are memories of who we are, what we feel, and above all else how we lived fully in that moment in time.
Be Madly in Love November 9, 2009
When love is not madness, it is not love. –Pedko Calderon De La Barca
Unfortunately, many couples forget this. And, these words, written over 300 years ago during the Spanish Golden Age are starting to lose their color like black ink fading on paper, after awhile what was once written with emotion and passion is fading away to the sterile color of a hospital wall. Love is slowly becoming orderly. Love is becoming contained.
For the mass, we wrap up our love in nice little boxes with big red bows at Christmas, boxes of chocolates and roses on Valentine’s Day, and maybe something a touch more personal for the birthday. It’s sweet. It’s appreciated. Yet, it’s expected and mundane.
I was talking with my Italian friend the other night and he was telling me about his long distance relationship with a girl living in England. Every Friday night after work he would board a plane and set off to London for the weekend, returning early Monday morning to start another week of work. I thought it was rather sweet that each weekend, he would buy a cheap euro-flight and a spend a few hours traveling in order to share three nights with his lover. And, in my mind, the time/money he spent was completely worth the three days with a loved one.
But, when he also told me that he would leave every Wednesday night after work, fly to London just for dinner and leave again the next morning at 6:00a.m. to catch his flight home and drive directly to work….well, folks, now, that is just plain madness. And, that wasn’t a one time ordeal, but a ritualized travel excursion that continued for over a period of five months!
“WHAT are you thinking spending all of that money and time just for one night together? That is just madness!” I exclaimed in disbelief.
His eyes lit up, a smile broke out. He didn’t have to say a word.
Then, I understood. Yes, it was madness….it was love.