When it Comes to Social Media do the Numbers Matter?

This morning in one of the rare moments of calm in the office, when all the urgent work was done, I logged in into my LinkedIn account and found this interesting article on Social Media. And it made me think. A lot.social media

 

 

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The Hardest Part Of Traveling No One Talks About

That’s probably the post that better describes how I feel since I came back in June.

I thought I would have never felt that terrible feeling again, but apparently it’s like a curse that follows you everytime you come home. This beautiful curse that makes you dream a new adventure.

How’s going now? well…. It is as I am a stranger in my own house, in my own town, in my own country. I am an alien figuring how to act like a normal human being.

How is it possible?!? it is not.

First of all, although I was home, my mind and heart were still somewhere else. I misjudged the power of missing people you met and places you visited. I have been traveling for 5 years now (Can’t believe it!) and I thought I got used to go to a place and say goodbye to everything and everyboby without feeling bad. But I was wrong. Tremendously wrong. It seems that the more you travel, the more you feel blue when you leave. Or at least, that’s how I feel every time. So I had to recover first from the period I spent in England and then, just in a second time, I could enjoy my summer. It’s never simple when you started getting used to some type of habits and in a day you see them changing under your eyes.

And now, with my mind and daily life full of things to do, I manage not to rack my brain about these past experiences. Who knows, maybe one day this feeling will be considered a real disease and somebody will find a cure to it. But please, if that day came, don’t tell me anything! I want to live with this incurable illness of travelling non stop.

It is worth reading, so do it please! 🙂

 

Thought Catalog

image - Flickr / Corie Howell image – Flickr / Corie Howell

You see the world, try new things, meet new people, fall in love, visit amazing places, learn about other cultures – then it’s all over. People always talk about leaving, but what about coming home?

We talk about the hard parts while we’re away – finding jobs, making real friends, staying safe, learning social norms, misreading people you think you can trust – but these are all parts you get through. All of these lows are erased by the complete highs you experience. The goodbyes are difficult but you know they are coming, especially when you take the final step of purchasing your plane ticket home. All of these sad goodbyes are bolstered by the reunion with your family and friends you have pictured in your head since leaving in the first place.

Then you return home, have your reunions, spend your first two…

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Food is The Window of My Feelings

I want to trumpet that I LOVE EATING! I think – and I will always do- that eating is one of the most immeasurable pleasure we haveCibo in this life. I just cannot think my life without food (apart for the fact that we could barely live without). They say that the eyes are the window of the soul. Well in this case, I would rather say that food is the window of my feelings.

Through all these years of my short life, I experienced this great truth. No matter how I feel about something, food will tell you the truth about it, even though I didn’t say a word. Continue reading

La verità ultima sul guidatore cuneese

That’s true!!!! I must adimt it! 😉

Old-Driver-Lights-green

Sono stufo di sentire tutti i miei colleghi cittadini veri e puri saturi di viaggi ai Caraibi e code all’IKEA che mi sfottono quotidianamente in ufficio riguardo alla mia etnia cuneese e alla mia incapacità presunta e genetica di guidare. Qui in azienda (lavoro in una grossa società di consulenza) mi impediscono anche di spostare schedari o cassettiere, qualsiasi cosa sia munita di ruote e con un dubbio o mancante impianto frenante.

La scusa è sempre quella –sei di cuneo, togliti il berretto e non toccare nulla che si muova-  e io finisco a sedermi su una sedia fissa in legno massello, a girare con appese quattro frecce alla schiena, alcune volte mi obbligano a stare in ufficio col giubbotto catarifrangente anche se c’è una riunione coi dirigenti e a tenermi una coppola di peltro che odora di marcio rubata al balun per farmi riconoscere.

Arcistufo e rifiutato anche…

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