Let me tell you about the time I finally got metaphors. Picture this: 8th grade English class in suburban Ohio, fluorescent lights buzzing, and me staring at a worksheet like it was written in hieroglyphics. Our teacher kept saying, “A metaphor is a comparison without ‘like’ or ‘as’!” and I’m sitting there thinking, Cool, but why does that matter? (Spoiler: I’d eat those words later.)
The breakthrough came during a Little League game, of all things. I struck out swinging at a wild pitch, and my dad said, “Kid, baseball’s a bad breakup – you gotta stop chasing what ain’t meant for you.” I laughed so hard I forgot to sulk. That’s when it clicked. A metaphor isn’t just fancy wordplay – it’s turning life’s abstract mess into something you can hold, like comparing disappointment to leftover meatloaf.
Here’s what I’ve learned since those cringe middle school days:
1. The best metaphors smell like real life.
My college roommate once described her anxiety as “carrying a Walmart sack full of soup cans through a revolving door.” You feel that, right? No Shakespearean frills – just the clatter of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle threatening to explode.
2. Failures make better teachers than successes.
Tried writing a romance novel during COVID lockdown (don’t ask). My metaphor for love? “A Costco sample – small taste, no commitment.” My writing group roasted me like a Thanksgiving turkey. Lesson: If your metaphor makes people think of free cheese cubes, maybe dig deeper.
3. They’re everywhere once you start looking.
Last week, my 7-year-old said her lost teddy bear was “a song missing its chorus.” Mind blown. Meanwhile, my attempt to explain blockchain to my aunt using a casserole metaphor? Let’s just say we’re sticking to zucchini recipes now.
Your homework (but the fun kind): Next time you’re stuck in traffic or waiting in line for Dunkin’, pretend you’re a metaphor detective. That guy tailgating you? “A squirrel hopped up on Halloween candy.” Your phone battery at 2%? “A tap dancer with one shoe.”
The magic happens when you stop trying to sound smart and start connecting weird dots. Honestly? My notes app is full of terrible metaphors (looking at you, “love is a parking ticket”). But every now and then, I’ll scribble something that feels true – like that time I compared parenting to being a human Ziplock bag. Hold it together, keep the mess contained, hope nobody pops the seal.
Give it a shot. Worst case, you end up with a laugh. Best case? You’ll see the world in wobbly, wonderful new ways – like putting on your grandma’s bifocals at the county fair.