Pretty Lynne Writes

Recently I read a powerful piece of writing, and even though I didn’t know what the writer was referring to specifically, I felt it immediately. I felt the fear and frustration and shame and relief. I found myself wishing I could command a metaphor in the same way. 

Over the years, I’ve lost my sense for fanciful language. In my job, I have to stay away from metaphor and simile for practical reasons. This has trained my brain to speak plainly, unfortunately. 

But sometimes I need a way to say something without saying it. 

So. A metaphor. Or maybe a simile. I’ll try a simile to start. 

It’s like sitting in the mud some days. (No, that doesn’t quite do it)

It’s like being in a dark tunnel and looking for the light. (Hmm. This doesn’t fit very well, actually. Maybe a metaphor)

I am a tiny boat on a big ocean, whipped around by the weather. (Getting closer, now, but possibly trite)

I am a heart of shattered glass. (This is melodramatic)

I am a wilted plant. I can sit in the window and seem okay, but I need watering. A few days without watering and my leaves start to droop and my stem gets a little weaker. I can’t produce a flower, let alone hold up my existing structures. (This begins to feel right)

You saw this plant at the store and it seemed so pretty, so interesting, so green and fresh. It was sitting in a lovely pot and didn’t seem too expensive, so you paid for it and carefully transported it to your house, where you found a place to put it. You stood and admired it for a while, pleased with it and yourself for recognizing that it’s special. 

You look at it every so often, but as the days go by you find it less interesting to look at and start to forget about it. The novelty wears off, is what happens. But it’s fine because the plant doesn’t need much from you; tries not to need much from you, anyway, even though it makes sense that it would need watering. Everything living needs to be cared for. 

The plant gets spritzed with water now and again by people passing by. But these spritzes of water are not quenching the thirst of the plant. It’s a cruel irony that the spritzes actually make the plant more needy for water.

Maybe one afternoon you realize that the plant is looking a little worse for wear and decide to trim some of its brown leaves. And then you look at the pot and notice that it’s not as nice as you thought it was. There’s a crack that you hadn’t seen, and a variation in the pattern that wasn’t as noticeable when you first looked. 

Do you keep the plant? Do you decide to put some time and effort into it, maybe give the pot a little bit of a polish and some glue to fix the crack? Or do you decide to toss this one out and head back to the store to see if there is something new, shiny, fresh and green? Do you leave it alone altogether and let the wilting come to its conclusion? (This metaphor is starting to get away from me)

A plant can survive a while without water and care. But not forever. 

But then again, nothing lasts forever. Plants wilt and then flourish again, sometimes without reason, sometimes because they spend some time in the sun and fresh air. And pots are often beautiful because of their imperfections, not in spite of them. This is the way of things.

It’s just a metaphor. (Even a metaphor has its limitations)