Metaphorically Speaking

These days I’m finding my reveries riddled with metaphors. Some of them are strong (decluttering one’s physical space as a metaphor for clarifying one’s values and priorities); others may need a bit more work (leaving a cult as a metaphor for family estrangement). Today I’m sharing two arguably mundane parts of my life that have created my recent favorites.

Mosaics. I’ve loved mosaics for as long as I can remember. Living in Italy as a young adult, I couldn’t get enough of them. Ancient or modern, I continue to feel an immediate pull to the art form. The one I salvaged from the marital home is among my favorite possessions; it has since been joined by others. So it’s probably not surprising that when the CWP moved to her new digs that I chose a large mosaic vase to live in the corner her piano used to occupy.

After some reflection (what is your deal with mosaics, woman?), I realized that they’re such a perfect metaphor for my life (and I would venture to say, many peoples’ lives): the shards may have been the result of a shattering, but the best pieces have been reassembled into something new and strong and beautiful. The best parts of the original are embedded in the change.

The metaphor was further extended (some might say tortured, but I’m committed) when I realized (and my former roommate was quick to point out) that the new vase was lovely, but something was missing. It didn’t have the height or the x factor; it wasn’t complete. Just like my life after I’d reassembled the pieces (you can read about the implosion here), it was serviceable but lacking color and boldness and distinction. Enter the coral lacquered willow branches that will remind me that it’s all about fearlessly thriving, not just surviving.

My life in art

Gray-blending. In my fifties I decided to investigate the maxim that blondes have more fun. They may not, but as I mentioned in an earlier post, they definitely get more attention. I started out getting blond highlights, and as happens for many of us, over the years I deferred to my stylist and became blonder and blonder. The time between touch-ups seemed to be decreasing, and when the grays began to bloom in earnest it seemed like I lived at the salon (and while the financial investment was not negligible, my main complaint was the need to so often sit my hyperactive self still for hours at a time).

About six months ago, the CWP and her boss asked if I’d be willing to try “gray-blending”, a newish trend where with some skillful highlighting and glossing, you can transition to sleek, silvery hair. If you’re like me, the results of years of dye may require some intensive color correction at first (my first session ended up being a grueling six-hour marathon), but after that a gloss every two or three months is all that’s needed to integrate your various hues. I was hesitant, but figured, hell, it’s just hair, I can let them practice on me. So I was floored by how much I loved the results. I’ve now become the area’s unofficial spokeswoman for gray-blending.

No more roots, ever!

Later I realized that there’s even more to love about gray-blending: it’s a perfect metaphor for the process of healing and learning to love ourselves. Working with what we have and integrating it all into one beautiful, interesting whole instead of hiding what we consider “bad” as we do with dye. Accepting what is and making it a strength. Not just “giving up” and letting the dull, wiry grays fly (I’ve always been x, that’s just the way I am), but taking the time to work on or nurture what’s there without hiding any of it. It may be hard work at first, but that work will ultimately pay amazing dividends.

I’ve never been formally educated in the finer points of English composition, so it’s entirely possible my favorite metaphors may be weak. But I love them, and I’ll continue to seek out and celebrate the similarities between beautiful things and my new life.

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Thanks for reading. Do you have a favorite metaphor that encapsulates a part of your life?