Choosing Your Metaphors Wisely
S till thinking about self-improvement and projects, and the actual conversation going on in the comments of the last post, and even this: improvement is not a bad thing (right?) and I think we do a lot less damage trying to improve ourselves than, say, our significant others and children (reward charts tra la la!). I think that my problem might in fact be that the metaphor for my self-improvement projects is always home improvement. Leaky roofs and gutters needing cleaning, not to mention foundations and things hidden in walls that you don’t realize have problems until there is water damage and the plumber is handing you an ungodly bill.
Our metaphors tend to reflect our preoccupations and the things we are doing and working on. As I knit more, I see the ability to pick up dropped stitches without freaking out as a positive development both literally and metaphorically. Practicing with the kids and seeing the patterns of development and maintenance is giving me a surprising patience and willingness to enjoy the present moment. But it’s true for my kids, too, how their preoccupations will shape their interactions. I am asked to “pause” or “rewind” while reading aloud because they are used to the Tivo. And it is funny to hear my smaller children playing with legos or on the playground and using video game terminology: Ok, now we’re on the next level, let’s play the cut scene (a pre-scripted part of a plotted video game where you cannot control your character). And as much as I have misgivings about how video games can crowd out other, more developmentally appropriate activities in my children’s lives without some thoughtful limits on them, I like the idea of video game metaphor for self-improvement type ideas… Oh, I’m stuck on level 2 with that one, but I think I just need to keep trying. Much more satisfactory than leaks in the roof.
Do I have too much faith in the power of words? Is it, in the end, really just the actions that matter? I turned in a thesis on metaphors in philosophy twelve years ago and am surprised how it continues to hang around my neck. I think about Kepler and his beautiful theory about the platonic solids describing the different orbits of the planets and how he had the courage to throw away the whole theory when it just didn’t work with the most accurate measurements he could get, and wonder if I have such courage. I think I find a metaphor I like and try to make the facts fit the metaphor rather than the other way around.
10 Comments
Submit a Comment
My Photos
Subscribe to Comments
- Comment on Open Letters by Brandilyn
- Comment on Enduring Discomfort by Kaylee
- Comment on Jane Kenyon Under My Bed by JSA Lowe
- Comment on Stories for Self-help by Dana
- Comment on Eating the Whale by sarah gilbert
- Comment on Eating the Whale by gwalter
- Comment on In Praise of Lying Fallow by Lynn Hanson
- Comment on Three Metaphors for the Postpartum Experience by Honney
- Comment on Co-Written by Lynda
- Comment on Psychology of Punctuation by Delphia
I love the idea of “personalizing” self improvement with individual metaphor, some how it makes the sometimes impossible task seem more alive and exciting. I used to be somewhat preoccupied with the idea that life can be a bit like a movie scripted by unforgiving powers. I would read the Bible, the Tao and the Gita seeking spiritual guidance and would find myself wondering “what soundtrack would I put with this text?” Does the Peter Gunn theme song work well with the Bhagavad Gita?
Thought provoking. Now I’ll be hearing my own personalized metaphors for awhile. (I’ll try to report back – or write a post of my own?)
I notice the tech-geeks’ metaphors are almost unintelligible to the lay person.
PS: I think this describes my whole life?
“Driven crazy searching for title/author of short story. Driven more crazy searching for website to search/discuss forgotten literature.”
But now I have to know…which one?
Clearly I read too much Vonnegut at a tender age. I knew that one of the stories that had somehow seemed relevant to self-improvement conversation and psychological acquisitiveness was “Harrison Bergeron,” but as I was messing around with self as illusion I realized I really wanted to re-read “Who Am I This Time.” Only I had lost track of that being Vonnegut also, (had even forgotten Sarandon and Walken, that’s how weak-minded I am!) and all of my search terms were getting me to websites of fascinating community theaters and how to cite sources for the titles of stories. So I finally put up my request on Twitter and had an answer within minutes. Have I mentioned I love Twitter?
I cannot sully your blog with any further comments until I read Vonnegut, since I somehow missed out on him in my own tender age. (Nearly as shocking as the Brujo never having read Tolkien–and in both cases, it may be too late now!)
wow, mara, it’s crazy — when you twittered about the story i at first thought of ‘harrison bergeron’! i’m not sure if i’ve read ‘who am i this time,’ it sounds vaguely familiar. were you able to find the text of it online?
we too end up with the video game metaphors, or maybe they’re even stronger than metaphors — they’re the structure for many kinds of play. everett is always having to press the metaphysical spacebar for some activity or another.
@ sarah gilbert: Oooh, I’m totally stealin’ that, and I don’t even play video games. “Hang on one more second, honey–I just need to hit the spacebar.” Perfect.
What about falling in love as a metaphor for “self-improvement”? We often compare emotional/mental surrender to falling through physical space, so it’s certainly not a new idea. The way that everyone and everything, even oneself, seems transformed and touched with grace and rendered sensual and glowing and perfect….
They were often the only useful metaphors for me when it came to grappling with concentration practice (shikan-taza) in my space-monkey days–metaphors of abandonment, release, giving up trying, opening up my control-freaky death-grip. Also I think of Ani’s song: love is like falling and / falling is like this–
I have now read both stories, and laughed, and pondered. And wished I’d read them when I was instead sullying my brain with adolescent trash like Ayn Rand. And, I think when you say things like “had even forgotten Sarandon and Walken, that’s how weak-minded I am!” I want to smack you over the head, lovingly, with my paperback copy; because to forget things is human and normal, but to beat ourselves up for so doing, is like tying sandbags around your ballerina neck.
Also sprach unnarrator–but I don’t know why she’s all UP IN YO BIDNESS today. Sigh. P!M!S! Beautifully normal and human.
Wheeeeen are you coming hoooooome?
Thanks for sharing your work with us! Your theme is just awesome!
[...]Thanks for sharing your work with us! Your theme is just awesome![...]