I like metaphors.
Okay, I love them very, very, very much. I have an obsession of trying to simplify the chaos in my mind verbally in a way that merges literal objects and my fondness for trying to tell stories. This doesn’t always work.
My Mom and I were talking today about the duality of genetics that I might be fighting internally. I realized where I was going with this chasm of absurdity, but I just could not stop.
“So imagine Dad hands me a box and you hand me, okay – no. We’re all sitting at a table. Dad gives me a box with his genetic code of restlessness and wanderlust and you slide a box over from your side full of the desire for security. Wait – this is better – in the boxes are bears. Baby bears. So I pull out these bears and they just fight. It’s the baby bear of “The Grass is Greener on the Other Side” and stability bear duking it out on the table.”
I could feel my Mom furrow her brow over the phone. She slowly and tentatively said, “At least you know… about this…that might make you ahead of the game already.”