You don’t need to be born speaking metaphor to learn its language.
You simply have to look at the world differently.
The world is always whispering. The work is learning how to listen with more than your ears. Metaphorical seeing is less about effort and more about openness—a kind of sacred noticing. The poets call it paying attention. The mystics call it discernment. I call it learning to sit still long enough for meaning to float to the surface.
Here are a few ways to practice:
Slow down.
Metaphor rarely rushes in. It drifts. Give yourself space—on the page, in your body, in your day—to notice what you usually overlook. A metaphor might live in the steam curling from your coffee cup, or in the silence between two people who used to touch.
Ask: What does this feel like?
Not “what does this mean,” but what does it resemble in tone, texture, motion? Does your anxiety feel like bees in a jar? Does your longing feel like a door you keep checking, certain someone will knock?
Look sideways.
Literal thinking is a closed room. Metaphorical thinking is a gazebo—open on all sides. Instead of describing things directly, ask yourself: What else is this like? Don’t worry about being “original.” Be honest.
Keep a metaphor journal. One entry a day. Just a line. One strange connection, one image that lingered, one moment that made your senses tilt. Over time, you’ll begin to see metaphor not as invention, but as observation with resonance.