A jalopy sputtering and coughing forward, then rolling back as the engine dies but always making progress is how I like to picture my current self. It makes me laugh.
The mental picture is of a big old boat of a 1970s car in powder yellow working its way up a San Francisco hill in a neighborhood with those colorful houses all stacked on top of each other, up and down the sloping hills. I see it rolling backward a bit, hear it backfiring, and with a punch of the gas, feel it roaring forward—until it dies again—continuing on the vicious cycle yet always inching a little more forward up that hill than it had gone before.
The hills have varied in their difficulty, and the jalopy isn't even visibly purple. I'm thinking once it gets restored to its rightful beauty, purple paint will be a top priority. But until then, the yellow stands for the sunshine that is ever-present as it climbs uphill, one dramatic punch of the gas at time.