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Homeless 0-31: Thunk!

Few sounds come close to resonating the way the good, solid Thunk! of hitting a bull’s eye does. For some, this sound means that they’re skilled. For the rest of us, merely lucky. Might not matter which, the satisfaction’s the same.

Any search means you don’t know yet, until, suddenly, you do. Or you finally think you do. Then every complication shrinks, barricades evaporate, and self esteem, whether fairly earned or not, soars. Inside the bull’s eye, feeling clever becomes the same as actually being clever.

We might have hit the lotto yesterday. In the grand game of chance, sometimes I find myself holding the right number in the right place at the right time. I can, as a result, recommend no strategy beyond sychronicity, which can’t be rigged, outsmarted, or cleverly planned for. A strong vision doesn’t even help because who can reliably visualize the unknowable? Nope, gotta take what comes and trust the old nose to understand. OMG, this might be it!

I looked at two places yesterday. One, a cottage, wasn’t quite right to serve as a surrogate home. The owner and I chatted for the best part of an hour, and he asked me what he could do to make his place what I was looking for in a home. He asked directly, “What are you looking for?” I surprised myself by not being able to describe what I want at all.

”I’ll know it when I see it,” was the very best lame response I could muster. And that response didn’t satisfy me any more than it satisfied him.

I’ve long counseled others to create a strong, visual statement of intent, but caught myself unable to do that. I’ve also often counseled others that the conversation tends to be more important than the clarity of vision. As long as the conversation continues, possibilities abound. Once the conversation stops, potential freezes. So, perhaps, it might be with vision statements. Once written, they might well prove worthless, since they attempt to describe the essentially indescribable. The conversation creating the vision, well that’s another, completely different, kettle of fish.

I’m grateful to that property owner for asking and equally grateful that I proved wholly unable to respond coherently. I knew his place could not be my home. I don’t know how I knew that, except to say that nothing went ‘Thunk!’ when we walked through the place. I found plenty to appreciate for what it was, but that it was not then nor ever could be home was abundantly clear.

I might have found the place. The other house I walked through yesterday went ‘Thunk!’, big time. Whether this sense sustains, whether the owner would deign to rent to Amy and I, these are trivial concerns. My faith in bull’s eyes feels renewed this morning, with this fresh, resonant, grounding Thunk!

©2012 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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