When something is right, there's a feeling. It's like you already knew about what you just newly discovered, and you nod into it, saying, "Yes." The word for right is always yes. Yes this fits. Yes this is good.
When I was dating, I had exactly three feelings of yes, but two were tempered by nagging feelings of no. I should have paid attention to one of those signals a bit more fully. Because I ignored it, I spent four months dating a man who was not right for me in about every single sense of the word "right." What was the signal? Okay, this is gross, but when we were eating during our date, I noticed he had a hair growing on the top of his nose. A pale, gray hair. I watched it, studied it. Everything else about him was right, but this hair? Wrong. A metaphor for wrong. Sounds facile and ridiculous, but I thought about that hair all the time. It's as if before incarnating here on earth, I told myself about what would happen.
"Beware the hair," I said to myself. Myself didn't listen.
The next feeling of yes should have been tempered by the fairytale quality of the perfect date. This man was urbane, funny, handsome, solvent, and stylish. Our meal and conversation flowed as did the wine. How could this be so perfect, I asked myself.
Myself wasn't paying attention. She was mesmerized by his blue eyes.
When my date never called me again, even after exclaiming that everything about the evening and me was "delightful," myself went into a short 24 hour tailspin. Yes had been no, but my date blinded me with his élan.
My third yes was Michael. And nothing reared its head. Not during the date, not after the date. No nose hair. No radio silence. We slipped in next to each other and have stayed there.
House hunting is like dating, though your partner doesn't talk as much. At all. The messages come from the walls, the floors, the ceilings. the messages come from the number of bathrooms, the layout, the room size. There is an aura in houses that no amount of happy fire place fires or scented air can mask. Walk in and sense the despair of the place. Walk in and feel time hit you like a hammer. Too much happened in here. anger, sorrow, grief, death. You can feel it like a second skin. There are ghosts in houses, thin like wafers. They stay to haunt. They don't want to leave.
Yesterday, we walked into a house we will try to buy, though it's just at the far, expensive edge of our price range and the open house was like carnival. Everyone could feel the house was a good house. It was light and airy, and all the bad juju of it--if it had ever been there--was burned out with sage and a medicine woman before the open house. It was a house that was inviting. It was a house that would let whoever moved in move in and start fresh.
This house was like meeting Michael. It was a big yes.
I'll let you know if the house says yes back.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org