A place where a person or even an animal feels it ought to live. It is where nature around you feels right and welcoming.
I wonder if most people have a Cynefin, a place that feels like home — somewhere that you are constantly trying to get back to. A sacred Space that your mind retreats to during times of crisis; this ever-present vision in your head that you can’t help but long for. Perhaps your Cynefin is a person. Your freckled wife, or little boy, Jack, or overly plump tabby who keeps you warm on winter nights. I don’t know.
I’ve never felt this Cynefin for person or place. Not even the streets where I skinned my knees or sustained my first heartbreak beckon me. A forced nomad, nowhere and everywhere feels like home. Home seems to be exactly where I am at the moment, the place where my bookshelves, bed, and body reside, but my heart? It hasn’t quite found its home yet.
* If you Google this word you are most likely to find the Wikipedia article and about 5 billion complex articles on the Cynefin framework which I won’t even attempt to explain. I’m just going to take it completely out of that context for now.