What is special?

There's a lot of talk (too much, I think) of the people who have gotten the first two clues right. In my opinion, even though they may have been within 200 feet, it might as well have been 2000 miles. Because two clues doesn't equal nine, and you must know all nine to hit the target.

My belief about how some searchers have gotten the first two clues right, but have entirely missed the target, is that they  have researched the heck out of WWWH, but have ended up bending the following clues to fit what they want the poem to say. They presume that Forrest's special spot will also look special to them. Isn't that what we all want? We want to Forrest to think a place is special because we think it's special.

I think these places are special, but does Forrest?

We are a species that have grand imaginations. In my dreams, and in some people's delusional realities, a special spot looks like this:

We need to get rid of these ideas and be open to wherever the poem leads. We can't presume to know why this place is special to Forrest. We can presume it's because it's associated with a special memory, but we can't even know that with certainty. Forrest's special place could be a lake, a stream bed, a tree, a park, anywhere...even a desert.

For example, there's a special place for me that no one knows about. It is associated with a happy memory. I have a couple of those places, actually. One is in front of a grocery store, where my dad and I were sitting in the car, waiting for my mom to finish shopping. My dad was very near the end of his life. In that parking lot, he told me for the first time ever, how proud he was of me. I can't drive by where that store was (it's a restaurant now) without thinking of that precious moment.

Another is my happy surfing place, where I would go every summer morning to bask under the sun in the salty waters. The waves were good there, not too big and not too small, not too choppy, and the beach wasn't a common tourist area. I remember smiling there a lot as I caught one perfect wave after another on my longboard.

The way to the special surfing spot.

So, throw out all your preconceived notions about what "special" is. Just go. Go where the poem leads. I don't know for sure why, but there's a reason you'll be surprised. Maybe it's because one person's junk may be another person's treasure. :)