After my last visit home, I swore I’d never go back. I already had little to look forward to, but my most recent visit left me dumbfounded in a couple different ways. This is how The Secret found me.

My story really begins in the summer two years ago when my girlfriend lent me The Secret. It was the first I’d ever heard of the law of attraction or anything like that, but it made me feel good and brought me my first car! I tried explaining to a friend what The Secret is all about and how it brought the car to me, but I just rambled too much detail and overwhelmed her, I think. Anyway, I lent that friend the book and have tried to get her to mail it back to me to no avail. Since that summer, every thrift store and Goodwill and Walmart I go into, I browse the books to see if it is there. I have ended up empty handed for almost two years now, but I make a point to look for The Secret wherever there are books around.

Now, here is what happened:
I had a nice, long Christmas break before I started my new job. I spent most of my time seeing friends, going to parties, having dinners with family, and generally doing the things one does to enjoy the Holidays. I was so caught up in enjoying myself over those few weeks that I ignored the few boxes sitting in the laundry room that were left over from my move back home. My time with certain friends was winding down as they prepared to go back for the spring semester. Some family members lingered around after the new year. My girlfriend stayed for the first week of the year. The boxes of clothes, shoes, bedding, etc. could wait. They were not in the way, and I had people to see! I had the happiness to share!

Now, my mother has a long held practice of having things her way, and in this house, her way is the law. Hers is the only way! This particular stay at her house included the practice of moving my shampoo and body wash from the shower, opening and, or closing my blinds, unplugging my computer and phone, telling me exactly how to use her appliances or bathroom window, or how to shovel snow; all sorts of things that a 23 year old has done numerous times before and needs no instructions for. In between doing those things were questions, comments, commentary, and judgment of the people, places, and things I had been doing. It is a very negative, belittling, and controlling environment.

She took it upon herself to move the boxes. Some of my things were bent up and mistreated. A Kenyan toy I had was twisted and shoved into a bag. Honestly, that was what did it for me. After years of putting straws on the camel’s back, it was broken. I was angry. I was disappointed. I was disrespected. I had had enough. I moved out that day. I didn’t say a word to her. I couldn’t take the condescending questions and nitpicking and illogical “rules” she laid down. We butted heads for years on every topic, even more so in my adult life after learning the truth behind her and my father’s divorce. Anger, resentment, and frustration got the best of me. I left town and came home later that week when she wasn’t home to pack a bag and live out of it. I moved in with my Aunt Vicki.

Vicki had been known to be, well, sketchy, let’s say. She and her boyfriend were involved with prescription pills and alcohol. No matter, the situation was only temporary until I moved to start my new job, so I stayed. They were very welcoming and understanding. They even brought out a nightstand for me in the guest bedroom. Actually, it was two nightstands; in Vicki’s opinion, the first one “was not right.” It is funny how the most unlikely things play the biggest parts in this story.

Fast forward to the day I moved for that job. I planned a rendezvous with some friends where we were going to polish off the last quarter of a bottle of expensive tequila I had received for my birthday. I went to my car, where I kept this bottle for a reason, only to find it missing. My stomach sank. I knew what had happened to it, but I did not want to believe it. I wanted to be wrong so badly. I followed my intuition and found it empty in my Aunt’s bedroom. She had taken my keys, gotten into my car, stolen the bottle, finished it without telling me, and then tried to hide it. Her alcoholism got the best of her. At 46, she did what some 15 year olds do to their fathers. I was heartbroken. The only refuge I had to get away from the negativity of my mother’s house had betrayed me. I was optionless. There was no happy, healthy place for me in all of Port Allegany.

I quickly decided that the best thing I could do was both get out of that house, and, at some point, confront her about it. I paced through the house, planning my confrontation word for word, all the while furiously gathering my things. Everything I had was packed in the bags I brought, but naturally, I needed to double check. Was anything in the bathroom? No. Living room? No. Mudroom? No. On the guest bed? No. Dresser? No. Nightstand? Here is where all of this concludes. I knew that I had nothing sitting in that nightstand. In fact, I did not know it had a door on it in the first place, but for some reason, I did a double take at that nightstand. As I opened it up, what did I find? The Secret book!

I think of all of the things that were moved to make this happen:

-If the bottle had not been stolen, I would never have been packing and would have never looked in the nightstand.

-If the first nightstand were not swapped out for this one, I would have never found it in her house.

-If my mother had not bent up my Kenyan toy, I would have never moved out.

-If my friends and family were not home, I would have taken care of the boxes.

I just stared. I could not believe my eyes. There it was. Sitting on top of a Bible that had been ignored for equally as long. After two years of searching for it, The Secret had found me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!