The Secret

Some of you may have heard about a new self-help DVD that Oprah recently featured on her show called "The Secret." It resonated with me especially since DSG had just alluded to one of the principles the other night when he was berating me for my blog. "Your blog is called 'Confessions of a Love Pariah' don't you think putting that out there has something to do with the fact that you're single?" I was indignant and told him where he could put his psycho-babble. He was referring to the Law of Attraction. And it means that everything that happens to you, good or bad, is of your own making. Sure, I'll buy that. But if its your sub-conscious that's placing unconscious orders and fucking up your life, how the hell do you stop the cycle? This is what I find maddening. The negative energy I exude propels more in my direction?! Granted, I'm my own worst enemy but it's not in my nature to walk around happy-go-lucky all the time.

And letting go of fear? Fear of rejection? Fear of failure? I work in TELEVISION. How I look and sound has often dictated what jobs I did and didn't get. Such experiences can breed insecurity and self-doubt. Yet I've managed to navigate that minefield and create my own professional space in a highly saturated industry. A friend of mine recently gave me a book on fear but I found it to be esoteric and dry. So there's that and then there's this:

Nothing good can come into your life unless you're grateful for what you have.
I'm grateful. I don't wallow in self-pity for long. I make light of my failures and missteps. Still, I've been accused of playing the victim card more than once. So I can probably be more thankful for the fact that I live in a great apartment with a great roommate in a fabulous city where I can afford to do the things I enjoy.

And finally, there's the whole theory of negative self-talk. When I first moved to New York and discovered that my "happily ever after" was in fact doomed for divorce, I immediately sought a therapist. The first one I went to was a thirty-something woman who acted more like a girlfriend than a professional. Often she would exclaim, "Oh my God! You're kidding me," during our sessions. After two visits, I broke up with her but not before she suggested a daily mental exercise. She said that I should repeat this mantra whenever my mind was idling: I love and accept myself exactly as I am. I thought this was pointless but according to the purveyors of The Secret, it's the key to self-love.

Love yourself and love will find you. FUCK OFF. I'm sorry, do I sound angry? This cliche has haunted me my entire adult life and despite countless hours of self-analysis I have yet to fully comprehend how the concept works. If loving yourself means teaching others how you want to be treated, I do that. In fact, my expectations often exceed what people find reasonable. But I keep the bar high and am very clear about what I will and will not tolerate. I also engage in retail therapy which is completely selfish. If Gucci and Prada aren't evidence of self-love, what is? Don't answer that.

Anyway, were I to employ the lessons of "The Secret," there would be no blog. Because the candor and self-deprecating humor you find so entertaining would cease to exist. Instead, there would be declarations of how much I love myself and who wants to read Stuart Smalley's blog?