So I put the Law of Attraction to a test. Actually, I did this unknowingly, years ago, well before The Secret was a ka-ching in Rhonda Byrne's metaphysical cash register.
I volunteered for Big Sunday, an annual citywide day in May of community service, a chance to put tikkun olam into practice. Big Sunday makes you feel good, earns you a colorful T-shirt, and is an excellent way to meet men.
Sure, working at battered women's shelters or knitting booties for preemies might sound appealing, but ... well ... as long as I was volunteering ... why not do something more male-friendly?
My proclamation to the Universe: I will meet single, hetero men. I found a downright macho project, helping to clean a stretch of the L.A. River. Surely the universe was listening.
And the Law of Attraction worked! The Universe did provide. Men, that is. Dozens and dozens of men. Little men. Cub Scouts. Adorable, hard-working, young. Not one of these Cub Scouts (nor their very married troop-leader fathers, wedding rings glinting in the sun) was my beshert.
My Stated Desire was simply not specific enough. When you send a thought into the universe, be precise. I'd give the universe another chance.
"I will meet an age-appropriate single hetero man of wit and intelligence," I declared.
And this year the universe provided! Rick appeared. Good looking. My age exactly. Lean, muscular, a terrific smile. Articulate. Definitely hetero. And covered with prison tattoos, homeless, a junkie on parole for murder.
Is "living by your wits" the same thing as "witty"?
My Big Sunday assignment: interview a homeless person and write a biography; what did I expect? Organizer Katherine Butts Warwick offered a chance to "put a human face on homelessness." She told us that, according to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, roughly one-third of homeless adults have served in the Armed Forces. On any given day, as many as 200,000 veterans (male and female) live on the streets or in shelters, and perhaps twice as many experience homelessness at some point during the course of a year. There are now more homeless Vietnam veterans than Vietnam dead. I was shocked.
Rick wasn't a vet -- in fact, though he had desperately wanted to serve in the Armed Forces, his record of violence, gangs and prison prevented him from ever being accepted as a soldier. Rick spent 19 of his 50 years in prison. He now dreams of getting his GED, entering detox, having a permanent roof over his head and landing an office job (he learned to type in prison).
But Rick is upset at the lack of support he's gotten after so many years behind bars.
"When you get out on parole, they don't help you at all. They throw you out on Skid Row. What society fails to understand," he says, "is that the system gives us a two- or three-year sentence, maybe 10, but, sooner or later, we're going to come back. They think, OK, he's put away, we're safe,' but they're forgetting that the same person is going to come out again -- without receiving any kind of social help, any kind of psychiatric help. It's dangerous."
Dangerous for Rick. Dangerous for society. Eye-opening for me.
I was looking for a date, a relationship. Instead, Rick made me grateful for the roof over my head and the support system of friends and family that I have in my life. Next year, I'll be more specific still with the universe. In the meantime, I've learned that spending time volunteering fills up a spare evening and makes me feel better about myself than playing the dating game, L.A.-style. And tikkun olam trumps "The Secret" any day of the week.
Diane Saltzberg lives in Los Angeles and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org
* Editor's note: If "The Secret" isn't drivel, we sure got it wrong in this cover story by Amy Klein!