I like to think that I'm a rational individual. I have a healthy dose of skepticism -- some would call it cynicism -- that comes into play for any number of supposed manmade miracles. I don't put any stock in those get rich quick infomercials, nor the ones that tell you how you can get in shape by standing in place for seven minutes a day. I've never tried a diet pill, never thought that a five minute phone call could change my life, and am slowly putting to rest my belief in fortune telling. But I'm really, really pissed off about something. You see, like so many other people over the past year, I got sucked into the most cunning, successful, and utterly disappointing pile of crap masquerading as a miracle that I've seen in my 25 years.

Yes, my children, it's true. I bought into The Secret.

For those who have been fortunate enough to escape its siren song, I'll sum up the basic premise for you: find Something you want. Focus all your positive thoughts and energies on the Something. Keep doing this, and the Something will come to you, lowered out of the sky like a divine blessing, most likely accompanied by its own angelic song and dance troupe. You, of course, leap in the air and flail like a crazy thing, because it works! You can have whatever you want, whenever you want! You can fly to Fiji, own a fleet of Bentleys, rule the most powerful nation on the planet! It doesn't matter if you get panic attacks on airplanes, can barely pay off your ancient Nova, or have the intelligence of a drunken frat boy and the emotional volatility of a toddler! You can have whatever you want! Just ask the president!

Of course, the premise is ludicrous. If it worked, we'd all have had ponies or giant, world-destroying robots when we were children. We all would have been popular and well liked as teens, with our pick of prom dates. And as adults, we'd all be living the dream. After all, why be an accountant when you can be some billionaire sipping margaritas in Cozumel? And yet, it sucks you in. It sucks lots of people in. It sucked me in. Why? The answer is plain and simple: desperation.

Some background: I've been looking for a new job for the better part of two years, sending resumes across the country to any job that seems to hold even the faintest interest for me. Working a stressful, underpaying job in the meantime wasn't helping my state of mind. But when I picked up The Secret book and flipped through it, I was hooked. Rhonda Byrne's tone pulled me in, lulled me into a sense of security. Of course I wasn't succeeding -- I wasn't being positive enough. All I had to do was think positive! Imagine that perfect job! Visualize it every day! Believe deeply enough, and it would be mine! And, of course, all I needed to do was plop down my $19.99, and she'd teach me how.

I read the book, and for a feel good, warm and fuzzy read, it's excellent. Byrne's tone is soft and encouraging, gently prodding you with its, "Yes, you can do it!" rhetoric. Somehow, she taps into whatever soft core you have and manipulates it masterfully. You finish the read with the feeling that you really are capable of anything if you believe hard enough. You're tempted to start manifesting all sorts of things. You half expect to wake up with a Dodge Viper in your driveway or Jann Wenner on your phone. And so you go out, full of the Bright Shiny Happies, wishing and hoping and believing and knowing that it's coming. It's just around the corner, and it's coming for you. Whatever beautiful dream you've been holding onto, it's here and more wonderful than even you thought it would be.

It all works really well until reality sets in. Events become little hints and teasers -- Hey, So-And-So Company wrote back to me! -- and it fuels the fire of belief. Surely, this is it! After all, it's too perfect not to be. It's a job you want, one you know you could do. You know you've made a good impression, and now it's going to happen. And when it doesn't, what happens then? Adherents to The Secret would say that it was something you did, or didn't do. Perhaps you didn't believe hard enough. You put too much effort into it yourself, when you should have let your cosmic benefactors handle it for you. After all, The Secret never fails. The Secret is always right. The Secret never lies, and it will always take care of you. It's all you need.

Funny. Isn't that what people say when they want you to drink the purple Kool Aid?

My adventure with and belief in The Secret died the same day my latest job prospect did. I got as far as an interview (which I nailed) and waited patiently for a follow-up. And waited. And waited. I called back, received a response, and sent in what they told me to. The next day, I got a short e-mail: "Thank you for your interest. We've decided not to go forward at this time."

Neither have I. Not with The Secret, anyway.

In an attempt to explain my newfound un-faith to my boyfriend, I showed him the lyrics to the John Lennon classic "God". He countered with the refrain from "Revelate," by one of our favorite bands, The Frames. As I was commenting on my fruitless attempts to wrest a revelation from any higher source, he interrupted.

"That's not the part I wanted to you read," he said. Instead, he highlighted the refrain's last line. "This time I'm making my own now."

Faith is fine. But in the end, the only thing you should believe in is yourself.