Housewarming
So glad you could come! Sit and have a cup of coffee. Stay awhile.
“You will never own a decent home.”
So said the news headline. I had to laugh because I was, at that moment, sitting in my new home. I was sprawled out on the luxurious Sedona rug on the floor of my new home. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, lying on the rug, gazing at the perfect white chairs—pristine, polished, proper. A candle burned on the coffee table—made from recycled driftwood, sanded and painted in a light shade of sovereign malachite, the Pantone™ Color of the Year. The candle was Plush Pomme Paradiso and it imbued my spacious living room with the scent of apple and cardamon. It was black, and the lettering stood out in gold, glittering embossing. I knew it had to be expensive. Outside the glorious bay windows of my home, a towering maple tree succumbed to autumn. Its bright red leaves fell onto the sprawling lawn, bloodying the grass.
Of course I clicked on the article. I moved from the rug to my sofa, a lovely, sturdy piece with cushions of earth petite gingham linen. The article contained—in clear and precise language full of statistics and graphs and good, sound logic—all of the historical forces arrayed against my ever owning a home. I had to laugh, my frenzied mirth echoing off the vaulted, crown-molded ceilings of my home.
It’s true, though. For a while, I didn’t think I would ever be able to afford a home. I had no savings and poor credit. A dead-end job. When my father died, he gave all his meagre savings and his home to his new girlfriend, Margaret.
But look at me now, Margaret! Look at that Mattituck rattan armchair with white perennials on the basketweave cushions. Does this look like the home of a pot-smoking loser?
I had to laugh, thinking of Margaret’s face if she could see me now. Here’s the thing: I listen to a lot of podcasts. I watch inspirational YouTube videos every morning when I wake up. I put on audiobooks when I run and lift weights. I am in control of my media diet. I am in control of my thoughts. Diamonds in, diamonds out.
What I understand is that strong will and focused effort can unlock any goal when combined with the right strategy. How do you make a diamond, Margaret!? Pressure. Unbelievable pressure.
You see. I manifested this house.
I wrote in my journal one year ago that by next Halloween, I would be living in the house of my dreams. I put a specific date, and a specific house at a specific price point (it is very important to be specific when manifesting). I made it happen. I made it happen!
No one gave me a handout. All my acquaintances, all of society, hell, the entire forces of history tried to block my way. Margaret said I couldn’t do it. Dad said I couldn’t do it. Even Mrs. Henderson (bless her soul) said I couldn’t do it.
Even Lenore, the love of my life, doubted me.
But I made it happen. I defeated all my enemies and naysayers. My obstacles fell to the floor like dominos, unable to resist my potent combination of careful planing and consistent right action.
I wrote it in my journal and turned thought into reality!
I thought that I deserved a really nice home, and I went out and seized one. I journaled exactly the home I would get. I visualized it. Every night before I went to sleep I imagined this exact home. Right on the river. The finest craftsmanship! I could see all the details: wood-paneled walls in the gentleman’s study, wrought-iron bannisters, stained glass windows, detailed masonry. Timeless simplicity. Handcrafted in Europe. I imagined myself walking through the private backyard, lounging on the basketweave, Majorca chairs beneath a fluttering porcelain-white umbrella. I saw myself taking a dip in the pool on hot summer afternoons. I saw myself painting en plein air in the gazebo. Snuggling with Lenore in the jacuzzi on cold winter nights. I saw myself in the chef’s kitchen, replete with marble countertops, top-of-the-line appliances, and a grand island that could comfortably seat nine people.
I visualized it down to the tiniest detail, and every night, before I fell asleep, I toured the home of my dreams.
Now I am lying comfortably in that exact home. Reading stupid articles from idiots who don’t know any better. Clickbait! I had to laugh.
My house is exactly as I imagined it, down to the tiniest detail, because it was the house I used to walk past every morning. Now it’s mine! (sorry Mrs. Henderson). Because when the cold nights of autumn came, and the trees all began to die, I forced my dreams into reality.
Look: I can touch this little side table. It looked so light and airy from the street. But now I can feel its warp and weft, trace my hand along its solid base.
Come with me into the kitchen. Would you like some tea? What do I have? Only the finest brands, of course! I can fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar, if you’d prefer. How about a nice bottle of 2009 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti? That’s supposed to be good, right? Look how many wine glasses I have. All crystal. And the plates! The bowls, the cutlery. Everything has a French sophistication, a certain je ne sais quoi, as they say.
And in this cabinet—uh, no, we’ll keep that one closed.
Don’t ask me what’s in there. Ok, if you insist. It’s just my special mug. A little housewarming present I got for myself. It’s no big deal. Honestly. I’ll show you later.
Let’s go upstairs. My house is great for hosting guests. Six bedrooms—and just as many bathrooms. Come into my spacious master suite. See the California king poster-bed. It’s a delight to sleep in. The sheets are as cool as a dip in the Riviera. It’s far too big for one person, I know. I asked Lenore to move in with me, but she’s been ignoring my texts. She asked me a lot of questions about how I could secure a home like this. How I could go from barely affording my rent to living in a palatial mansion of supreme taste. YouTube did warn me about this. When you become successful, when you start to grow into the person you were always meant to be, small-minded people will try and hold you back. It’s often the people closest to you! They don’t want to see you grow and achieve greatness because they’re too comfortable with the current you. It’s sad. But you have to laugh.
Come out and see the terrace, it’s just through the French doors. You can see the river from here, now that all the leaves are dying. Look how lazy the water flows here in the gathering dusk. One could really get used to this. And there’s the street, where I used to walk every day, and the hydrangeas that Mrs. Henderson loved to prune. You can see the gate where Mrs. Henderson used to greet me every morning. She even let me into the house, to get some water when I said I was thirsty. One year to the day after I manifested it!
The universe works in mysterious ways.
Ah, do you feel the breeze? I could stay out here all night. I should get a pipe and some tobacco. Or maybe there’s some already in the house.
But why am I still thinking about that article? Why should I care so much about what some idiot wrote online, especially when I’m so comfortable in my own house. Maybe I should find the author on social media and @ them. “Hey asshole, I actually have a house, and it’s the perfect house for me. I manifested it.”
Have I shown you the pool, yet?
Wait, what is that? Are those sirens? Yes, I see the lights, too. Are they coming down this street? Maybe… Maybe… Yes. Ok, I don’t have much time. Here’s what I’m going to do:
I’ll go into the bedroom and put on my slippers and my silk robe. Then, I’ll go downstairs and take my special mug from the cabinet and pour a glass of Domain. Oh, you see the mug, now? Do you understand? Yes, it is what you think it is.
It’s Mrs. Henderson’s skull.
I have to tip it back so the wine doesn’t spill out of the eyeholes. It’s an expensive vintage, you know!
It looks like blood, doesn’t it? It looks like I’m drinking Mrs. Henderson’s blood out of her skull!
You have to laugh.
I take the skull and the wine to the basement. Do you realize how hard it was to get Mrs. Henderson’s blood out of the carpet? I can hear knocking on the front door. I slip into the cellar and locate the tiny button that opens the secret hatch.
The Hendersons were kind enough to build a panic room. I discovered it on the first day of moving into my new home. It’s where I put the Hendersons. The smell wasn’t as bad as you’d think, and now they’re mostly skeleton.
I join the Hendersons and slide the hatch closed. Perfect darkness.
I can stay here for days, for weeks, even. I have the provisions for it, you see. I planned it all very carefully. That’s what manifesting can do for you. When you know how to visualize properly, you can make anything happen. I journaled it. I planned for it—every contingency.
I’m not going to let anyone take me from my house.