The Worst Day Of My Life

We were in the hallway. He was standing in front of me.

I don’t know where I was going, and I don’t know why he was standing there. It was around 2 p.m., and he was wearing a bathrobe and underwear. His eyes were dark.

What happened next changed my life forever.

I think the only way we truly connect is by sharing our stories. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.

This past Friday afternoon, I locked myself in a meeting room with a whiteboard and my best friend—who moonlights as my mentor. I needed his help (and his brain) to figure out my brain, and oddly enough, to help me with my personal brand.

We talked about connection, charm, charisma, magnetism—and my insane dream if I ever win a billion dollars in the lottery. God help us all if I do.

The most charming man I ever met was the guy standing in front of me in that hallway that day.

As I stood there, he asked me to do something. I can’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it was useless. What I do remember is being so sick of his shit that I finally said no. It took my whole life to speak up and say no finally.

“No,” I said, looking him in the eyes.

I felt relief for the first time in my life. I felt proud of myself. I felt like I was becoming a man. I was only 12 or 13 at the time. It was truly freeing.

Then he attacked me.

I froze. He twisted my arm behind my back. A galaxy of thoughts ran through my mind. I was paralyzed in shock. Did he really just attack me?

Before I could gather my thoughts, my grandmother came around the corner. I saw her. She saw me. And she saw her son attacking his son.

Then all of hell came out of that woman. She went nuts.

He let go.

I turned and ran out of the house—through the neighbor’s yard, and the next yard, and the next.

Eventually, I collapsed on the side of a brick house. With the sun beating down on me, I cried.

Not just cried. Wailed.

That day, my hero turned on me.

I had always looked up to my dad. He was the most charming person I've ever met. A brilliant man who knew everybody, made all the money, and conquered the world.

Until the bottle got him.

It feels like I have been running all my life since that moment, in that hallway, with that man. Running from fear, from connection, from life.

And so I run.

My dad died when I was 21 in a motel room. All the charm in the world vanished in that motel room.

I’ll never know why he attacked me that day. I tell myself it was because I finally stood up to him, and he felt like he was losing his son—the only thing he loved—to manhood. I tell myself he loved me so much, he didn’t want to let me go.

Then I think he was just drunk. No less, no more.

We all have our moments in life—the hard ones. The ones we battle against for the rest of our lives. But I believe when we share them, when we tell our stories, it somehow brings us closer together. It helps us grow.

Tell me yours, and I’ll tell ya mine.

Trey