Lucky Me

examining our notions of luck

The world is violent and mercurial--it will have its way with you. We are saved only by love--love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent; being a writer; being a painter; being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.

TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

the blessing of sunflower clusters

Our family tragedy rendered me a recluse for the better part of the summer. I am now returning to the world of routines—and regular society—and have been fielding some baffling comments. On a recent errand run one acquaintance offered condolences and then blurted out that I was “rather unlucky. ” Yikes. I knew he merely fumbled and meant no malice, but this jolt of negativity laid me low. I am a standard issue WASP and the “you reap what you sow” mentality— a legacy no doubt from some dour, humorless, joy-squashing Scottish ancestor— still lingers despite years of therapy. Was my “bad” luck earned or some sort of metaphysical virus?

I get it. I do look unlucky. We lost our youngest child Bailey ten weeks ago, and my rare brand of non-Hodgkins lymphoma is now visibly evident since I don scarves and eyeliner in lieu of hair. And yes this is my second cancer battle. So on the surface I don’t exactly look slathered in good fortune. But I refuse to think of myself as unlucky. I know from experience how quickly despair and depression surface the moment you yield to a pity party. Excessive brooding over one’s circumstance too often spurs stinginess of spirit and garden-variety narcissism.

Am I shouldering more than my share of unfortunate events? Perhaps. But then so are many others. And if I dwell there or compare myself to others, I’m sunk. My friend Reenie has navigated her own minefield of loss and likened this survival strategy to learning how to ski: “One of the first things you learn is to look ahead to the next turn. If you look back, you risk catching an edge and going down. You still need your peripheral vision to keep track of everything around you so you don’t get blindsided by another skier or hit a tree. You keep moving”

Some say you make your luck. To some extent this is true through the day-to-day choices you make, both wise and unwise. And yet the distribution of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” is arbitrary. People are born into wretched circumstances or stumble into evil through no fault of their own. And then some may skip along like water bugs, blissfully free of the gravity of this life. It looks fun, but going through life unscathed does not necessarily make one lucky. It’s a pass of sorts I suppose, but it’s hard to grow without challenges. Living like Peter Pan isn’t feasible in the long run. Still, it takes hard work to shake this notion that our lives are determined by luck or that somehow you earn bad luck.

The truth is, my life is far from jinxed. I have an abundance of blessings I previously took for granted. Friendships, family, play, beauty, time left on earth. I have a garden, a house, and the love of a neurotic dog. I have words and books. I have the curiosity of the small hummingbird that pauses on a fenceline to watch me in the garden or a friend’s call at just the right time, or my husband and daughter’s easy laughter, or the mountain light spreading over the peaks in the morning. When Bai died people showed up by the hundreds, people sent love. They still do. Perhaps this isn’t about luck, but I am fortunate to have meaningful relationships and to receive and proffer love. This isn’t a given in any life.

Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck.
DALAI LAMA XIV

And yet. As I composed this post two days ago from a vast over-conditioned hospital waiting area, I felt a preternatural calm. It made no sense — my scanxiety usually starts the night before my scans begin and doesn’t let up until well after my doctor’s appointment. A nurse summoned me for the usual vitals, then my oncologist came in looking, well, chipper. He’s not a chipper sort — he’s a scientist constantly trying to outmaneuver lymphoma. But no, he was looking almost giddy. And then came the news. My scans were so spotless that he canceled my brutal four months of hospitalized chemotherapy scheduled to begin next week, to be followed by an even longer, equally onerous recovery time. The cutting-edge experimental protocol I’ve been on since December is working beyond their expectations and ours. I mortified my shy, socially awkward, brilliant doctor by moving in for a hug, but he was smiling. I have no doubt my good doctor doesn’t believe in luck—just hard work, research, and data. Still, I felt sprinkled with a bit of fairy dust. Lucky me.