The fun part is how new this word is 🙂 Just the word though, the concept and controversy regarding luck is millennia old.

And now for the analysis, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it up 🙂

I am lucky. Very, outrageously lucky! It always appears to me that I do not control this luck, that it is somehow outside of me despite it happening to me. There is a good measure of self-fulfilling prophecy in there. I am by nature an optimist and my natural state of mind is happy. So it stands to reason (and to rationalists 😛 ) that I should feel lucky and thus influence my actual life in that direction. That’s fine, I don’t actually have a problem with this kind of self-fulfilling prophecies. And I recognize them when my intentional actions are actually part of whatever is happening in my life. Like choosing a pathway, listening to my intuition, stumbling over the right approach with a person based on many years of experience.

Where I actually talk about luck is where my actions, while intentional in the context I made them, have far-reaching consequences that no amount of intuition would have been able to predict. Like when I took my husband’s car one day and had an accident. My husband’s car escaped unscathed, but the accident would have seriously damaged my car… which said husband was taking to the mechanic, who lifted it and discovered two bald tyres.. I don’t want to know what would have happened had those tyres exploded on the big drive we had planned for the weekend… yes, it had been my suggestion to take my car to the mechanic in preparation for the big drive, but I couldn’t have predicted the accident, now could I?

So I am lucky. I have been lucky all my life. It really doesn’t mean that I win the lottery (small prizes, yes, when I can be bothered to play – rarely. That is chance, not luck as I describe it. It also doesn’t mean that bad things don’t happen to me. They do, and the effects are no more and certainly no less than for anyone to whom bad things happen – that would be everyone. Some of my personality traits (optimism, happiness, also an ability to see the good in situations) make it easier for me to deal with the bad stuff. But I don’t think that has much to do with the fact that I have become accustomed to hearing at least once a week from various people about how lucky I am. I have to pay attention. That is another factor, I notice how lucky I am, I feel it and I therefore act in possibly a more confident way which in turn opens more doors and makes me aware of more opportunities. But I am no more likely than others to get that job I have been looking for. Again, that has nothing to do with the luck I am describing.

Another thing is that feeling that luck comes from outside of my control, actually from outside of me. Like a gift. So I do no subscribe to the “don’t say you’re lucky or your luck will disappear” theory. On the contrary, I often acknowledge my luck. There is maybe a bit of superstitition in there, a reversal of that theory I described above: if I don’t acknowledge my luck it will disappear. I like to think that I am courteous though, so I acknowledge gifts 🙂

Fun analysis remains so if it’s brief. I am not complaining or try to understand my luck – no interest or benefit for me. I am intersted in the limitations (ah, that lotto ticket!) and grateful for the gift. I am also aware that I need to share it with others. Perhaps one gloomy day when things go wrong from the beginning, when you get discouraged and upset at “meaningful coincidences” (Jung’s definition of “luck”) that don’t coincide, I could come and tell you that things are going to get a heck of a lot better… and, knowing me, I will be right!

PS. Little bad things, when they do happen, always come in threes… I could have a bit of fun with that analysis, eh? 🙂



Please help yourself to the definition, and get mired in philosophy and religion, from the making of a person to creation itself

Disclaimer: I don’t read poetry often, nor do I show my poems to many. I write because I cannot help myself… literally… Many’s the times I almost caused an accident because I was trying to ignore a particular turn of phrase or the numbering of a faiku (that’s like a haiku that has the proper numbering and maybe the link to nature, but does not respect the form or spirit so it’s not real… therefore it’s fake: faiku). Does that even make sense or shall I blame artistic temperament?

It used to seem strange to me that after an education full of poets, their miserable lives, their usually painful deaths and their tortuous paths of creation, I could still (still!) consider writing the dratted things! Nothing to explain, people, you can’t have glory nor money nor most of the time recognition, provided one looks for the above. You get heartache and sleepless nights and odd measures of joy when it sounds just so and tells what you require it to say, which makes sense to almost no one else.

Sour grapes? Possibly you’d think that I would have more to show after 30 years of writing poetry than a few typed pages which would absolutely and rightly so be demolished by anyone with a bit of knowledge. Haven’t you been told that if you work hard and apply yourself and all the rest of the virtues then something good will happen? Yeah, right! Dream on, buster!

And the problem is that criticism of poetry can only break the heart. It can’t change the poems though… they always, always sound weird and wrong after editing, they are not yours anymore… so the only thing you get is that your best is not good enough… did I mention heartbreak? And you can’t stop writing… so you learn to hide, and you surround yourself with people who don’t read poetry, and you lie that you’re over it and if by chance you are discovered you say that you are just fooling around… And from time to time, rarely (heartbreak is awful!) you open a book of your favourite poet and you get lost for a minute or so in a world where poetry makes sense, it’s there for others to enjoy and consider and feel… If you are brave enough (not always) you gift a book of poems to someone special, knowing (heartbreak!) that it will most probably stay in their bookcase for years without being read, and the red-hot passion of Neruda, the rueful wit of Basho, the deep gentleness of Tagore are lost again.

There is something terrible about lost words… why can’t hearts be led to the words that describe them?



You know that feeling of shock you get when someone describes you by a word you would never have associated with yourself? Something like “You look so happy” when you know you are anything but, or “you have been so helpful” when all you tried was to serve yourself.

For me the shock has come because of possession. I consider myself one of the most possessive people I know. So being described as “giving” has put me in the ironic position of justifying a weakness. Not a sin – for me that is pride – totally different subject.

If you also take into account (and I do!) that I don’t know what jealousy is, being possessive is an even bigger headache. So let’s analyze a bit.

I can give provided one of two things happen: one, I retain the object as such (loaning it to others for the duration) – like giving them a copy of a book I have read, enjoyed and considered appropriate; advice is another such object, so is expertise. Two, by giving I get even more in return – a present, for example, or the end of an irritation.

I can give even if those two things cannot happen, compelled by love – that is a gift, therefore wasn’t mine to begin with. Haven’t you been in love, and found the absolutely perfect gift? Even if you paid for it, did you ever consider it yours? Or were you just a conduit, helping the rightful owner take possession?

But then we have to define possession: have, own, control. Both in object and in spirit. Therefore it is by default something that is separate from you. Not only the object/spirit you possess, but the actual possession (An act? A state? A fact?). A more schizoid explanation of the separation of body, mind, spirit etc. I do not know! Think about it… you control yourself, don’t you? So you, yourself and the control exerted are three separate entities. Mad, innit?

But that separateness leads to questions like “what do you have? What do you control? And mind you, how do you do that?”

The clothes on my back, the salary I draw, the bed I sleep in… changeable. Childhood mementoes – more difficult to give. Ourselves or the people around us – let’s not joke about it!

So the giving is not so much of an object, although they are a start – and the easiest.

It is in the relationships where we have so much trouble giving. Managing expectations, so to speak.

I consider the people I love to be entitled to what I have to give, objects, advice, time, suppport etc. It is therefore my privilege to give so that everything should be normal. Note, it is not a prerogative. Nor can I lose. That object, the perfect gift, I cannot give it to anyone else. How could I say “I love you” if I am not prepared to share the time and the memories? We only ever should count at the end of a relationship.

Fingers crossed, it would have been worth it!