If It Weren’t For Bad Luck

I broke my arm coming off my horse in September, then in late November I tried to walk when my foot was asleep and fell and broke the same arm again, in a different spot.  My doctor called the second break freakishly bad luck.  I kept waiting for the third bad luck; I didn’t have to wait long for my son to cut himself on his index finger, requiring an emergency room run and sutures. I’m hoping we are done with bad luck for a while.  In the meantime, here is an essay about luck.

Bad luck comes in threes, and it feels lately that I am surrounded by bad luck. I remember the song lyrics: “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.”* I keep counting my bad luck.   I count in threes, then when more bad things happen I count in nines, then twenty-sevens.  My bad luck is increasing exponentially.  It’s not just the little things: a malfunctioning light switch, a twisted ankle, a trip cancelled due to snow.  It’s the big things: a car in the ditch, death of a family member, dealing with another broken arm.  Then I add in the other bad luck and challenges my friends and community are struggling with, more death, another war in the middle east, or potential toxins in our water.   There is so much to worry about.   I’m not sure what to do except drink chamomile tea before bed and hope I can sleep; or on the worst nights, pour myself some whisky before bed.  Maybe I should just stop getting out of bed and bring the whole bottle in with me.  The bad luck multiplies like mosquitos in a marsh in spring, and the mosquitos are carrying West Nile Virus.

I am forcing myself to look past the bad luck.  If I don’t count it, maybe I won’t dwell on it.  I’ve decided to count my good luck instead.  I’m sure good luck will beat bad luck, because rather than coming in threes, it comes in fours.  Of course, I’m making that up.  Afterall, four-leaf clovers are lucky, and they have four leaves.  In an exponential race, fours will always win over threes.   And even-numbers are so much more shareable: imagine four chocolate graham crackers.  No crackers worth their salt break into threes.   Four graham crackers, quartered, make sixteen pieces.  So symmetrical. So calming.  Sixteen pieces of sweet, good-luck crunch.  I’ll start my list of four pieces of good luck: my broken arms were simple breaks, no surgery was necessary.  It’s winter, the best time to be inside and resting, the best time for broken arms.  Since I won’t be making homemade gifts for Christmas due to my broken arm, I can visit galleries and buy art for friends and family instead.  The planned eye surgery I had in the midst of all the unplanned injuries has improved my site in my right eye.  Now I can more clearly see my list of good luck growing as fast as I can count.

I was so sure of myself and my new-found luck-counting strategy that I looked up lucky numbers on the internet.  All answers can be found on the internet, right or wrong. Unfortunately, it turns out four is considered an unlucky number in many Asian cultures.  The Chinese word for four sounds the same as the word for death; a number to be avoided.  But the Buddhists talk about the four noble truths, and the eightfold path.  Together, these ideas recognize that suffering and anguish exists, and that there are ways to live that lessen the suffering.  There are ways to be in-the-moment.  Four truths, and eight guidelines.  Eight.  An even number divisible by four.  See, there is something special about my good-luck number.

Perhaps luck is not in counting at all, but in my attitude.  I have always been an optimist.  I thrive in my optimism.  I hide in my optimism. I stick with things long past the time a normal person would give up, because I believe it will get better.  I believe there is room for compromise, and talking, and working things out.  Mostly.  Unless you push me too hard.  Or you bother my kids.  Then you will find it unlucky to push my limits.

Sometimes attitude is all about rituals and taking time.  In The Gambia, they have complicated greetings.  Before talking about anything else, you must ask how the family is, how the day is, how the work is, how all of the people of the village are doing.  The answer is often a variation of “Peace”, or “Slow slow”.  But my favorite answer is: “Here only.”  The family is here only.  The day is here only.  The work is here only.  All of the people of the village are here only.  I love the simplicity of the phrase.  All these challenges and bad things are going on, the peanut fields need weeding, the lunch isn’t cooked yet, the water needs hauling, the baby is sick, but life is still continuing; it is here only.  That’s where I need to be.  Here.  Here and now.  Here only.  No good luck, no bad luck, just here.    

I often pretend I have it all together and nothing bothers me.  But it’s not true.  I try to live in the moment, but I don’t succeed.  I’m a total worrier.  I worry about things I have no control over.  I worry about other people.  I worry about our government.  I worry about kitchen cupboards and whether there are enough screws in them to hold them on the wall.  When I count my worries, whether by threes, or by fours, I can’t sleep.  With a roof over my head, a warm bed, and a whole weekend to relax I can still worry myself awake.  I could find a new drug that allows me to sleep, but then I’d worry about the side effects.  Maybe I can calmly develop steps and solutions to solve each worrisome problem as I lay sleepless.  When I try to do that, it takes all night.  So I get out of bed, move to the couch, take an herbal remedy that may or may not work, and sometimes I fall asleep.  Sometimes it’s the change of scenery, change of cushion, change of location that allows me to sleep.  I am not just here only, I am there only. 

I still wait for the day when life will calm down, and only good things will happen; the day I will just have good luck.  But I think this only happens in fairy tales, and even then, there are evil step-mothers and scary giants.  Until that perfect day when all my luck is good, I will try to embrace what is here, only.  I will count my chocolate graham crackers and share the pieces with my friends.  The Buddhist poet Masahide wrote one of my favorite sayings: Barn’s burnt down-/ now/ I can see the moon.  The next time I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about my bad luck, or needing some ibuprofen for my arm pain, I’ll go downstairs, open the blinds and look for the moon. 

* “Born under a Bad Sign” by Booker T. Jones and William Bell, sung by Eric Clapton, among others.

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