I’ve always had strong feelings about the word luck.
When I retired just over ten years ago now, I was frequently told “Oh you’re so lucky to be retired.” If I were in a gracious mood I would smile and nod. If I was feeling obnoxious, as was more likely the case given my personality, I would respond with “I worked for 50 years to be this lucky!”.
“Oh you’re lucky to have such a neat car.” Well, yes, but I worked hard to save and pay for it, and I’ve been driving it now for 20 years. So not so sure about the luck there.
Such luck to get such a good job/promotion. High school education, five years of university. Ongoing, life-long education. Yup. Lucky. Lucky to do so well in that interview. Well, I prepared, researched, read, learned about the job and the company. Luck again. Seems the harder I worked, the luckier I got.
But I’ve had to rethink my attitude about luck lately.
I’ve recently listened to radio stories and podcasts about refugee camps in parts of the world I will never visit and rarely look up on a map. Some of these people have lived more than 20 years in unofficial refugee camps. Some have never lived anywhere else. Rape is a weapon of war and the few privileges available aren’t open to pregnant girls….such as lessons. The horrors of those born in such circumstances.
So I am lucky to have been born in Canada. And give thanks regularly for this. I was recently in The Netherlands, Belgium and France and visited WWI and WWII sites. Canadians made sacrifices of life and limb. But in the actual war zones, entire towns were destroyed, so people lost everything. Their homes, their neighbourhood, their jobs, their towns, and yes their spouses/parents/siblings. I was humbled by this and realized again that I was lucky to have been born in Canada. And for the education, health care and opportunities we have here.
I was lucky to have been born to the parents I was . They worked hard, sacrificed and did their very best for me and my brothers. I needed braces. I got braces. As an adult and knowing the pressure of putting food on the table and a roof over heads, buying school supplies and clothes, I marvel at my parents’ sacrifices to get me five years of braces.
Winning the lottery, now that would be luck. Ken and I have been using the same six numbers since the Canadian lottery was invented and are now too superstitious not to buy tickets every week. We laugh and say we used up all our luck when we met each other. And that’s the truth.
My gender stepped in the way of a few promotions years ago, but it never stopped me from being able to learn, to read, to lead, to teach. Or walk down the street for that matter. Way back it did limit the university learning streams open to me, but I went to University anyway. I was accused of going to University to get my Mrs. LOL. I certainly had my choice. Men outnumbered women five to one back then. But I was satisfied with my B. Ed.
I’ve never been stopped by an officer of the law for no apparent reason. I’ve never been refused service or care for no apparent reason.
So here I am. Retired. Beautiful roof over my head. My choice of food for the table. Books and craft supplies at will. I have loving family, good health and health care, comfort, and ability to travel. As Maria in The Sound of Music sings, “somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.”
I am privileged. I am fortunate. And yes, I guess I am lucky too. Right? And in this season of gratitude, I am thankful. Very thankful.