It’s been my goal for some time now to practice living gratefully on a daily basis. Thus it seemed natural that I’d want to decide whether or not there’s anything to be grateful for in the first place. Life is gifted one, perhaps one has little say in the matter––even though some argue that it’s only those with the strongest desire to live that are birthed. Yet at any point in life, one could choose to jump off a skyscraper, or something, and paint the pavements with one’s guts. Yet many of us do not off ourselves. In fact, many of us don’t even want to die!
Perhaps one reason why many of us decide to keep on living is because something in us comprehends life to be priceless. Thus we live because we desire life which is love and because we appeal to love which is entwined with life. In other words, life springs from love and at the same time love is life. This is what the luck project entails: an experiment on the theory that one is love and learning to come to terms with, and practicing this way of being as a life goal.
It was not my intention to go lucky in 2016. But when the idea presented itself, I became excited to see where it’d lead. The concept was inspired by the thesis paper I finished earlier this year which engaged me with questions and theories on the place of pain in love. Yet the point of this lucky project had not been to understand the purpose of pain. I have come to believe that pain is not necessarily a foe and may be considered, at times, a friend.
Being lucky is knowing that everything has some good in it. Being lucky is knowing that you don’t know actually makes sense. That everything is working in your favor whether it is obvious to you or not. It is trusting that things are always working the best way they possibly can. That you are always just where you need to be and getting exactly what you should be getting. This means envy and jealousy are really a waste of your energy and time. There is nothing to envy and no one to envy.
Obviously, in order to practice being lucky, one must practice falling in love with oneself. I do not mean selfishness. Selfishness is not love, it springs from the fear that there is not enough. But there is enough and there will always be enough. Selfishness comes from the belief that one ought to compete with others, and thus place oneself above others. A distraction from what is actually important, your true self: You, the only being that you have true intimacy with on a daily basis. The only being that is with you everywhere; the only being that you will always be, with or without body. The goal is to get to know this being, to love this being and realize how lucky you are to be this being.
It seems to me that when one starts to learn to love oneself, everyone is interesting, too; some more so than others. And yet one never meets anyone that one would rather be. One yearns to learn from others; one is curious about how others see; one is inspired by others and one learns that the ways in which we travel into our selves are varied. But at the end of the day the only thing that one wants to really be is one’s true self.
There were a few interesting things I learned on this experiment. Yes, I am fully aware that I have not explained anything, but this was not a planned experiment. It was something that sort of happened outside record. Once I started claiming to be lucky, at first not very confidently, then later, with some conviction, I started losing a lot of seemingly important things. Seemingly important because that is all they were: seemingly important. Not really important. Some of my favorite people started giving me the cold shoulders. Some started looking at me with much pity and worry. Then came those who knew the way and knew what is best for me to try to help me live realistically and stop with the weird nonsense already. But the funny thing is I could not really be angry with anyone, for it became easier to see things through other perspectives. I understood that I would probably do exactly what others were doing had I been them. But here is the thing, would you settle for glitter when you can have gold?
I have always thought myself happy, but this year I have been even happier. I forgive more easily: not immediately claiming a situation to be good or bad; trying a little harder to live truthfully. And it is becoming easier to see beauty often. I even celebrated Christmas, fearlessly! And the thing is I have never felt luckier!
When I started the experiment I did not really believe that I was lucky. Now I am entirely convinced that I am. It does not mean that if I wake up tomorrow and find that I have cancer I would say “Wow! Lucky me!” But it means that I am getting better at going to events with some curiosity and trying to see them through varied lenses rather than assuming that the seemingly good is solid gold and the seeminly bad, glitter. I look to my past and everything bad that has ever happened to me, has brought me much good in time. So how can I claim that pain is unlucky?
Being lucky does not, however, mean staying in bed all day long and blowing complaint bubbles about how much life sucks! Life sucks, yes! Life sucks, of course! But life sucks bittersweetly, or if you like, sourly. Life sucks only what it can suck from you, never too much, never too little. And here is another way I like to think of it, life only sucks the poison and leaves one with the good. To only focus on the feel of its sucking and not all the good that it leaves behind is to deny oneself the whole picture. Thus one feels limited and thinks oneself to be less capable. This bars us from living gratefully and therefore not attempting to live fully. That is to try and discover, on a daily basis, what our potentials are. One concludes that one knows exactly what one is and what one is capable of, and therefore, one becomes limited to a definition that cages one from actually digging down into self to find out all the surprises existing within.
When all one can think of is the sucking aspect of life, and refuses to even appreciate the pleasure that this sucking generates, one ceases to follow one’s heart, fearlessly. Thus one is not motivated to work happily, like a freaking slave, to discover one’s secrets. So one chooses, in a sense, to live in misery, see misery everywhere, take pleasure in misery, and refuses to listen to anything that is not miserable. Then when the time comes to drop the body and every material thing that one thought oneself in possession of, one does not do so in joy but in misery. Living lucky is living joyfully and perishing in delight.
This year I was that annoying fly that went buzzing to everyone saying not only am I fortunate, but that others are equally so. You would think people would be happy to hear you claim yourself lucky, but that was not the response I got most of the time. Apparently, to admit oneself to be lucky is another way of saying; “Hello mate! I’m that fool that fortune favors! Help me see the awful things in life so I can become ashamed of my foolishness.” Or, “Throw unkind words at me so I too can learn to be properly sane.” Some people do not want anyone coming to tell them that they are lucky, either. It is to them a cruel boast––an insensitive thing to do to another person. Like, “How dare you come, and say such things to me? Can’t you see that I am the plow donkey that never gets a break, even when it is dying? Your insisting that I am lucky goes to show how naïve you are. ” Of course, these questions are rhetorical. Those who ask them do not really intend to know what you could possibly mean by their being lucky. They seem to think that they need you to understand that you do not understand.
Up until quite recently, whenever someone would say to me that I were lucky, I often felt as though I were being insulted. I wanted to go into a full speech about my being that plow donkey: “I work so hard, my middle name is, Been-Working-So-Hard.” But I am of the mind that my current depth of happiness owes much to my luck experiment. One has got to make some tough decisions in life and I would rather do that which renders me happily at home in myself––for better or for worse.
The theory that one is lucky is thus a tricky one. It seems many want only to be secretly lucky. That is, to be lucky without ever having to admit it either to themselves or to others. However, all we are is lucky, and only when we can understand this and admit to being so can we actually enjoy the awesomeness of such a station. Hence to refuse one’s luck is like running in place, no matter how fast one runs one always remains in the same place. But to accept one’s lucky status is to float merrily about. Beautiful things happened, so ever often, when I started trying to accept my luck. Every day felt a lot more magical and it was hard to not go about with a smile on my face. We are because of love’s choosing, and it seems to be Love’s will that we have only the very best. Thus anything less than the absolute beautiful is insufficient. Hence to know oneself to be lucky is to know that one holds within oneself the most beautiful and that one is made to be one with this entity.
Jane A. Odartey
