You Make Your Own Luck, Or Not

I have never been so arrogant as to think that all of my planning, hard work and skill in achieving a particular objective was derived from anything other than good luck. Nor have I ever been so apathetic as to think that all of my planning, hard work and skill in an unsuccessful pursuit of an objective was derived from bad luck. To be sure, through diligence and tenacity, we make our own luck, but, in the final analysis, we still have to be very lucky, whether it be some factor from the distant past, such as where we were born, our parents, our teachers, our friends, our partners, or some contemporary factor, such as a new acquaintance or 'lucky break' at precisely the right moment. By that same token, through our actions, we also make our own bad luck, and though we can reason that chance plays a part in either good or bad luck, I contend that we should always lean towards being excessively grateful for anything we accomplish, and thoughtfully introspective for everything we try and fail to do.

Who are you again?

There is a not-so-famous quote from [I think but cannot verify] C.S. Lewis that goes something like "the man who gets on the train is not the same man who gets off the train", which describes how our journeys transform us. This is not so noticeable in our every day acquaintances, such is the transparent nature of incremental change, but it is noticeable in our infrequent acquaintances, including the closest of family and friends that, through circumstance, have become distant and infrequent. On several occasions, I've been struck with the notion that the person I just spent time with is 'not that person anymore'. Of course, they are still who they are, but, from a relative perspective, where I am the observer, they are no longer who they were, and I don't recognize them anymore. This can, of course, be a very sad realization for the attachments of the past, but also a happy one for the entanglements of the past, if the transformation opens up the possibility to reconnect without the baggage. Turning the observation inward, there is probably no more transparent transformation than the one that we undergo and observe, but it bears witnessing nonetheless, and, perhaps, the realization that 'I am not that person anymore' can be liberating, especially if one has not yet mastered living in the present, or, alternatively, motivating, if one has lost a redeemable quality that they covet. In either case, recognizing when someone has transformed, or when you have transformed, to a degree sufficient to say that they or you are 'not the same person anymore' is useful, in terms of engaging old people in new ways, and helping them understand who you are, beyond the framework of who you were. Who are you again?