Luck is a cop out

I’ve written that I don’t believe in luck.

The only type of luck you can convince me of is the luck of the genetic lottery–born in a thriving period in human history with a particular family or natural ability (like being 6’3) or with access to education or healthcare vs. a period of war or poverty or disease.

Too often, our culture has convinced us that we are subjects to a cosmic Powerball, that success is a product of luck. We seduce ourselves into believing ‘us’ and ‘them’ are different from ‘you’ and ‘I’ and ‘me’. “I wish I was that lucky” becomes our calling card.

Of course, we’re wrong. It doesn’t take us off the hook.

Because they are, we are, all the same.

Except.

Except the choices we make along the way. Except the opportunities we take when they are presented.

It’s true, everyone is born with different access to resources–far too many are born into circumstances that are less than ideal. But I would argue that anyone who spends an hour a day watching television has demonstrated they have an hour of their time to make something that needs to be made.

Too often, we use luck as a way to demean the hard, emotional work of others. I think it’s time to smash that false limit we put on ourselves.