“Lady Luck: do we cre­ate her? Or is she forced upon us?”

SA­MAN­THA ARMY­TAGE

Sunday Herald Sun - Stellar - - Front Page -

The other day while making my way to work at some re­volt­ing hour of the morn­ing, the fol­low­ing things hap­pened to me: 1) I cut my leg shav­ing in the shower. 2) I fell down the stairs in the dark. 3) I ac­ci­den­tally re­versed my car into a pole.

And then num­ber 4) – the worst luck so far – I walked into the kitchen at work and there was no o milk left for my 4am cof­fee.

Had I walked un­der a lad­der? Bro­ken a mir­ror? Tipped over a salt shaker?

I did hang a horse­shoe e with the ends point­ing down once in Year 6, but I’m sure my y ap­palling hairdo in Year 7 was penance for that.

Had a black cat crossed d my path? And then I re­mem­bered. bered.

The week be­fore, I had d de­lib­er­ately, un­apolo­get­i­cally cally and with great gusto failed ed to pass on a chain let­ter. An email one.

You don’t need to know w who sent it. (OK, it was my lit­tle le sis­ter who – frankly as a no-non­sense nsense mem­ber of the Army­tage clan – should know bet­ter.)

Seven of us re­ceived it, , and as I scanned the pages re­gard­ing rd­ing a feel-good story of karma ma (some­one’s great-grand­fa­ther ather who’d dis­cov­ered peni­cillin n in some

god­for­saken place, blah, blah), I felt my hack­les start to rise. My an­noy­ance was not di­rected at the in­ven­tor of an­tibi­otics. It was for the in­ven­tor of the email chain. And also for my­self, because try as I might to de­tach from the pos­si­bil­ity of seven years’ bad luck if I didn’t pass it on to seven peo­ple in my in­box, I still felt fear­ful. Para­dox­i­cally Para­dox­i­cally, while I con­sider my­self to be a fairly s sen­si­ble young woman (who lies about ab her age), I also refuse to put shoe shoes on a ta­ble or open an um­brella in­side the house. And the very thought of dis­obey dis­obey­ing a chain let­ter still scares the be­je­sus out of me. Go Good old Lady Luck. Do you c cre­ate her for your­self? Or is she forced upon us? Most of us try to bring good luck to our lives. To be op­timi op­ti­mistic, hard-work­ing, re­silien re­silient and happy for oth­ers. But on the days we’re eas­ily an­noyed and lazy, should we avoid sha shav­ing our legs at 3.30am and take our own milk to work? And why w do we wish peo­ple “good lu luck” be­fore an exam or a wed­ding weddi or a fam­ily Christ­mas? Can Lady Luck save us if we’re n not prop­erly pre­pared? Has any­one ever ac­tu­ally found a four-leaf clover? And who should we turn to for ad­vice? Dirty Harry with his “Do you feel lucky, punk?” The Dalai Lama preaches, “Some­times not get­ting what you want is a won­der­ful stroke of luck.”

There’s Frank Si­na­tra, who sang ‘Luck Be A Lady’.

How about the Ir­ish, who swear by the say­ing “the harder you work, the luck­ier you get”?

And then there’s my mother, who just plainly swears: “I think the L in my Luck has been re­placed with an F.”

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