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Shelley's Satellite of Stuff & Nonsense

The Archived Chaos of Shelley's Mind

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Vol. 2, No. 2

Lately, I've been thinking about Irish luck.

My definition of Irish luck is the emergence an eventual good effect following worry and suffering. This is never an overwhelmingly good effect, like winning the lottery when you're worrying about how to pay your bills, but a moderately good effect, like finding a small error in your checkbook that gives you just enough cash to cover the phone bill.

Fortune generally smiles on me, in an Irish sort of way.

At various times, this strange sort of luck has occurred in all areas of my life: career, health, family life, and physical environment. I've actually begun to think that every time I'm miserable about something, there's a small miracle banked up somewhere for me and it's just about ready pay out. I think this kind of thinking must be some twisted form of optimism.

This guy I know recently told me that I was an eternal optimist. I had to laugh. Lately, I feel like my life is passing me by while my soul is crushed under the burden of corporate slavery. I'm not feeling very cheery -- I'm tired, grumpy, and stressed. I have a tendency to think my little part of the world is populated with complete incompetents. Me, an optimist? That guy must have been joking!

But then I stop to think about it.

Almost always, there is something good that springs from the aggravation: motivation to make a change I've been putting off, a final fix to a chronic problem, a chance to strengthen relationships with compatriots caught up in the same stress.

I guess it's about time that I looked for that bit of luck. Maybe I'll start by balancing my checkbook...

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