By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
I don’t believe in luck. I think good things and bad things happen with the same random dispersion. Of course, we can increase the likelihood of good outcomes by making wise decisions, just as we can invite trouble through foolish ones. If I decided to see how long I could wait before crossing the tracks in front of an oncoming train, and the result proved unfortunate, that wouldn’t be terribly bad luck—it would simply be the harvest of my dimwitted choices.
And while I don’t believe in good fortune or that some people are simply lucky, there are moments when I look at my life and feel compelled to call myself something very close to it. Perhaps the better word is blessed.
It doesn’t take a genius to watch the news and realize how good we have it in America. I know the media often paints a picture of widespread misery and oppression, but, well—I live here. I see people. All kinds of people. I spend my days on a large college campus filled with individuals from all over the world. And from where I stand, I see abundance.
We have a staggering number of choices: places to eat, things to do, goods and services to buy. We grumble about the prices, of course, but most of us still partake in some measure. The simple truth is that people living in this country are among the wealthiest on the planet, whether we like to admit it or not. Some will point out that poverty exists here—and they are right. But in many places, our poverty would look remarkably comfortable compared to the realities elsewhere.
I worry that I’m beginning to sound flippant, as though I believe I live in a perfect world. That isn’t my intent. I’ve seen enough of the world to know that perfection is not on offer. But I’ve also seen what life looks like in places where freedom barely exists. In some corners of the globe, the smallest attempt to exercise personal liberty can cost someone their life.
Here, we are free to believe as we wish. We can cling to the things that truly matter—or shout loudly about trivialities and pure, unadulterated silliness. Yet the fact that I can think and speak freely, without fear of government punishment, is something I should never take for granted. And yet I often do. It’s difficult to fully appreciate what we have until we are confronted with the horror of living without it.
But the comfort of my life is not only the result of living in a free country. Sometimes the reminders arrive much closer to home.
My mother volunteers at my daughter’s school, and through her work she hears the stories behind the children who fill those classrooms. She learns about homes where parents don’t particularly care. She hears about children who view school not as a chore, but as a refuge—the one place where peace exists, where home is not warm and comforting but somewhere they would rather escape.
And then I look at my own life.
Here I sit, surrounded by an affectionate family. I grew up with parents who doted on me and sacrificed for whatever I needed. I cannot fathom what it would be like to grow up in a home where you are little more than an afterthought. If I am honest, the thought breaks my heart and stirs a righteous anger in me that any child should endure such things. I have some rather strong opinions about those who would inflict that sort of life upon their own offspring—but perhaps that is a rant for another day.
I am also healthy. Most people rarely give much thought to a well-functioning body until they find themselves without one. Today alone I learned of three funerals. As I write this, a family member is fighting for their life in a hospital bed.
Meanwhile, my most pressing physical concern is how many pounds I might gain before I finish the massive birthday cake sitting in my kitchen.
What a luxurious problem to have.
I suppose I’ve spent a fair bit of time hurling these thoughts at you rather abruptly. For that, I apologize. But if nothing else, I want to insist—at least to myself—that I recognize how good I truly have it. I need to be more grateful for the astonishing abundance that has been lavished upon my life.
Lately, I’ve realized how often I complain about molehills while mountains are being thrust upon so many others.
May I learn to be grateful for how wonderful my life truly is.
In the grand scheme of things, the greatest challenge I face most days might be a less-than-fluffed pillow upon which to lounge. Let me not be the person who bemoans a life others would envy.
Let my eyes be opened.
Let me truly see.
Prose and Possibilities 