luck and lovers

There is no such thing as luck. It is simply a product of gratitude expressed; of gratitude made known.  Sadly, to live of life devoted to random acts of kindness is to live anonymously and which is more conducive to happiness; anonymity or notoriety? To be known and reminded of your deeds, to be renowned, to be made a legend or a tall tail is to be remembered. To live anonymously, committing oneself to kindness left untold, to deeds of generosity of which you go unrecognized is to be forgotten. Good luck is a product of gratitude expressed because our desire to be remembered is reciprocal and we know it. To be remembered is often a byproduct of our serving in the act of ensuring the remembrance of others. The lucky ones are not necessarily the most grateful, but  the ones who express their appreciation whether or not it is genuine. Of course purity is often not ephemeral and because a genuine is so rare and imitation or ulterior motives so pervasive, the golden ones often stand out. Life, though, is not necessarily about constant happiness. In fact, the way I see it, life is necessarily lonely and sad and people are not at all whole. We are fragments of our former selves they say and products of imitations. We are young and stupid and vain and grow older and wiser only to realize that all that we have accumulated weighs heavily. Life is necessarily lonely; it is our unfortunate fortune. Because when we live a live of notoriety then we have necessarily gained some of it by way of disingenuine expressions of gratitude. And if we live a life of anonymity then we live a life in which we are forgotten. And both of these lives are a tradeoff for one another. In either one, we are left fragmented, unwhole, constantly wondering whether it is better to be recognized or to express gratitude unfelt or if it is better to live as a hobbit and be nice, yet keep to oneself, expressing gratitude where we see fit and not because we are hoping that it will lead to good luck.

 

I read in an Oscar Wilde book once "sometimes I feel as if my life were a summation of all of the love affairs that I have had." Each one being so different, filling us up with a part of ourselves that we convince ourself is missing, whether it be reason or faith or money or kinship. Our love affairs make us whole and we are necessarly unwhole, but in different ways throughout the course of our lives. To stick with one lover throughout ones life is to commit to remaining the same yourself and convincing yourself that this lover is the best possible option for completing your circle. truth is tricky business. They say that honesty is about staying true to your "word," your "self," your "other." But your words, selves, and others are fleeting. The self I was and the half of myself that needed completing is not the same as the one I am today. I need completing in a different way today. My needs having been met by this lover and that, I move on and on. Does it ever end? Is truth so simple as to stay true to your word? To stay committed? Or is this not, in fact, the most dishonest thing that one can do?  Is this not to live the truest lie of all?