other luck
We were driving back from lacrosse practice yesterday and Mags was filling me in on the news of her day, one of the points of interest being that her friend's family was getting, "all new furniture".
"Everywhere!" She said. "New couches, new tables, new beds.." etc.
"They have a huge discount because they work there and there is a sale or something and they can get, like, $7,000 worth of furniture for $500 or something--"
A little factoid that blew my mind for a number of reasons. One: Who is having THAT kind of a sale? And Two: New furniture being something I never- positively NEVER--think about. A chair is more than an electric bill. A couch is an entire paycheck. Furniture? Lord, but wouldn't I get a kick out of a life where I could afford something so unnecessary, so abundant!
I said to Mags, "I can honestly say that never in my life have I gotten a sweep of all new furniture."
She shrugged, mind already wandering away from the conversation. Feet on the dash, checking her phone, reclined back enough to create her perfect teenage car-slouch.
"You've had other luck."
Now, isn't that perfect? Such a fine thing to say in the imperfect, random distribution of fate. A whimsy of affluence that seems to have landed on some but not others--regardless of how much work we do or how hard we do it.
"You've had other luck," she says, and I know it to be true. Such bounty in ways that don't add up in columns, but fill to overflowing.
"You've had other luck," she says, and I am so proud of her ease in spirit, her acceptance of the precariousness of life's abundance. A bit of a non-reaction, really. A non-engagement in the comparisons of the world. A reaction so non-integrated with the moment that it confirms the bedrock of her belief. The sky is blue. It is raining. I play lacrosse. A fact, like these, so clear that it can almost be taken for granted.
"You've had other luck," she says and I can hear myself in her. How many times have I said something of the same quality to her?
I love Max Ehrman's quote: "If you compare yourselves to others, you may become vain and bitter for always there will be greater or lesser persons than yourself."
Soon, she's lost in her phone. A 2-hour practice is a long time to be out of touch with the world...so many comunications to respond to.
"You've had other luck," she reminds me, and I smile.
"Yes, I suppose I have."
"Everywhere!" She said. "New couches, new tables, new beds.." etc.
"They have a huge discount because they work there and there is a sale or something and they can get, like, $7,000 worth of furniture for $500 or something--"
A little factoid that blew my mind for a number of reasons. One: Who is having THAT kind of a sale? And Two: New furniture being something I never- positively NEVER--think about. A chair is more than an electric bill. A couch is an entire paycheck. Furniture? Lord, but wouldn't I get a kick out of a life where I could afford something so unnecessary, so abundant!
I said to Mags, "I can honestly say that never in my life have I gotten a sweep of all new furniture."
She shrugged, mind already wandering away from the conversation. Feet on the dash, checking her phone, reclined back enough to create her perfect teenage car-slouch.
"You've had other luck."
Now, isn't that perfect? Such a fine thing to say in the imperfect, random distribution of fate. A whimsy of affluence that seems to have landed on some but not others--regardless of how much work we do or how hard we do it.
"You've had other luck," she says, and I know it to be true. Such bounty in ways that don't add up in columns, but fill to overflowing.
"You've had other luck," she says, and I am so proud of her ease in spirit, her acceptance of the precariousness of life's abundance. A bit of a non-reaction, really. A non-engagement in the comparisons of the world. A reaction so non-integrated with the moment that it confirms the bedrock of her belief. The sky is blue. It is raining. I play lacrosse. A fact, like these, so clear that it can almost be taken for granted.
"You've had other luck," she says and I can hear myself in her. How many times have I said something of the same quality to her?
I love Max Ehrman's quote: "If you compare yourselves to others, you may become vain and bitter for always there will be greater or lesser persons than yourself."
Soon, she's lost in her phone. A 2-hour practice is a long time to be out of touch with the world...so many comunications to respond to.
"You've had other luck," she reminds me, and I smile.
"Yes, I suppose I have."