The Luck of the Irish

Luck. Lucky. Luke.

Isn’t it funny how the mind wanders, prompted by the word of the day luck? Luck; in my mind it’s a fickle but also glowing notion. Sometimes its there, sometimes – pouf – it’s gone.

Why is it, that some seem born under lucky stars where nothing ever seems to harm them? Living in a bubble of lucky glow that creates sunshine and warmth as they float through life. 

Why is it, that others try to run after luck and just never quite manage to grasp it? It eludes the edge of their fingertips just when they’re reaching for that bubble. Swish, and it’s gone. It makes you wonder why luck is elusive for some and sticky as bubble gum for others?

Maybe, in honour of yesterday’s Saint Patrick’s day, the answer lies in the Luck of the Irish. The land of poets and musicians, perched on an island away from the mainland and with a yearning vision across the ocean, is blessed with rainbows and emeralds.

Maybe the answer lies therein: that luck is found in the most wonderous of places. It’s found where light and dark meet, where hardship meets hope, where inspiration conquers fear, and where courage lights the way. Maybe, just maybe, luck flows where courage lives and where patience meets contentment. Where ideas are shared and opinions voiced.

Maybe, luck is not so much a bubble of good luck, but also self-invented armour to ward off bad luck. Maybe, it’s believing in miracles and allowing time to work. Maybe it’s trusting in one’s own strength and imagination.

Luck, lucky Luke, was probably lucky, because he ventured off with a straw in his mouth and a whistling tune on his lips. Not knowing where the road would lead.


Why is it, that discussing ‘politics’ was frowned upon for so long?

Politics. One should never discuss politics on a first date they say.

Or bring it up at a Broadway show for that matter, as I learned by reading a facebook comment today. We learned that politics are best left aside at work events and birthday parties, at dinners with parents of the new boyfriend or lunch times with little known colleagues.

Too dangerous a territory, discussing politics was slowly but surely banned from the table. Think about it. There are so many unwritten rules that we’re not supposed to discuss politics.

But why is that and does it any make sense? Why is it, that discussing politics was frowned upon for so long?

I wonder when discussing politics became a no-go. Was it Knigge? And why are we still adhering to these rules?

Is it because our voice might be heard, or because we have an opinion? Which might be different than our neighbour’s or might cause our co-worker to reflect. Or is it because we, in turn, might hear things we don’t agree with and might have to open our strong opinion up to challenges? Are we afraid, lazy or so adapted that we won’t discuss politics?

But isn’t the cornerstone of a democracy debate? The freedom of speech we so fight for. Why do we give it up by our own free will? Why do we silence our opinions at the table only for them to bubble under the surface for so long?

If we look at it logically, in a democracy, society is politics. We are politics. Our actions and fears and aspirations drive politics. Why then should we not discuss politics as if it was some third party topic that had nothing to do with our lives?

Shouldn’t we rather take the chance and give our opinions a voice ? A chance to debate with others’ opinions? A chance  for our opinions to defend themselves and to reflect? A chance to be heard and understood and misunderstood as we all are? Isn’t it a strength to be able to debate politics?

Politics is a noble topic – if we fill it with content. Not something to be ashamed of or to be swept under the rug.

So let’s give our opinions a chance. Let’s give politics a place at the table again. And an ostentatious one at that. And in doing so, maybe we can come to realise that in a democracy, we are all politicians too.