Lucky

 How in the world did I ever get to be so lucky?

How come I can ride my bike down the hill to Lake Washington, relax in the sun with a book and a beer, take a few swims, and then, catch a bus—for only a dollar, Senior fare!—back up the hill as my afternoon entertainment, when all over the world, even in our fair city, people are suffering all the time?

Why is it that my complaints merely include a favorite sports team losing three games in a row or that someone has underlined passages in a book that I’ve checked out from the university library at which I have unlimited borrowing privileges whereas millions and millions of my fellow human beings have far more pressing concerns, like where their next meal is coming from (if at all), and if they’ll be able to find a safe place to sleep?

Why have I been spared serious health challenges (so far, and let’s hope this doesn’t jinx it) even into my mid-sixties, when countless babies, children, and young adults have had to deal with life-threatening diseases and debilitating conditions all their lives?

I thank my lucky stars to be sure and try to live with gratitude and kindness, but it’s surely not fair.  I’ve done nothing, really, more crucial to my good fortune than being born in the right place to the right parents; I got lucky in the genetic lottery, that’s the main thing.

A simple reading of some spiritual perspectives might suggest that I did some things right in previous incarnations to have ended up where I did, but that just kicks the can down the road, doesn’t it?  How come I was lucky enough in those earlier lives to be able to improve my lot those times around?

It’s a mystery and/or perhaps just pure random chance; in any event, I open these arms to the Universe and offer my eternal gratitude.