Lucky

"You're lucky. You're probably the luckiest person, I know." she says. It hits me hard. I haven't thought of myself as lucky for a really long time. I've thought of myself as stupid, irritational, emotional and disorganised. Lucky never popped up among the many things I have labelled myself with. Me, lucky? To her, I am. I've traveled, I've met friends all over the world who have helped me when I needed it, I have a caring family who supports my irrational ass. I've once again made a somewhat reckless move abroad and there are people on the other side catching me. I guess, I am lucky. Lucky and hardworking (in some aspects). Luck kind of implies passiveness. Like things just happen to you. I don't consider myself passive. I consider myself a whirlwind. And maybe yeah, a few lucky things get swirled up in my storm, but if I don't pursue the things I want, nobody's gonna give them to me. We sit there on her bedroom floor as I think about my new label. Lucky. It's a perspective, I think I needed to hear about. Maybe it's time to relabel myself.