Good Luck

As a kid I had an eye for four-leaf clovers. I never had to hunt for them as other people did. It fascinated my mother, and I never lost the knack for it. Every time I come home, I find one.

Until now.

Every time I think I’ve spotted the elusive clover, it turns out to be a dud (no offense to the run-of-the-mill three-leaf clover). My best efforts are now thwarted by my own excitement and anticipation. Then it occured to me: what if they’re all gone? What if we’ve picked them all?

We all know that when the clover is plucked, it dies. Maybe not immediately, but the end is certainly inevitable. We have no evidence (at least I don’t) that another necessarily grows back in its place. Maybe that’s the problem with the world today: we’ve picked all the good luck already, and there’s nothing growing back in its place.

With that in mind, if and when I stumble upon another lucky clover, I will leave it firmly attached to its roots. I will marvel over it briefly, smiling and thinking to myself, “Oh yeah, I’ve still got it.”


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