What do you do when Lady Luck leaves you?
For she is a lady. The ancients knew
this; the Greeks named her Tyche, the Romans Fortuna.
Tyche was more interested in the
community than the individual; she was revered for protecting the
cities of ancient Greece or, I assume, blamed for not doing so when
things went wrong. Like her Roman counterpart, she could dispense ill
fortune as well as good.
The Romans believed that Fortuna had a
thing for those of strong character; audentes fortuna iuvat,
they would say, which has come down into English as “fortune
favours the bold”.
That seems a bit narrow-minded to me,
but imperialists usually are. The important women in my life,
including Ms Luck, are forgiving (up to a point), gentle (unless
scorned), loving (with small, reasonable conditions), insightful
(often to an unnerving degree), good-humoured (yet dangerous when the
joke is clumsy) and delightfully, frustratingly unpredictable.
I’ve always considered myself
extraordinarily lucky. I’ve never won more than $50 in a lottery,
and I’ve had to work for a living since my late teens; there have
been no silver spoons. But hundreds of millions of others around the
world must struggle every day just to survive; the fact that most of
them do survive is evidence that their characters are stronger than
mine. Yet Fortuna’s gentler side neglects them, while holding me in
her warm embrace.
My wife is superstitious. She believes
luck is a commodity doled out by spirits, and that it is earned. My
good fortune is due to my jai di, good heart; she has little
patience for my counter-argument that my jai is no more or
less di than the average guy’s. As for her, she has always
tried to do her best in what were until she met me unfavourable
circumstances. Her good fortune, marrying me, is the result.
A few years ago, a former friend and
colleague, who became my enemy, was murdered. I regretted that he had
met such an awful end before we had reconciled, yet his funeral was a
comfort; I had the sense that the poison in my soul caused by
our enmity went up the chimney of the crematorium.
Not too long afterward another
colleague from that same former workplace, this time a close friend,
also died, in less violent circumstances (though I’ll never forget
the sight of a burly orderly in the cardiac care unit bouncing on his
chest trying in vain to restart his heart). A year later, his widow,
also superstitious, told my wife to take extra care of me. Two of the
three senior staffers of that workplace in the mid-2000s were now
dead, and one year after taking her husband, the evil spirits might
want to take No 3 as well. That would be me.
That conversation between the widow and
my wife took place about two weeks ago. Around the same time, we
initiated talks with a family friend about getting health insurance
for me. But we didn’t follow through. And procrastination, as we
know, is a character weakness.
My current employer recently agreed to
let me work from home, and we therefore moved out of Bangkok into the
house we built several years ago in my wife’s home town in
northeastern Thailand. It was a dream come true, especially for her –
at last, we were in our own house, and not somebody’s tenants.
A month after the move, and shortly
after yet another failure to get moving on finding an insurance
policy, I contracted a bad infection in my left foot. As I write
this, I’m still in hospital fighting off the resultant disease, a
highly dangerous one that in extreme cases can result in amputation.
One character flaw too many; Fortuna
was gone.
And now, so are our savings. Family and
friends are helping us get through. The biggest benefactor has been a
friend we once helped out financially, allowing him years to pay us
back. He apparently invested that money wisely and now has a lucrative
business. He is funding my stay in a private hospital. I’ve always
believed that what goes around comes around; I got lots of help when
I was struggling as a young man. Later I helped others when I could,
not demanding or expecting compensation. Nearly everyone I know does
the same – they have jai di too.
So maybe it is all just luck of the
draw, and all is not lost, yet. Perhaps I can woo Lady Luck back. I
may lack character, but I have my charms.
