My name's Chris. When I was once asked to pick three words to describe myself,
I wrote need more words, which got me into a great deal of trouble.
luck n. \'lək\
I was lucky tonight. After the first few hands of poker, I had already drawn out a straight flush, and in the last hand of the night, I would hit quad fives on the flop. Both of them were Omaha hands, where you have four cards in front of you, not two, so the odds of each occuring were that much less infinitesimal. When I showed the straight flush, CH said to me, "You're more likely to be hit by lightning than to get that hand."
I asked, "Really?" and he laughed, I don't know whether it was because it was just a tall tale I had fallen for, or if he found it funny, the way my eyes must have widened at what he said. I decided to let it go, to feel lucky whether or not I actually was.
I don't believe in luck, actually. I don't believe there is really such a thing as randomness, that things occur without any reason. I also don't believe that all reasons are grand or complex, or even that they're all fair. These are matters of faith for me. I don't know how I decided this, or even if I decided it at all or simply knew it, but I do believe it. Instead of luck, I believe in probability. You have to in order to have any measure of success with poker. If you need one more card to make a flush, the odds of that happening are roughly 1 in 4; if you need a straight instead, it's 1 in 3. Some people would call whether or not you complete that particular flush luck, I think. Instead I think of how the deck was collected after the last hand was over, the particular way each of my friends shuffles a deck of cards, even how humid the air is, and whether that makes the cards stick to each other. Each of these things carries a meaning, each affects how the cards will end up, and all of it is unknowable. This, I think, is what is luck is made of.
There are thunderstorms forecast for every day this week. I watched one roll in this past afternoon; the dark clouds streamed overhead faster than I have ever seen clouds move. (I remember marvelling the first time I ever noticed clouds moving -- I thought, how could I have missed this for so long?) It was quitting time so I packed up my things as fast as I could, though I felt I had to stop once I was outside to snap a few pictures of the stormclouds. They didn't even look like clouds. They had no shape at all. They could not be named rabbit or dog or balloon; there was nothing for a child's imagination to latch onto. They were a continuous roil of dark gray, frightening and disordered.
As I walked to the parking garage, I felt a buzz in my body like a static electricity charge building. I've read that people, before they are struck by lightning, feel it coming. That a positive charge washes over you before the electrons of the lightning grip you tight. Behind me, to the west, there were bolts of lightning in the distance, distinct lines that I could make out though I had heard no thunder. I hurried my walk to the garage, but I did not run. I was lucky.
I asked, "Really?" and he laughed, I don't know whether it was because it was just a tall tale I had fallen for, or if he found it funny, the way my eyes must have widened at what he said. I decided to let it go, to feel lucky whether or not I actually was.
I don't believe in luck, actually. I don't believe there is really such a thing as randomness, that things occur without any reason. I also don't believe that all reasons are grand or complex, or even that they're all fair. These are matters of faith for me. I don't know how I decided this, or even if I decided it at all or simply knew it, but I do believe it. Instead of luck, I believe in probability. You have to in order to have any measure of success with poker. If you need one more card to make a flush, the odds of that happening are roughly 1 in 4; if you need a straight instead, it's 1 in 3. Some people would call whether or not you complete that particular flush luck, I think. Instead I think of how the deck was collected after the last hand was over, the particular way each of my friends shuffles a deck of cards, even how humid the air is, and whether that makes the cards stick to each other. Each of these things carries a meaning, each affects how the cards will end up, and all of it is unknowable. This, I think, is what is luck is made of.
There are thunderstorms forecast for every day this week. I watched one roll in this past afternoon; the dark clouds streamed overhead faster than I have ever seen clouds move. (I remember marvelling the first time I ever noticed clouds moving -- I thought, how could I have missed this for so long?) It was quitting time so I packed up my things as fast as I could, though I felt I had to stop once I was outside to snap a few pictures of the stormclouds. They didn't even look like clouds. They had no shape at all. They could not be named rabbit or dog or balloon; there was nothing for a child's imagination to latch onto. They were a continuous roil of dark gray, frightening and disordered.
As I walked to the parking garage, I felt a buzz in my body like a static electricity charge building. I've read that people, before they are struck by lightning, feel it coming. That a positive charge washes over you before the electrons of the lightning grip you tight. Behind me, to the west, there were bolts of lightning in the distance, distinct lines that I could make out though I had heard no thunder. I hurried my walk to the garage, but I did not run. I was lucky.
