I do not think I would call myself lucky.
I’ve tried to sit with that, especially with St. Patrick’s Day (being today) when everything feels centered around the idea of luck, like it’s something you either have or you don’t, something that explains why things fall into place. But when I look at my own life, that word doesn’t fully land. I can see the effort too clearly. I can trace the long days, the decisions, the moments where I had to keep going without knowing if anything would come from it. I know how much of where I am is the result of showing up, again and again, even when it felt like nothing was moving yet. And I don’t want to give that away by calling it something accidental.
At the same time, I don’t think I can take full ownership of it either. Because when I really think about it, there are parts of my life that didn’t come from effort alone. There are people who entered my life at the exact right time, in ways I couldn’t have planned. There are opportunities that appeared without me forcing them into existence. There are moments that shifted something in me completely, and I didn’t earn them in any clear or measurable way, they just found me. And I don’t know if “luck” is the right word for that either, but I know it’s something.
I think that’s why I’ve become more careful with how I talk about it. Careful not to give away what I know I have earned, because that effort matters and it’s real. But also careful not to take credit for things that were never fully mine to claim. There’s a balance in acknowledging both, and I think I’m still learning how to hold that without minimizing either side. I can say I worked for where I am, and I can also say I’m grateful for what showed up along the way, even when I didn’t expect it.
And maybe that’s where gratitude has started to feel more honest than luck. Because it doesn’t erase the work, and it doesn’t try to explain away the unexplainable—it just acknowledges that not everything came from me. Sometimes I catch myself quietly saying thank you, not always out loud and not always with any clear direction, just a small recognition of the fact that some things in my life arrived without me having to fight for them. And there’s something grounding about that, even if I can’t fully define it.
Sitting in that perspective changes the way I think about everything else too. It softens the urgency a little. It makes things feel less fragile, like my entire life isn’t dependent on getting every step exactly right. Because when I really think about it, the things that are meant for me aren’t going to disappear that easily. The right people won’t pass me by because I didn’t say something perfectly. The right opportunities won’t vanish because my timing wasn’t flawless. The life that is meant for me isn’t that delicate.
That doesn’t mean effort doesn’t matter because it does. It always will. But maybe it doesn’t have to come from a place of fear or pressure. Maybe it can just come from a willingness to keep going, to stay open, to continue putting yourself in situations where something could happen, without feeling like you have to force every outcome into place. Because forcing something and allowing something are two very different things, and I think we confuse the two more often than we realize.
You don’t have to chase everything, and you don’t have to exhaust yourself trying to make something work that clearly doesn’t. Some things will require effort, patience, consistency—but the right things won’t require you to abandon yourself in the process. And that distinction feels important, especially in a world that constantly pushes the idea that if you just try hard enough, you can make anything happen.
Maybe being a “go-getter” isn’t about controlling every part of your life. Maybe it’s about doing your part fully and honestly, while still leaving room for the parts that aren’t yours to control. Maybe it’s about trusting that what is meant for you will meet you somewhere along the way, not because you forced it to, but because you stayed long enough for it to find you.
So no, I don’t think I would call myself lucky. But I also don’t think I got here alone. And maybe the people we see as the “luckiest” aren’t the ones who had everything fall into place—they’re just the ones who didn’t give up before what was meant for them had the chance to find them.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day,
Emi Sue !
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