The Luck Illusion
“You’re always lucky,” he said.
It wasn’t a compliment, not really — more of an observation. One of those offhand remarks people make, casually and confidently, without realising they’re lobbing a small philosophical grenade.
I didn’t challenge him immediately. I just asked: “Am I? Based on what?”
“Well,” he said, “you always seem to land on your feet.”
It’s something I’ve heard before — the idea that some people just have things work out for them. That, somehow, they navigate life’s mess with a bit more ease. Maybe it’s timing. Maybe it’s temperament. Or maybe it just looks that way from the outside. We often use one word to explain it: luck.
But here’s what doesn’t make the Instagram cut:
We failed to IPO.
Someone I trusted implicitly rinsed me for 700k.
My dog died recently.
I organised a failed book event in a record shop — only three people signed up.
Filled my new car with diesel instead of petrol.
None of that feels particularly “lucky.”
I try to avoid social media. I don’t perform wins or dramatise losses. I try not to moan — not because I’m always fine, but because I find complaining tedious, especially when it serves no corrective purpose.
But here’s the twist: in the absence of noise, people assume victory.
Without a running commentary of struggle, they imagine success.
And so the myth persists.
Is it dangerous? Maybe not. But it is misleading. Especially when smart people start believing in luck as if it’s a force — a kind of metaphysical currency, unevenly distributed.
What is luck, really?
Ancient philosophers saw it as a cosmic wildcard: the Greek tyche, the Roman fortuna. Nietzsche rejected it outright in favour of will. Seneca famously wrote that “luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” Modern behavioural psychologists like Daniel Kahneman have shown how we’re wired to misunderstand probability — we attribute patterns where there are none, seeing luck where randomness is at play.
Personally, I don’t believe in the fairy-dust variety of luck. No clovers, no talismans. I’ve never seen a leprechaun. I don’t believe the universe is conspiring on my behalf.
I’m not a workaholic. I sleep seven hours a night. I binge-watch TV and I like curry on Fridays. But I’ve always worked smart. I push when it matters. I recognise an open door when I see one — and I step through it.
If I’ve been lucky, it’s because I was born into a loving family.
Because once or twice, I was in the right place at the right time.
But even then, you still have to act. You have to notice the opening, trust your gut, and leap.
That’s not luck.
That’s intuition.
That’s readiness.
But if there’s a quality more misunderstood than luck, it’s perseverance. We often reduce it to grit or brute stubbornness — keep going, keep grinding, no matter what. But real perseverance is quieter. It’s not loud or heroic. It’s the willingness to keep showing up even when no one’s watching, when nothing appears to be working, when the results are embarrassing or invisible. It’s the event when only three people show up. It’s writing when you don’t know who will read it. It’s trusting that repetition is not failure. Perseverance is the invisible scaffolding behind every so-called “lucky break.” It’s the part people forget when they tell your story back to you.
So no, I’m not always lucky. I’m just not always loud about the days I’m not.
And for what it’s worth, I still believe — irrationally, stubbornly — that I can do anything. Anything except excel or climb Everest or go on polar expeditions. I have terrible circulation. And that’s not bad luck. That’s just fu*&ing genetics.
Commercial Break.
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Legend:
🧁 = (cupcake) Treat brain – easy to consume
🦪 = (oyster) More challenging - not for everyone
Reading:
🧁
My own book, illustrated by Luis Mendo, is great — honestly.
And if you don’t believe me, listen to Kathy:
“This book is wonderful. I loved the characters (even the crappy parents), the story was very entertaining (I embarrassed myself in the doctor's office waiting room yesterday cackling at one of the one-liners while obviously reading a children's book at almost 60!), and the illustrations are perfect. Great job!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
🦪
Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean it all has to be light, right?
A 14-year-old’s recollection of bullying at school and a pen pal relationship with a classmate.
Music:
🧁
This reminds me of Maverick a Strike by Finley Quaye, or at least the mood it captured for me back in 1997. Want to skip to the ‘banger’ track? It’s About Time.
🦪
An acoustic, Americana-AM-radio-feeling album that, if you just lie down and listen with your eyes closed, can remind you of what America should have been.
Podcasts:
🦪
(Thanks to Antony Micallef)
The show’s been running for a while, but this episode with Tom Holland (not Spider-Man) is especially good. He compares Trump to Julius Caesar and explains why the culture wars are really just modern theology.
🧁
A show about other people’s bank accounts. Or: real life in America, 2025. Worth listening to as you drive to the Côte d'Azur this summer.
🧁
Kate Hutchinson is back, this time interviewing the women behind the controls — the people helping create the melodies we crave.
🧁
Read by Alexander Armstrong. I love this show for its brevity and its simple celebration of an amazing writer.
TV and Film:
🦪
Adam Curtis is back. The only bummer is that once again it's a film restricted to iPlayer! Sorry 🇪🇺 and the rest.
🧁
Not the greatest show on Earth, but it has a Star Trek-like nostalgia that reminds me of my early years — early evening, way-too-close-to-the-TV viewing I used to love.
🦪
Matthew Goode plays a traumatised detective (of course he is — is there any cop drama without one?). But this is good TV. Dark. Scottish. Watch it.
As always, thanks for reading to the end.
Any suggestions or comments?
Email me: damian@bradfield.wtf
That's it. Cheerio.