Whenever I hear of tragedy, a thought lingers, why not me? I mean, it’s often by random chance that these things occur, being good fortune and tragedy, so what prevents my fate from falling either way. Living is fundamentally a gambler’s endeavor. If anything, much of my life seems to be ultimately stagnant, mundane, though that is not necessarily a fault. It’s cliche and has been repeated endlessly, but a well known blessing in Chinese culture is to say to one “may you live in uninteresting times.”
In the assumption that God decides fate, an assumption which I dearly hold, I often wonder if a lack of bad fortune isn’t out of some good favor, but of neglect, of absentminded inattention. The uninteresting, uneventful life is of man forgotten by God, toys tossed by the wayside, while the unfortunate are the often deployed green army men, dragged through the mud and left in the rain. God is watching, and one must fear His gaze, as it’s oft followed by a sorrowful blow.
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