“How lucky are we?” It’s the type of Queensland rhetoric I used to abhor.
When I first moved here, direct from a few years in not-so-sunny Glasgow, I used to hear these types of question/statements all the time. “How hot is it?” As I stand huddled in the shade of the only tree at the park, sweat pouring down my face from the exertion of simply lifting my arm to shoo a fly, I concede, “yes, it is quite hot.”
“How much rain is there?” Well, judging from the flood waters consuming the bottom of my street and engulfing my neighbour’s front steps, yes, there does seem to be quite a lot of water about.”
“How loud was that storm last night?” “What? Sorry I didn’t hear you. My ears are still ringing from the loud thunderstorm last night. Oh sorry, that what’s you said?”
“How lucky are we?” is a phrase I often use myself now. Like this morning. It was about 30 degrees when I set off for my morning run, having snuck off before the kids were awake and I broke into a sweat before I even broke into a jog. As I was completing my run, the last part of which is a very long and steep hill (strangely, steeper going up on the way home than it is going down it at the beginning of the run), I noticed a woman struggling up the hill ahead of me. She was older than I am and a little heavier and her walk considerably slowed as the steepness of the hill increased. As I came up slowly, oh so slowly behind her, I spluttered out that Queensland rhetoric that I never imagined I would utter, “How lucky are we”. The discomfort on her face was immediately replaced by a huge smile and she nodded vigorously – I assume because she didn’t have the breath to speak at that point. I noticed when I eventually reached the top of the hill and looked back, that she was still smiling and had broken into a run half way up the hill. She looked up at me and gave me a kind of tired half-wave and nod.
I have heard this phrase a few times and do my best now to use it myself whenever I can. The first time I heard it was when I was struggling with my 3 little ones at a playground and surviving on very minimal sleep. My twins were just walking and when released from their pram, had decided to run as fast as their little legs could carry them in opposite directions, while trying to stuff every piece of rubbish or twig into their mouths. All the while my little boy, barely out of toddler-dom himself, was precariously hanging from a piece of playground equipment, meters off the ground, yelling at me to be a fellow-fireman and save him. Another mum, herself with 2 small people playing quietly and self-sufficiently, corralled one of my twins running helper-skelter towards the road and made a quick dash to retrieve my other and returned my happy escapees to me with a smile. She nodded towards her children and mine and said the words that I would grow to love “how lucky are we”. Of course I immediately assumed she was being sarcastic… until I looked her full in the face. It made me stop and smile and those feelings of frazzlement (if this isn’t a word to describe new mums, it should be!) and quiet frustration, left me immediately. They just disappeared. And I realised she was right. I was so lucky. After years of struggling to have a family, losing so many potential children through miscarriage after miscarriage and finally having to rely on necessary but unpleasant medical intervention, I was so, so, so lucky to have my 3 little people. It was just the reminder I needed.
The next time I heard the phrase was at a cafe. It was one of those extremely rare moments that I had all to myself on an otherwise busy and chaotic weekend (are there any other kind with children?). The cafe was quiet, about to close, except for one other lady sitting at a table nearby in the small courtyard. It was one of those glorious winter days that we get sometimes living in the country we do; blue skies, birds chirping and stillness. Stillness all around. I was enjoying my precious few minutes of quiet reflection and solitude, when the lady at the other table caught my eye and smiled. “How lucky are we?” I agreed with her wholeheartedly and we both went back to enjoying our tea and solitude, united in our acknowledgement of our individual contentment.
How lucky are we? Well, I live in a beautiful city where the sun almost always shines (and even if you are reading this from Melbourne, you are still lucky to live in such a beautiful city, even if the sun only shines sometimes!). I live in a country that is far from perfect and has some limitations, but is still one of the best and luckiest countries in the world, where I am free to go pretty much anywhere I want to go in relatively safety, to be with whomever I want to be with, or to be whatever I want to be (ok, we’ve got some work to do here, too – but at least we have the opportunity to work towards this!). And I might not like the current government, but I am free to hope that they might be voted out again in 3 years; and that even though I vehemently disagree with them on some issues, they will probably not cause me too much harm in the meantime. I might live far away from my family and not have their physical support around me while trying to raise my brood, but I am lucky enough to be able to pick up the phone anytime and know that I will have a loving voice on the end of the line (although around our small children, our conversations may never actually be completed and be punctuated with outbursts like “Don’t lick the walls”, or “Please don’t ride the dog down the steep path”. I have a car to drive. I have a house to live in. I have enough food to feed my family (and more!). I have a loving family. I can run, I can walk, I can play. How lucky are we? We are so, so, so lucky.
So spread the word. Instead of asking “how are you?” To a friend or acquaintance or complete random stranger you stand next to in the lift, embrace the Queensland-style rhetoric and state, (or is it ask?) “How lucky are we!”
(Picture from http://www.gymmomentum.com/weekly-momentum/24-signs-you-are-a-mom/)
mighty angel girl blog 