Make your own luck

I don't believe in luck. At least not for the important things.

You have to make things happen for yourself and take ownership of your accomplishments or failures.

Some might consider the start of my trip home for Easter unlucky, but I blame it solely on my stupidity.

The key ring I used to carry (keywords: used to) was not your typical ring; it was horseshoe-shaped with removable silver balls at each end to easily add or remove things. I hate prying my nails under the ridges of regular keychains, so this device suited me nicely. However, one end would inevitably come loose and required tightening to prevent lost keys.

Last Thursday I found myself in such a predicament. I drove to a friend's house for our weekly ritual of dinner and dramatic TV, but failed to notice the loose end of my keychain.

I traipsed into the building, blissfully unaware that my car key lay in a quiet slumber on the floor of my car. After our shows ended, I jammed my hand into my coat pocket, halting mid-step when I grasped a handful of loose keys jangling around.

"Dang," I thought. "The ball came loose. At least they're all in my pocket. But wouldn't it be funny if I had everything but my car key-"

Well, it wasn't funny. I unsuccessfully scoured the pavement surrounding my car for the lone key, trying to keep calm. I retraced my steps inside, up the three flights of stairs to the apartment. Nothing.

How was I supposed to drive to Charlotte in the morning if I couldn't get into my car- "Sorry, Mom and Dad. I know you were looking forward to seeing me for the first time since Christmas, but I'm an idiot and locked my key in my car."
No. Way.

I knew I had a valet key somewhere in my apartment, but had absolutely no idea where. I combed through every room until 3 a.m. for that stupid key. I emptied every jar, every drawer, every hiding place, eventually giving up.

I woke up three and a half hours later with an epiphany: the power mechanism on one of my windows was broken. Perhaps I could push it down, break into my own car and find the key. It had to be inside the car.

Walking the few blocks to my car as the sun began to rise over a chilly Culpeper, I felt relieved. But that quickly faded as I realized the window wouldn't budge. I worried one of the many postal workers loading their trucks would call the police - I looked pretty suspicious trying to break into my car.

As I began to reach the point of a nervous breakdown, I called my dad, who suggested I search for the spare key again. If that failed, call a locksmith. I trudged back to my apartment in an atypical walk of shame, defeated.

Upon returning to my apartment, I remembered one last nook I'd forgotten. Bingo! The spare was there. Back at my car, I unlocked the door and there it was - the lost key lying on the floor, mocking me.

I promptly transferred my keys to a new ring and made it to Charlotte. But there wasn't any luck - good or bad - to it; I lost the key and found the spare on my own. Although, it was slightly ironic that later that night a friend locked her keys in her car. I found myself in a déjà vu moment, searching the pavement again barely 24 hours later.

After a lovely weekend at home, my dad repotted a 30-year-old shamrock and broke off a chunk for me. Shamrocks carry the hope for luck, but I don't need it. I make my own. I just hope I don't kill the thing; I don't exactly have a green thumb.

Whether it's making it home for Easter or having amazing friends and a great job, you could say I'm lucky. But I did this, not some clover. I got where I am because of me.

Catherine Amos can't thank rabbits' feet or the like for her successes. She can be reached at 825-0771 ext. 138 or .