One of the awesome and unfathomable aspects of life is Luck. Fate. Chance. It begins at birth and never really ends. It is the luck/fate/chance of genetics which first forms us and sets us on a path to whatever it is we are supposed to do.

The first, Genetic Luck, we have no control over, as it is determined by the luck/fate/chance surrounding the lives of our parents, which illustrates the duality of luck and its partnership with context/perspective. I am unlucky to not be 6 foot 6 inches and earning millions of dollars playing basketball in the NBA.

But I am lucky to not have genetic irregularities like blindness and deafness, or deformed extremities, or even no extremities.

So am I lucky or unlucky? Let’s use the slot machines at Turning Stone Resort and Casino (TS) to find out.

When I first moved to upstate NY, I frequented TS about twice a week, and earned measurable rewards in playing a certain Japanese slot machine. Good luck, right? Shortly after I started playing it, the machine was removed. Bad luck?

Since then I’ve searched for another machine at TS that allows 25 cent bets, so my $5 bankroll would last a little longer. But it was like looking for a unicorn, as TS management removed low income machines and replaced them with greedier ones. My $5 now lasts about 10 plays on a 50 cent machine, unless it “lets” me win another 50 cents, then its 11 plays. Bad luck?

It was so disheartening I stopped playing. Good luck?

My recent hip replacement (VERY good luck!) kept me from TS for 4 weeks. I use the Fitness Center at TS, by the way, which is why I visit so much, and had to stay away until after recovery.

When I returned, it was hard to find even 50 cent machines. That is, on the gaming floor, not the Fitness Center. But I did find one gathering dust in a corner off a side hallway. Luck? It hurt, but I played out my $5 without winning a cent and got up to leave, unhappy as can be, and down $5. Unlucky?

So there I was pissed, as well as unlucky, and said to myself, “Screw it, blow another $5. It’s Christmas.” It was and why that mattered, is irrelevant, maybe. When I slid the new, crisp $5 bill into the slot of the slot machine, I could feel myself slowly going over the precipice of recreational gambling and falling into the deep, dark abyss of addiction. I immediately promised: “One play. Just one”. (Where we at on lucky, unlucky? Lost track.)

It doesn’t matter. The machine lit up like a Christmas Tree (irony?) and started making sounds and sights only ever associated with “Jackpot!”. When it was done jingling and sirening (sic), I kept my promise and cashed out after one play. Lucky.

I stuffed the winnings into my wallet and walked to my car a happy man, and let Luck have some credit, too: with apologies to Lou Gehrig, I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth. For now.

And the $24.35 I won will help with medical bills in the New Year.

Remember: context/perspective.