Luck is Earned

Remember to work

Wishing your friend well, with good words, is necessary. Human beings need words because the only thing that truly separates us from apes is our sophisticated ability to express ourselves, to communicate, in ways multifarious. Our friends need words like cold water to the face, voltage jolt, espresso shot hitting the blood, teflon armor for the onslaught of the day, a knife in the sleeve for an alpha invading the proximitas.

The idea “Good luck” is misleading.

As if 1,000 people telling you “good luck” will fatefully get you through that job interview successfully.

As if thinking about “good luck” really, really wincingly hard, will rewrite the laws of motion so that you become the nucleus for the moment you have to face.

As if sparkling heavenly winds of velvet inspiration will whisk through you like Elizabeth Gilbert’s friend.

As if 100 likes from Facebook will just like, you know, make the day skippingly sunny.

Fuck “Good luck.”

Haruki Murakami, writer of 12 novels, “wakes at 4:00 A.M. and works for five to…