Should we believe in our own luck?

Luck, loss, and what we do after the storm

The American impulse is to reject the notion of luck altogether. Nope, success is all the individual making the most of their circumstances.

Yet not all cultures view luck in the same way.

Barry Keoghan: A very lucky Irishman

I recently watched an interview with Barry Keoghan, the erstwhile buzzy, quirky-looking actor and Irishman who, by his own characterization, got extraordinarily lucky in his rise to success. Barry grew up in Dublin council-housing and was orphaned at age 12 when his mother died of an overdose. Before he was 18, he and his brother cycled through at least a dozen foster homes. Yet, tl;dr, he was still able to rise to meteoric artistic fame without riding on conventional measures of luck like good looks or “good breeding.”

Keoghan also credits luck for surviving a mysterious skin infection that raged out of control and almost killed him while working on a film. He has a decently large scar on his arm as a reminder of his near-death experience.

I could not help but wonder if Keoghan’s belief in his own luck, akin but not the same as believing in predetermination or a guardian angel, has psychologically paid dividends in the trajectory of his life.

Was it a wise, arrogant or neutral decision for him to believe in his own luck? Is some kind of manifestation or practical magic at play?

The bad luck behind The Great Wave

Consider the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai. Today, he’s synonymous with The Great Wave off Kanagawa, one of the most recognizable works of global art.

In studying the backstory of that painting, I learned Hokusai’s life was characterized by bad luck, again in a culture where luck is considered a very real and sculpting lifeforce. A moderately successful commercial artist whose fame was on the rise, bad luck seemed to seek him out in mid-life. In the span of a few years he lost most of his family including his children, and his home burned down more than once. At age 50 he was struck by lightning and a subsequent stroke, forcing him to relearn how to draw.

The backstory video then zeroes in on something that happened to Hokusai after the lightning strike. He turned 60.

In Japanese culture, the art historian explains, turning 60 is considered the celebratory entrance into a new era, a rebirth. And this is when Hokusai’s work truly begins. Quoth the artist: “All I have done before the age of 70 is not worth bothering with.”

So what should we do with our own hand of cards?

This is where the psychology of luck becomes an interesting mix of choice and consideration.

Acknowledging bad luck matters, especially in developing compassion for ourself and for others. Naming the ways circumstances, timing, or plain randomness have made things harder can be deeply validating—especially in a culture that insists success comes down to going after it hard enough.

But we don’t want to stop there.

At some point, the question shifts from Was I unlucky? to What am I going to do next, knowing that I was? Because luck, whether good or bad, is rarely the end of the story. It’s the cards in hand, not the entire game.

Hokusai didn’t wait for his life to stabilize before he made his most enduring work.

Courage doesn’t require a sunny forecast.

So if you’ve been telling yourself a story about being unlucky, maybe this is an invitation to add a new chapter. One where you let the unfairness be real and refuse to let it be final. One where you keep going, not because you’re certain things will work out, but because something meaningful might still be possible.