Getting Lucky

Sometimes, I find an object that other people have rejected. It will be shoved in a corner at a garage sale or gathering dust on a thrift store shelf or sitting by the side of the road, near a heap of rubbish. Something about it will catch my eye, and I will go over and have a good long look at it. Often, I’ll see that the object is broken or ruined in some irredeemable way, so I will sigh in sympathy for it and continue on my way. But every so often, the thing is essentially ok, except for a few dents or some tarnished surfaces, and I will get excited, not only because it’s free or cheap, but because it is truly high quality—it’s something I want and would have paid a lot for if I had the money—it is lovely or interesting or unusual or fine. I think about the person who discarded this object and marvel at her obtuseness and my own good fortune. Then I take the thing home and clean it up and put it in my living room, and I feel a kind of joy that I would never have felt if I had bought it new. Because it will seem, although I know this is irrational, like that thing and I have a fateful connection.