I Lost Everything—Then I Realized Luck Is an Illusion

I used to believe that if I just played long enough—if I bet hard enough—I’d finally catch luck. That was the lie they sold me at every spin.

I grew up on Chicago’s South Side, where jazz hummed through open windows and my mother—Irish, sharp with skepticism—and my father—Black, full of rhythm—taught me: ‘Nothing you chase finds you. You find yourself.’

I worked as a digital therapist for online gaming communities for three years. Saw players cry after losing their last deposit. Watched them scroll through ‘winning streaks’ like tribal chants, praying to the algorithm like prayer.

But RNG doesn’t care about your hopes.

The machines don’t know your name.

In ‘Samba Night Slots,’ they flash gold lights to make you feel alive—but it’s just code running on random numbers generated by independent labs. No trend exists beyond the wheel.

So I stopped chasing.

Started playing small: one card, thirty minutes, quiet nights under city lights.

Found joy not in doubling lines—but in breathing between spins.

Joined a community forum last winter. Heard a woman say: ‘I thought I was unlucky… until I realized I was too认真了.’

That’s when it clicked: Luck isn’t a system. It’s silence after the drum stops. And that silence? That’s where freedom lives.