Last fall in Moscow, my host mother would sometimes take me to see places and do things I never thought I would see or do in my life. At those times, it wasn’t only the general and sustained joy of being in Russia that I felt, as when I walked through Red Square or over the Moscow River as the sky was cold and purple and everyone around me was speaking the language I loved–it was also the particular elation of rare privilege, as she took me on private guided tours to Pasternak’s estate, or to dinner at a dacha that held a helicopter landing pad in its front yard and was guarded by armed security, or to relax in the banya of a remote community to which she donated charitably. I felt extraordinarily special. I felt that I was so, so lucky, and in those times I would tell myself: this can’t be chance, this must mean something, I’m not being shown all this just as a tease, I ought to see it because one day I’ll earn this lifestyle, too. It’s not only the wealth that was so alluring and exciting, although that certainly was part of it. It was also the sense of exclusivity and importance. The way people treated her at the rural community–that was power. The way she could pass through gates no one else could–that was freedom. And just to be with her for a time, that must mean that one day I could have that, too. I couldn’t just have that once, and borrowed. It must be coming back.
Tonight, too, I went to a cocktail party in a restaurant that held celebrities and stars, and I tilted my glass in my hand and balanced on my high heels. Tried to look like I belonged there. In honor of a birthday girl, six or seven of us piled into a limousine and drove around the city. On the waterfront next to the Brooklyn bridge we tumbled out and took pictures of the skyline. One girl, a young, beautiful Broadway actress, handed me her camera and posed in front of the Empire State Building, and as I snapped the photo I thought again, This can’t just be chance. I must be lucky. I must be such a lucky person who leads such a lucky life.
I know it’s a logical fallacy to believe that because I’ve experienced such unlikely happinesses already I’ll continue to see them throughout my life. I know there probably isn’t such a thing as cosmic justice, and if there is, I haven’t done anything to deserve its favor. But people around me keep offering chances I never expected to see, joys I always dreamed of, all the happiness I could ever think of and exactly the life I want. And I keep thinking, this has to last forever. These can’t be the few greatest, strangest, most magical years of my life. I have to keep it going forever…I have to keep it going somehow…


