I started to learn Greek when I was in high school, the last

Anne Carson, in her quiet yet profound way, tells us the story of how destiny sometimes enters through the smallest of doors: “I started to learn Greek when I was in high school, the last year of high school, by accident, because my teacher knew Greek and she offered to teach me on the lunch hour, so we did it in an informal way, and then I did it at university, and that was the main thing of my life.” What seems at first a casual moment, a chance occurrence, reveals itself to be the seed of a lifelong calling. For in this tale we see the power of serendipity, the influence of a teacher, and the way a single decision can alter the entire course of a life.

The origin of this reflection lies in Carson’s devotion to the ancient tongue of Greek, which became the foundation of her work as poet, essayist, and translator. By her own admission, she began not with a grand plan but with an accident—a teacher willing to share her knowledge, and a student willing to receive it. From those stolen lunch hours, a world of myth, tragedy, and philosophy opened before her. This is the essence of human learning: the informal spark, the moment outside the rigid schedule, that ignites passion greater than any formal duty.

History shows us many such accidents that became destinies. Alexander the Great, as a boy, happened to have Aristotle as his tutor, and from this guidance grew not only a conqueror but a man shaped by philosophy. Isaac Newton, during a plague that shut down the universities, studied alone at home and discovered the foundations of modern physics. What at first seems coincidence or interruption often conceals the hidden hand of fate. Carson’s story reminds us that a single encounter with knowledge can define an entire existence.

There is also a deeper truth here about teachers. The teacher who shared Greek with Carson did so not out of obligation, but out of generosity, giving her own time during lunch. This act of quiet devotion changed the course of her student’s life. Thus, the teacher becomes not just a conveyor of knowledge but a shaper of destiny. Every teacher should remember this: the smallest gesture, the extra moment, the willingness to go beyond duty, may ripple into eternity.

The emotional core of Carson’s words lies in the way something so small became “the main thing of my life.” This is both wondrous and humbling. We often believe our greatest paths will come with thunder and grand signs, but more often they come like this—quietly, unexpectedly, in the corner of a school lunch hour. The greatness of life is often born from the overlooked and the ordinary. What makes it extraordinary is the willingness of the soul to embrace it fully once it is found.

The lesson for us is clear: honor the accidents. Do not dismiss chance encounters, small opportunities, or informal beginnings, for they may hold the seeds of your greatest calling. Be attentive to the doors that open, even if only a crack. And when you find something that awakens your soul, pursue it with all your strength, as Carson did with Greek. What begins by accident can become the main thing of your life, if only you are willing to walk through the door.

Practically, this means cultivating both curiosity and openness. Accept the gifts offered, even in unexpected forms. Be willing to learn in informal ways, to seize opportunities that others overlook. If you are a teacher, know the immense power you carry in every small moment of generosity. If you are a student, know that life-changing wisdom may arrive not with fanfare, but with quiet invitation.

Thus, Anne Carson’s memory is not only a story of Greek, but a teaching for all generations. Destiny often hides in the ordinary. A lunch hour can hold a lifetime. A casual lesson can lead to eternal devotion. Carry this wisdom, O listener, and be ready: for what you stumble upon today may become the central flame of your life tomorrow.