It is one of the most human things we do, one of the most common things.
We assign meaning to the mundane and arbitrary minutia of our daily lives. It's how we balance our sense of self importance with the reality that we are tiny specks of cosmic dust with no real role to play in the scope of history. Every day the universe reminds us of this in small, crushing ways. When we just barely miss our train or spill coffee on our shirt before meeting, the universe tells us that our needs and wants are insignificant in the face of cosmic forces like gravity.
So we talk about luck or astrology or jinxing things, to try to assign meaning to the frustrations of life, so that we don't have to face the real reason why these things happen. We are not important, we are not special, we are not the center of the universe and these things are happening to one thousand other people around the world all the time, and that our day is ruined is of absolutely no consequence to the cosmos. Black holes and red-shifting light waves do not care about my missed train, your coffee stain, your brother's surgery, you aunt's 401k, hunger, political unrest, war. None of it maters enough for the even the universe to shift its mighty gaze.
We are important only to ourselves, and the tiny circle of other carbon-based creatures we pull into a tight circle around us so that we don't notice how cold and unfeeling the cosmos is. Space is a cold, dark place.
But, to paint a silver lining over the whole thing, this world has wine.