I would say don't take advice from people like me who have gotten

The Humility of Fortune

In the voice of the modern satirist and philosopher Bo Burnham, there rings a truth both sharp and humble: “I would say don’t take advice from people like me who have gotten very lucky. We’re very biased. You know, like Taylor Swift telling you to follow your dreams is like a lottery winner telling you, ‘Liquidize your assets; buy Powerball tickets—it works!’” Beneath the humor lies a wisdom as old as the ages—the recognition that success is not always born of merit alone, and that fortune, like the wind, blows where it pleases. Burnham speaks not as a cynic but as one awakened, reminding us that behind the veil of fame and triumph lies the invisible hand of chance, which no mortal can command.

The meaning of this quote reaches beyond mere humility; it is a challenge to the myth of absolute self-determination. We are taught from youth that hard work guarantees greatness, that every dreamer shall triumph if they only persist. Yet the world, in its vastness, does not always bend to will. Luck—that unpredictable current—lifts one sailor to glory while dashing another upon the rocks, though both row with equal strength. Burnham, having himself risen through a tide of rare fortune, confesses what many in power forget: that success distorts perception, and that those who have “made it” are not necessarily wiser, only more fortunate.

This truth was known even to the ancients. The Greek historian Herodotus told of Croesus, the king of Lydia, famed for his wealth and confidence. When he asked the wise Solon who was the happiest of men, expecting to hear his own name, Solon replied, “Call no man happy until he is dead.” For fortune is fickle, and today’s victor may be tomorrow’s beggar. Croesus learned this painfully when his kingdom fell and he was taken captive. Only then did he understand that fate mocks those who believe they have mastered it. In the same way, Burnham’s jest humbles our age of influencers and idols—those who preach success as though it were a formula, forgetting how much of it is written in the stars.

The deeper wisdom here is not despair, but discernment. Burnham’s warning urges us to think for ourselves, to weigh the words of the fortunate with care. The successful speak from their own narrow path, one lit by luck as much as labor. Their vision, though sincere, is biased, as he says—shaped by what worked for them, not by what works for all. To follow their footsteps blindly is to mistake coincidence for truth. For every singer who “followed their dreams” and rose to fame, there are a thousand others who did the same and fell into silence. The wise soul therefore honors the dream but also respects the reality—knowing that chance and timing play their roles alongside effort and talent.

Yet even as Burnham dismantles the illusion of control, he does not counsel apathy. His humor conceals a gentler lesson: strive, but do not worship success. Work with passion, but do not measure your worth by outcome. Dream boldly, but know that not all dreams ripen into destiny. In this understanding lies peace. The wise man seeks excellence for its own sake, not for applause; he walks his path not to be envied, but to be fulfilled. For when effort becomes its own reward, luck loses its tyranny.

In this, Burnham’s insight meets that of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor, who wrote: “Do not expect Plato’s Republic; be satisfied if you improve even a little.” Both voices—one ancient, one modern—speak to the same truth: that humility and self-awareness guard the soul against arrogance and despair alike. The wise know that life is neither fair nor predictable, but they labor nonetheless, finding dignity not in victory but in honest striving.

Therefore, O seeker of wisdom, let this be your teaching: listen, but question; admire, but discern. Do not take the path of another as your own compass. Learn from those who have risen, yes—but learn also from those who have fallen, for they know the terrain of failure, which every traveler must cross. Let gratitude temper your success, and resilience fortify your struggle. For the gods of fortune give and take without reason, but the strength of character—that is yours to forge.

And when the world tells you, “Follow your dreams,” remember Burnham’s laughter—not as cynicism, but as wisdom. Follow your dreams, yes, but follow them with open eyes, guided not by luck or illusion, but by truth, humility, and your own intelligence and judgment. For though chance may raise or humble you, it is wisdom that determines whether you stand proud or perish proud—and wisdom, unlike luck, is within your grasp.