I've been lucky enough to live through all the things that are

Hear the voice of Alan Alda, who speaks with the tempered wisdom of a life long-lived: “I’ve been lucky enough to live through all the things that are supposed to give meaning to our lives, like parenting, grandparenting, art, celebrity. All these things you expect meaning to come from, and sometimes it comes when you’re not expecting it.” These words are not the boast of a man who has tasted much, but the humble reflection of one who has seen the fleeting nature of the human quest for meaning. For he tells us that even the grand pillars of life—family, creativity, fame—though rich and real, are not the sole fountains of fulfillment. Sometimes, meaning arrives quietly, in the unnoticed and unexpected moments.

From the dawn of time, men and women have sought the great milestones that promise purpose. To become a parent, to see one’s children grow, to become a grandparent and watch generations unfold, to create art, to achieve honor, to taste recognition—all these have been held as sacred signs of a full life. And indeed, they are treasures. Yet Alda’s wisdom reveals a deeper truth: even in achieving these, one may still hunger. Meaning is not a prize guaranteed by reaching milestones; it is a gift that sometimes descends unbidden, like sunlight breaking through clouds when least expected.

Consider the life of Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher. He held power over the greatest empire of his time, fathered many children, wrote words of art and philosophy that endure to this day. Yet in his Meditations, he often reminded himself that glory fades, family may be lost, art may go unappreciated, and the truest meaning may be found not in crowns or monuments, but in fleeting acts of virtue, in kindness shown to a stranger, in harmony with nature and reason. So too Alda reminds us: the great structures of life do not always guarantee fulfillment; often it comes quietly, in small, overlooked spaces.

The heart of Alda’s quote lies in the phrase: “sometimes it comes when you’re not expecting it.” A parent may labor for decades, exhausted and anxious, believing that the meaning of their role lies in perfection or success. Yet meaning may strike in a single, unplanned moment—when a child laughs unexpectedly, when a grandchild places their small hand in yours. An artist may chase acclaim for years, but true meaning may come in a solitary night, when creation itself brings peace. A celebrity may grow weary of attention, but feel the deepest purpose not on a stage, but in a private act of generosity unseen by others.

What Alda teaches is humility before the mystery of life. We may plan, we may strive, we may pursue all that society tells us should bring meaning—but meaning is not a thing to be possessed, it is a thing to be received. It cannot be demanded, only discovered, often in the ordinary. This truth humbles us, yet it also frees us. For if meaning can arrive unexpectedly, then no life is too small, no moment too simple, no person too overlooked to experience its fullness.

The lesson, then, is clear: seek meaning, but do not clutch at it. Embrace the milestones of life—parenting, work, art, recognition—but know they are not the only vessels of purpose. Keep your heart open in the quiet hours, the mundane routines, the unexpected encounters. Be willing to be surprised by joy, as C.S. Lewis once said. For often, the deepest meaning slips in when striving ceases and presence begins.

Therefore, let all who hear these words take action: honor the great pillars of life, but do not confine your hope to them. Look for meaning in the overlooked: in silence, in kindness, in small acts of love, in fleeting beauty. Do not be deceived into thinking meaning lives only in achievement—it dwells also in stillness. And when it comes, cherish it as gift, for it is not earned, but bestowed.

Thus Alan Alda’s words, born of a lifetime of parenting, grandparenting, art, and celebrity, echo the wisdom of the ancients: that meaning is both sought and found, both built and given. And the greatest blessing is not in controlling its arrival, but in being ready to receive it, whenever and wherever it appears.