You know being relevant or coming up with something interesting

“You know being relevant or coming up with something interesting, funny to say about what's current is just as hard as it might ever be depending on the serendipity of it all.” — thus spoke Lily Tomlin, the great comedienne and philosopher of laughter, whose words reveal the quiet struggle behind the art of humor and truth. In this reflection, she speaks not only of the craft of comedy but of the universal challenge of staying alive to the present, of meeting each moment with something fresh, sincere, and meaningful. Her words carry the wisdom of one who has spent a lifetime walking the delicate line between observation and creation, between thought and timing — where serendipity, that mysterious alignment of chance and insight, often decides whether one’s voice touches the world or disappears into silence.

The origin of this saying lies in the very heart of Tomlin’s career — a career that has spanned generations, from her early days in the 1960s to the present, when she continues to enchant audiences. She has lived through eras of immense cultural change, and in each age, she has had to rediscover the art of relevance — that ever-fleeting flame that burns differently for each time and audience. To her, being funny or profound is not a fixed skill, but a living dialogue with the world, a dance with what is happening now. The great humorist does not simply speak; she listens to life, to people, to time itself. And yet, as Tomlin reminds us, this act is never easy — for what resonates today may fade tomorrow, and what feels brilliant in one moment may fall flat in another.

When she says that creativity depends on “the serendipity of it all,” she acknowledges that art — and perhaps all meaningful expression — is not born solely of effort, but of mystery. One cannot force inspiration any more than one can summon the wind. The artist’s duty is to prepare the mind, to observe the world, and to stay ready for the spark when it comes. This humility before chance is something the ancients understood well. The Greek poets spoke of the Muses, divine beings who whispered inspiration into mortal ears. Even the philosopher Plato wrote that genius is a kind of madness bestowed by the gods. What Tomlin calls “serendipity” is the same ancient power — the moment when chaos and order meet, and the human mind becomes a vessel for something greater than itself.

There is a story told of Michelangelo, the sculptor whose chisel seemed guided by divine hand. When asked how he created his masterpieces, he said simply, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Yet even Michelangelo admitted that not every block of stone revealed its secret. Some days, inspiration visited him like a spirit of fire; other days, the marble was silent. This, too, is what Lily Tomlin speaks of — the unpredictable rhythm of creation. Whether one works with stone or with laughter, the struggle is the same: to stay patient, to listen for the muse, and to trust that inspiration, however delayed, will return when one is ready to receive it.

But Tomlin’s words also carry a deeper reflection on relevance, that restless pursuit of meaning in a world that never stands still. To be relevant is not merely to follow trends or echo what is popular; it is to speak a truth that resonates within the hearts of others in this moment, here and now. The artist, the thinker, the teacher — all who strive to reach the world — must confront this same challenge: how to speak freshly in a world that changes with every breath. It requires courage, for to chase relevance is to risk failure; it requires humility, for one must constantly adapt; and it requires love — a love for the world so deep that one continues to seek understanding, even when it resists being understood.

In her reflection, Tomlin also touches the heart of comedy, that noble art of transformation. For laughter, more than any other form of expression, depends on timing — on the mysterious alignment between thought and moment, between truth and audience. What makes us laugh is not simply what is said, but when it is said, and how it connects to the heartbeat of the time. Thus, the comedian is both artist and alchemist, turning the raw metal of reality into the gold of joy. And yet, this act is precarious — balanced on the edge of serendipity, the fine thread that joins human folly to human grace.

Let this, then, be the lesson: do not despair when the spark seems absent, nor grow arrogant when it burns brightly. Understand that creativity, like life itself, flows in cycles — of effort and ease, silence and revelation. To be relevant is not to chase the world, but to remain awake to it; to find meaning not through force, but through openness. Prepare yourself through discipline, but surrender yourself to chance. Speak, create, and live with sincerity — for when the moment of serendipity comes, it will find you ready.

Thus, Lily Tomlin reminds us that art and life are bound by the same law: that both are sustained by the dance between will and wonder. We may never control the tide of inspiration, but we can build our boats well, so that when the wind of serendipity blows, we are carried to shores unseen. For in the end, what matters is not that we are always brilliant or always relevant — but that we remain, as she has, fully human, open to laughter, and ever willing to meet the mystery of creation with courage and grace.