How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose
Everybody warns you about the big disasters in life: heartbreaks, overdue rent, realizing midway through brunch that you over-shared with your coworkers the night before. But no one prepares you for the quiet unraveling that comes when you realize you have no idea where you're headed. That was me in my early twenties. Somewhere between rushing to pay bills and swiping my college ID one last time for cafeteria meals, I knew what I didn’t want—but I wasn’t sure what I did want.
My purpose didn’t reveal itself to me in some triumphant “aha” moment. There was no Beyoncé track swelling in the background (though, trust me, "I Was Here" would’ve been perfect). Instead, my discovery came through a series of happy (and sometimes awkward) accidents—events that seemed random but, in hindsight, fit together like pieces of a puzzle.
Let me take you back to where it all started: a Texas summer, a room full of teenagers, and an unplanned heart-to-heart.
The Unexpected Legacy of a Chalkboard Pep Talk
It was my first year as a high school teacher. I had freshly pressed slacks, wide-eyed optimism, and maybe... maybe... five minutes more classroom management training than any of my students. I was supposed to be preparing these kids for the SATs but quickly realized they were less concerned with college readiness and more focused on surviving the chaos of adolescence. One particularly off-the-rails class had me questioning not only my teaching ability but also whether I could show my face at the faculty lunchroom ever again.
That day, after an hour of open defiance and TikTok choreography happening in the back row, I slammed the SAT prep book shut and just... leveled with them.
"You’re going to forget 80% of what I teach you," I said (and yes, that was maybe not my wisest choice as an educator). "But what you can’t afford to forget is who you are.”
I don’t know what possessed me to go full Oprah in Beaumont, Texas, but something shifted in that moment. One student—Dennis, who looked like he’d rather set himself on fire than solve quadratic equations—hesitated, then raised his hand. "Can you say that again?" he asked. So, I did. And we spent the rest of class talking: about identity, about how hard it is to figure out where you stand when other people insist on defining you, about the messy in-between stages that don’t make it into the highlight reels of Instagram.
By the end of the semester, Dennis and a handful of other students started coming to my classroom during lunch—not to take practice tests, but to talk. Sometimes about school, more often about everything else that was weighing them down. It clicked for me then: I wasn’t just their teacher, I was also their accidental life coach. That realization crushed me and exhilarated me in equal measure.
The Moment Netflix Couldn't Hold My Attention
Fast forward a few years. I was no longer teaching (a story for another article, but let’s just say the bureaucracy won), and I was binge-watching "Living Single" for what had to be the third time. Something about watching Khadijah James hustle with her magazine sparked a hunger in me. I wanted to create... just like her, paper deadlines and all.
Inspired, I dusted off a set of essays I had scribbled in my notebooks over the years: moments of joy, grief, and, let’s be real, mortifying romantic misadventures that could rival episodes of any classic sitcom. Reading them over felt like meeting a stranger who somehow knew me inside out. And more than that, it felt powerful to see my life—my Black, Southern, LGBTQ+ life—on those pages. It was the kind of fearsome, lovely honesty that you don’t recognize as your own until it stares back at you.
A friend dared me to submit one to an online publication, and I was floored when it actually got published. People I didn’t know—like a queer PhD student in Minneapolis and a mom of three in Detroit—were emailing me to say, "This is my story, too!" Somewhere between the feels-packed emails and my mother calling to say, “Your cousin thinks you wrote about him, so be careful,” I realized I wasn’t just writing essays. I was helping people feel seen.
Lessons From the Awkward Magic of Purpose
What these experiences taught me is that discovering your purpose isn’t always about ambition, brilliance, or that elusive “master plan.” Instead, it’s about listening to where the universe (or life, or sheer dumb luck) is nudging you. Sometimes in the back of a classroom, sometimes over lukewarm Netflix marathons, and sometimes when you least expect it. A few takeaways for the road:
1. Embrace Whatever Feels Natural to You. I thought success meant climbing the highest ladder or manifesting the flashiest vision board. But I’ve learned my greatest joy comes from creating spaces where people feel safe enough to be themselves. What do you do effortlessly that leaves others feeling better for it? Start there.
2. Lean Into the Happy Accidents. Look, purpose isn't always a carefully curated Pinterest board—it can be catching sparks from the places you never expected to find them. A misstep might just lead you to your sweet spot. (And yes, momentarily abandoning SAT prep can pay off. Just don’t tell your kids’ teachers.)
3. Your Story Is Enough. Many of us are tempted to water ourselves down to fit some imagined standard. That works—until it doesn’t. What clicked for me was realizing the parts of myself I thought made me “too much” (being a Black, queer, small-town kid) were exactly what made me resonate with others. Authentically embracing your experiences is like holding up a lantern in the dark—you suddenly see how many people are walking beside you.
Concluding Act: Don't Wait for Perfect Timing
If you’re still searching for meaning, that’s okay. Life’s purpose is like good southern gumbo: it takes time, you never know just how the flavors will meld together, but the payoff is worth it. Whether you stumble into your calling in a classroom full of rowdy teenagers or waiting in line at a coffee shop, trust that your story can create connections you never imagined. You’re still learning who you are, and that’s the best part. As we like to say around here: from flirt to familiar, every step matters.
