Some of the best moments in life sneak up on you like a bad haircut in high school: sudden, unexpected, and somehow life-defining. For me, that moment involved an ancient family recipe, a room full of strangers, and one very unprepared version of myself. Spoiler alert: I lived to tell the tale—and discovered my purpose in the process.

Let me set the stage. It was Chicago, a city known for its soul-crushing winters and famous deep-dish pizza. I was deep into my writing fellowship and feeling a little lost. My once solid plan of becoming the next great Cuban-American novelist seemed like a fever dream of my younger, more confident self—like how you’re absolutely sure you’ll marry your middle school crush until they start dating your best friend. I was struggling to find my lane, that intersection where passion and talent meet purpose.

But here’s the thing about life: sometimes, it drags you out of your lane entirely and plops you into a completely different one with no GPS. For me, that lane turned out to be the kitchen of a community center, during what I thought would be a casual cultural potluck—a glorified foodies' hangout. Little did I know, it would shape my path entirely.

The Moment of Panic: Why My Abuela’s Frijoles Negros Changed Everything

To my Cuban family, food isn't just sustenance. It's bonding, history, and an unspoken language for saying things like, "I love you," or "You’re too thin, eat more." In other words, it's sacred. So when my coworker at the time invited me to bring a “dish that represents your culture” to this potluck, I defaulted to my abuela’s frijoles negros (black beans).

Simple? Sure. But in Cuban cuisine, frijoles negros are the foundation. They’re the rice-and-beans rhythm section of every family meal soundtrack. And I thought, “How hard can it be to cook something I’ve watched my grandmother make a million times?” Famous last words.

Spoiler: If you’ve ever Googled “how to chop onions quickly without crying,” you know where this story is going. I botched them—badly. I used too much garlic (an offense punishable by endless shame in a Cuban household), slightly burned the pot, and let’s not even talk about my salt mishap. By the time I showed up at that potluck, my contribution looked like it had been thrown together by someone who mistook cooking for an Olympic sport. I sheepishly placed the still-warm pot on a crowded long table of arroz con pollo, tamales, birria, and empanadas the size of my head.

But here’s the surprising part: everyone dove into it.

And then they started asking questions. “What gives it this flavor?” “Is there a story behind it?” Suddenly, I realized they weren’t just curious about what they were eating—they wanted to know about me. They wanted to hear about my tenth birthday party, where every cousin argued about whether abuela or my mom made better beans. About how my family always prays before meals, giving thanks for the sacrifices that brought us to the table. And, just like that, I became the most unprepared cultural ambassador of frijoles negros ever.

Looking back, I realize it wasn’t just the food they loved—it was the connection. They weren’t tasting beans; they were tasting my story. And in that room, surrounded by people from wildly different backgrounds, I felt something shift in me.

Finding Purpose in What You Already Know

Discovering your purpose is often marketed like this treasure hunt for a magic formula. What’s your “why,” they ask? (Cue the existential dread.) But for me, it wasn’t about discovering something entirely new. My purpose was already there, simmering under the surface, wrapped up in cultural traditions, family roots, and my love of storytelling. I just needed frijoles negros and a crowd of hungry strangers to bring it out.

Here’s what I learned that day—and what you might find true in your own journey, too:

  1. Your Story Matters More Than You Think.
    You might not realize it, but the things you take for granted about yourself could be the very things that inspire others. Whether it’s your childhood, your quirks, or even your failures, your life is a story worth sharing. My mediocre bean skills? Just an excuse for people to connect with something bigger.

  2. Imposter Syndrome Is a Liar.
    I walked into that potluck thinking I had no place there. My beans were an embarrassment to my ancestors, and everyone around me seemed way more polished and put-together. But the truth? People aren’t looking for perfection; they’re looking for realness. Show up as you are—even if your beans are a little burnt.

  3. Purpose Doesn’t Arrive Fully Cooked.
    Sometimes, your passion needs time to marinate (pun fully intended). My love for cultural storytelling didn’t click overnight—it took years of trial, error, and questionable decisions. And that’s okay. Let yourself evolve, one small discovery at a time.

Applying It to Love and Relationships

Now, you might be thinking, “Okay, but what does this have to do with dating or relationships?” (I hear you.) Here’s the thing: this realization about purpose taught me something about love, too. Whether you’re looking for a partner or deepening an existing relationship, it all comes down to the same thing: being willing to show up with the essence of who you are. Even the burnt beans version.

Ever notice how the best dates aren’t necessarily about fancy restaurants or big gestures? They’re about those small moments where someone lets you peek into their world—like when they share the stories behind their tattoos or let you in on their favorite obscure playlist. It’s not about impressing anyone; it’s about connection. Authenticity wins every single time.

So, What’s Your “Frijoles Negros” Moment?

You don’t need to attend a potluck and mess up a family recipe to find your purpose. But you do need to pay attention to those unexpected, off-beat experiences life throws your way. Maybe it’s a hobby you’ve been too scared to try, or a story you’ve told that people can’t seem to get enough of. Take note of what lights you up and where others seem most drawn to you—it might just be pointing you toward the life you’re meant to live.

And the best part? You don’t have to figure it all out in one go. Purpose, like love (or black beans), takes time to perfect. Stay open, stay curious, and—whatever you do—don’t forget the garlic. Just not too much. Trust me on this.

Walk away from every potluck—literal or metaphorical—with this reminder: every awkward or unpolished moment can serve a greater purpose. You never know when your next misstep will be the stepping-stone to something bigger. In the meantime, your story—exactly as it is—matters more than you might realize. Now go out there and embrace the burnt beans.