I was standing in my grandmother’s garden, hands coated in dirt and frustration, thinking I had finally reached the pinnacle of poor decisions. The sticky Lowcountry summer was weighing heavy on me, the air so thick with humidity it felt like I was wearing it. And as I yanked on yet another stubborn weed from the tangled mess around her collard greens, it happened—a moment of clarity so startling it rivaled the plot twist of an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

For the first time in weeks, my imposing cloud of existential dread cracked open, and sunlight came through, literally and metaphorically. I accidentally discovered my purpose—right there amidst the chaos of crabgrass and my life.

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t the weeds that spoke to me. But it was that moment that brought me face to face with what I had been avoiding all along. And looking back now, it turns out there’s a lot we can learn about finding purpose when we stop overthinking it and just live through it. Let me explain.

1. Sometimes, You’re Not Lost—You’re Just in the Weeds

Growing up, my grandmother’s backyard was part haven, part jungle. Her garden had always been this sacred, untouchable space. And yet, when I came to visit her during what I lovingly refer to as my “sabbatical of avoidance” (others might just call it rock bottom), she handed me a pair of garden gloves and told me, “You’re strong enough to clear this mess.”

I didn’t feel strong, though. I felt chaotic—like one of those weed patches, sprawling in too many directions, putting my energy into things that frankly, didn’t matter. Post-grad life in the city had been far from glamorous despite my “Sex and the City”-glittery expectations. A whirlwind job change, a drawn-out breakup, and a lingering question of “What am I even doing?” had planted themselves in my psyche like, well, invasive species.

But here’s the thing about getting down in the dirt when life feels overwhelming: it forces you to slow down. To untangle yourself. To notice the roots of what’s really going on. And for the first time in months, that garden made me feel just grounded enough to start asking real questions.

2. Be Open to Chance—and Chaos

Here’s the real kicker: I didn’t want to be outside digging through my grandmother’s garden. Let’s be very clear. I planned to bake in the house and binge “Golden Girls” reruns with a pitcher of sweet tea, not stage a botanical intervention. But falling face-first into discovery often looks like real-life awkwardness.

Take relationships, for example. How many times have you thought you knew what you "should" be doing—dating a certain type of person, maintaining a certain timeline, or delivering a certain picture-perfect version of yourself? And how often does it blow up in your face like a bad Tinder date who oversells the phrase “easygoing”? That’s because transformation doesn’t RSVP; it crashes the party every single time.

Purpose works the same way. It thrives in unexpected, messy moments. You’ve got to let go of your white-knuckled grip on wanting things to happen a certain way. Spoiler: life doesn’t care about your checklist. Be open to weird detours, even if they involve pulling weeds for hours in a Charleston heatwave.

3. Give Yourself Permission to Pivot

As I wrestled the garden into submission—and somehow managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of sneakers—it hit me: Like those gnarly weeds, I’d spent so much time pouring energy into dead-end directions. That corporate ladder I’d been climbing? Wrong career entirely. The relationship I stayed in longer than I should have? Definitely a lesson learned, not a forever love story.

The truth is, clinging to something just because you’ve invested time in it doesn’t make it worthy of your whole heart. Life isn’t a sunk-cost fallacy.

Sitting in the shade of the magnolia tree after I’d finally cleared the flowerbeds, I remembered something my grandmother always said. “Just because you started one way doesn’t mean you can’t grow another.” It gave me permission—in that moment and many moments since—to admit when something wasn’t working, pivot, and plant seeds somewhere else.

4. Take the Small Wins (No Matter How Messy)

The next morning, my grandmother walked me out to the now-pristine garden with unparalleled pride. “Look at what you’ve done,” she said, pouring honey into my tea. And while she was referring to her azaleas, a spark of something new had bloomed in me too. Clearing that patch was a small win—so small, in fact, I might have overlooked it if I wasn’t paying attention.

Later that week, I pulled out a notebook and wrote my first short story since graduate school. It was nothing major—a clumsy, overly sentimental piece set in a small town very much like Charleston. But it didn’t matter. It was my way of moving forward, of trying something that felt like me after far too long of feeling like someone else entirely.

Small wins matter, whether they’re about building a relationship you truly want, launching yourself into something unfamiliar, or simply changing perspective.

5. Ask Yourself: What Feeds Your Soul?

This is the part where I wish I could tell you the garden told me I was destined to be a writer and led me to my first national byline. Spoiler: It didn’t. That came later—after years of essays, pitches, and countless drafts that never saw the light of day.

But here’s what the garden did teach me: Your purpose doesn’t come prepackaged with a bow on top. You can’t Amazon Prime your way into figuring it out overnight. Instead, ask yourself this: What feeds your soul? What makes you feel full?

For me, it was storytelling—capturing those untold moments of culture and connection that shaped me, my family, and my community. Your answer might be cooking, teaching, designing, creating, or simply showing up as your kindest self in a difficult world. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it feels like home.

The Purpose Myth—and Where to Go From Here

You ever notice how finding your purpose gets sold like this one big, earth-shattering revelation? Like Oprah’s waiting behind Door #3 to yell, “YOU GET A PURPOSE, AND YOU GET A PURPOSE!” But real purpose doesn’t feel like fireworks going off. It feels like a slow burn—intentional, steady, and just sparky enough to keep you moving forward.

I carried the lessons from that Charleston garden with me, but I also carried the clarity that purpose is about connecting. To your inner self. To the people who matter. To the spaces and communities that let you be fully you.

So, get messy. Try something random. Pull some emotional weeds in your life. And remember: Like love, and like those stubborn azaleas my grandmother adores, purpose grows best when you nurture it.