How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose

The Day I Got Dragged into a High School Classroom (Against My Will)

It was the fall of 2011, and I was a college graduate with a shiny degree that promised the world—a promise that, in reality, came with zero instructions and a frustrating attachment to unpaid internship listings. Like many of my peers, I found myself in what I lovingly dub the “Creative Hustler's Loop,” working odd jobs while moonlighting as a hopeful writer. One minute, I was bagging groceries at a mom-and-pop shop in Brooklyn, and the next, I was cataloging dusty files in the basement of a nonprofit.

So, when my cousin begged me to take over her English class for a week at a high school in Queens while she recovered from surgery, I figured, “Why not?” I had zero experience teaching but plenty of experience bluffing my way through things—plus, she said it paid. She claimed her students "weren’t that bad,” but I could hear the hesitation in her voice like a bad violin.

Spoiler alert: They were very bad. Or at least, that’s how it felt when I first stepped in front of them.

But sometimes, what initially seems like a complete and total disaster is actually the thing that sets you on the path you didn’t even know you were meant to walk.

From “What Have I Gotten Myself Into?” to “Wait, I Kind of Love This?”

Picture this: I walk into Room 203 armed with a stack of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, a mild-to-moderate case of imposter syndrome, and a crisp shirt my mom insisted I iron for good first impressions. The students—God bless them—took one look at me and visibly decided I was not built to withstand their energy. And to a degree, they were right.

Within five minutes, one kid called me “Professor Bootleg.” Another yawned loudly enough to summon sleep gods. And one girl acted as though the concept of metaphor was an elaborate social experiment designed to test her patience. I was meant to guide them through a week of figurative language, but the reality was more like navigating a minefield of side-eyes and text messages sent under desks.

But somewhere between day three and day four, something shifted. I scrapped my over-prepared lesson plan and decided to let the kids simply talk about the book in their own words. We debated whether Invisible Man’s protagonist was just unlucky or actively sabotaging himself, drawing comparisons to Kanye West (pre- everything that went wrong) and Harry Potter (“Bro, Harry was in denial about being famous LIKE THE INVISIBLE MAN WAS IN DENIAL ABOUT HIMSELF”).

The next thing I knew, the girl who hated metaphor actually raised her hand to speak. The same kid who’d dubbed me “Professor Bootleg” started asking me questions after class. I wasn’t just teaching English; I was watching these students connect their own lives to a piece of work that felt removed from them at first glance. And what’s more, I was loving every minute of it.

Finding Meaning in the Messiness

The experience made me reflect on something my dad used to say back in Lagos when I was growing up. He’d remind us that meaning doesn’t always arrive like an engraved invitation; sometimes, it shows up messy, disguised as obligation, or draped in chaos. My accidental stint as an English teacher was just that: a messy, unexpected gift that forced me to step into a role I hadn’t known I was capable of.

For years, I’d been writing on the side, convinced that my words only mattered if they aligned with some nebulous idea of success. But something about those students shook my assumptions loose. Watching them untangle their own thoughts and discover pieces of themselves in literature reminded me why I fell in love with writing: not for accolades or validation but for connection—for helping people make sense of themselves, even through struggle.

How You Can Find Your Purpose (Even If You’re Still Staring at the Ceiling Wondering What It Is)

Now, I’m not saying you have to get ambushed into teaching Shakespeare to a room full of sarcastic teenagers to find your purpose. But here’s what I am saying:

  • Be Open to the Unexpected: Sometimes, life pushes us toward experiences we’d never choose for ourselves. Before you say “I can’t,” or “That’s not for me,” give things a shot. Worst case? It’s a funny story for your group chats. Best case? It changes the trajectory of your life.

  • Look for Meaning in the Ordinary: Not every purpose reveals itself wrapped in neon lights or dramatic existential epiphanies. Sometimes, it’s in the way a task—big or small—makes you feel unexpectedly alive or aligned. Pay attention to those moments.

  • Get Played By Your Curiosity: If something sparks a glimmer of interest, lean in. That week in Queens started as a favor and a paycheck, but my curiosity about what would happen—my desire to prove (mostly to myself) that I could do it—was what kept me showing up, even when I wanted to run.

  • Stop Looking for Perfect Alignment: Purpose doesn’t always feel like solving a Rubik’s cube where every color snaps into place. Instead, it can feel like your life is slightly less wobbly when you’re heading in a certain direction. Let that small degree of steadiness be your initial guide.

My Still-Evolving Purpose

That whirlwind week in a classroom didn’t just steer me toward an eventual MFA, but it also taught me that my words could matter in ways far beyond what I’d imagined. Writing, for me, isn’t just about storytelling—it’s about connection, empowerment, and showing people (high schoolers and adults alike) that they’re not alone in the wild, messy, occasionally beautiful chaos of life.

And for anyone out there still trying to stumble into their own purpose: trust the messiness. Maybe it’s hidden in a chance project at work, a random hobby you keep circling back to, or even a conversation with a friend that sticks with you, replaying in your mind at odd hours. It might not look the way you thought it would, but I can almost guarantee it’ll feel worth it when you lean into it.

Here’s the truth I’ve learned: Sometimes, discovering your purpose is about letting life interrupt your plans. The question is, will you let it surprise you?