How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose
I’d like to say my “aha” moment happened while I was sipping a velvety Syrah in a rustic vineyard, the sun gilding the hills of Napa and a violin swelling in the background—something wildly cinematic. But no. My purpose smacked me in the face somewhere far less poetic: a blind date at a fondue restaurant. Yes, cheese fondue—a bubbling cauldron of dairy chaos that I had neither signed up for nor spiritually prepared to endure.
If you dread the gurgling tension of communal dipping pots as much as I do, stick with me. Because that weird night of Gruyère river rafting cracked something open in me that’s shaped every decision I’ve made since.
The Cringiest Encounter + An Unexpected Realization
First, the blind date. “Paul” was nice enough. He was some cousin of a friend, and I agreed to meet him out of polite desperation. I figured, Worst case, it’s one night. But when Paul insisted we dine at a fondue restaurant “because it’s unique,” my gut told me this was a borderline personality test.
The experience played out like a hybrid of speed dating and a competitive science experiment. Picture clunky skewers, lava-like cheese splattering my sleeve, and the awkwardness of asking a near-stranger, “Is it just me, or does this bread feel like a sponge?” Paul, an enthusiastic dipper, tried impressing me by meticulously experimenting with cheese-to-broccoli ratios, while I sat there wishing for a regular bowl of pasta.
But then something clicked. Between dodging flying droplets of cheese and enduring Paul’s monologue on why artisanal fondue is superior to canned soup (we weren’t even comparing those two?), I started noticing things.
This wasn’t about the fondue. Or even Paul’s misguided obsession with food superiority. It hit me: food isn’t just flavor. It’s language, ritual, identity. It maps relationships. It defines moments. Sitting across from someone while struggling to find a thread of connection amid the swirl of melted Gruyère helped me realize my obsession with food isn’t limited to taste—it’s what food says about people.
Paul’s relationship to fondue told me everything I needed to know about him—what he valued, how he interacted with the world, and how we were fundamentally not a match. I cluelessly stumbled into this realization, but it became the lens I began applying to everything: wine tasting, dinner parties, takeout orders. When people make choices about what they eat or how they experience food, they’re showing you who they are.
That night didn’t just punch me in the face with the importance of food as culture and connection. It made me realize I wanted to talk about it, write about it, share it.
Finding the “Why”
If you’d told college-aged Briar—the one frantically trying to balance English lit classes and whittling down temperamental crème brûlée recipes—that I’d one day call cheese my career North Star, I would’ve rolled my eyes harder than those soufflés deflated.
The truth is, I landed in Napa Valley’s wine-and-food scene by sheer proximity, not by planning. There was no early enlightenment or grand plan. I took my first gig as a vineyard sampler because it beat working retail. I wrote my first food essay for a regional wine magazine because they promised free champagne. For years, I saw my career more as a string of happy-but-directionless incidents—a gourmet pinball machine with occasional detours to Europe.
But all of that changed because of one squishy bread cube and a guy named Paul.
As I left that fondue nightmare behind—probably still smelling faintly of burnt Emmental—I had a singularly crystal-clear thought that’s fueled me ever since: this is your why. Not dating (thank goodness, because what I’d learned about Paul’s culinary habits that evening could’ve doubled as a red flag parade). But exploring food as bridge and barrier, the way it communicates, connects, and divides. The conversations about people’s choices captivated me more than the flavors themselves.
Listen to the Universe (Even If It’s Speaking Through Fondue)
Here’s what I’ve learned since that peculiar night: sometimes, your purpose doesn’t come in a beautifully wrapped epiphany. It surprises you, sneaks up through the back door, and often disguises itself as something ridiculous. Fondue became my muse—not because of its flavor profile, but because it held up a neon sign reminding me what I’d loved to do all along.
If you’re sitting there, waiting for some lightning-bolt moment to clue you in on what you’re meant to do, maybe it’s already happening—but in disguise. Trust me, your signs don’t always show up Beyoncé-style, commanding the spotlight. Sometimes, they appear as awkward dates, missed trains, or chances you almost turn down because they seem too trivial.
So how do you start listening?
- Pay Attention to Small Moments: If something lights a curiosity in you—even if it’s small, weird, or completely outside your current path—lean into it. Fondue taught me just that.
- Notice Patterns: What are you drawn to naturally? For me, it was storytelling through food and wine. That’s where I’ve always felt the itch to dig deeper.
- Embrace the “Why” Spiral: Ask why you love something, again and again, until you hit the marrow. Why food? Why writing? Why this career? Keep tugging the thread.
- Stay Open to Humble Beginnings: The pathway to purpose rarely looks glamorous. Sometimes, its first step involves melting cheese and a guy who puts “ketchup connoisseur” on his LinkedIn.
Humans, Connection, and Honoring What You Love
Now, I understand that not everyone processes their life purpose through a dairy lens (although, if you do, we should talk). But whatever your thing is—whatever flickers brightly in the most unexpected moments—honor it. Don’t dismiss it because it feels small or embarrassingly ordinary, like a detail you’d gloss over at a dinner party. Often, it’s the sharply specific moments that shape us most.
That blind date didn’t lead me to love, but it led me to a career that feels like home. Writing about food, relationships, and Napa’s ever-evolving culture feels like exactly the conversation I was always meant to have. It started with Gruyère—clumsy, imperfect, incredible Gruyère.
So here’s your takeaway, readers: whatever lights your fuse, whatever makes you laugh even as it annoys you (fondue cheese blobs included), take a closer look. Purpose isn’t always tidy and clear. Sometimes, it’s a drippy mess that still deserves your full attention.
And next time you’re on an awkward date, take notes. You never know what it might reveal about the other person—or maybe even yourself.
