It all started with a splatter of marinara sauce.

I was twenty-three years old, standing in my parents’ café kitchen, attempting to put the finishing touches on lasagna for the dinner specials. I’d returned home to Myrtle Beach after college, partly to save money and partly because the idea of writing a novel while paying Charleston rent seemed, well, terrifying. But working in the back of the café that summer felt decidedly less glamorous than sitting on my dorm room floor reading Flannery O’Connor. My creative dreams were starting to feel like sandcastles after high tide: beautiful for a fleeting moment, but gone just as quickly.

That day, mid-lasagna prepping chaos, I looked up at the sound of laughter. Through the café’s pass-through window, I caught sight of an older couple sitting side by side at a table, splitting a plate of fried shrimp and hush puppies. They looked out of place among the usual tourist crowd—no flip-flops or sunburns, just pressed khakis, weathered hands, and matching smiles. Every now and then, one would lean in to whisper something, prompting a laugh from the other. It was like they were the only two people in the room.

And in that moment, standing there covered in sauce, watching this quiet scene of joy unfold, it hit me. I wasn’t just scanning the dining room—I was cataloging their story in my head, inventing details about who they were, how they met, and what had brought them here. My mind had painted an entire picture that felt more vivid than the dinner rush around me. I wasn’t merely a bystander. I was a storyteller, and I couldn’t stop myself from writing, even in my head.

But, of course, I didn’t dwell on that realization right away. I cleaned up my disaster of a kitchen station, got on with my shift, and forgot about it until later—kind of like how you don’t realize someone’s a soulmate until you’ve spent weeks dissecting their texts with your friends. That’s the thing about discovering your purpose: it never shows up with fireworks or neon signs. Instead, it sneaks in, unpacks its suitcase, and waits for you to notice.

The Beauty in the Unplanned

When I tell people now that it took one random couple and a lasagna incident to reawaken my creative dreams, I get a few side-eyes. But the truth is, life sometimes slaps you across the face with meaning when you least expect it. I hadn’t gone searching for inspiration—it found me. It was a little messy, a little random, but incredibly real.

And isn’t that how the best stories start? Think about romantic comedies. The meet-cute never happens when someone’s perfectly polished. No, it’s when someone has spinach in their teeth, trips over their words, or accidentally spills coffee on their future partner. It’s these moments that feel the most human, and they’re usually the ones that stick with us the longest.

In life—and love—we’re told to plan everything: have a five-year goal, a vision for the future, a to-do list for the week. But sometimes the greatest clarity comes when plans go sideways. Life, I’d argue, isn’t about controlling every outcome. It’s about staying present enough that when inspiration (or love, or growth) comes knocking, you can actually hear it.

Translating Chaos Into Purpose

If there’s one thing I learned from that summer at the café, it’s that purpose isn’t something you find wrapped up in a bow. It’s messy, inconvenient, and often looks like something else entirely. Those moments that clicked into place for me—quietly observing strangers in the dining room, writing mental stories between shifts—weren’t separate from my life. They were my life, and they were hinting at something bigger.

Of course, I didn’t figure all this out immediately. That café kitchen lived in tension with my dreams for a while longer because it was practical. I couldn’t exactly quit and move to a secluded writer’s retreat to frolic in creativity (though trust me, the idea crossed my mind). Instead, I started letting those everyday moments fuel me. I kept a journal in my bag, jotting down overheard conversations or little scenes I noticed. I signed up for virtual workshops and sent my stories to magazines. And when I finally published that debut novel—the one inspired by all the lives I’d pieced together from behind the café counter—it was because of the unplanned, everyday chaos that had slowly shaped me into a storyteller.

How to Nurture Your Own Happy Accidents

You don’t need a lasagna explosion or a pair of impromptu muses to stumble into your purpose. But just in case you’re waiting for life to spell it all out for you, here’s what I’ve learned about embracing the unexpected:

  1. Say Yes to Discomfort
    Growth doesn’t happen inside your comfort zone. Take the odd job, lean into awkward dates, let yourself fumble through tricky situations. You’ll come out the other side with a clearer sense of what feels right for you.

  2. Pay Attention
    Noticing is an underrated skill. The quiet details in life—like the warm smile between strangers or the sound of waves rolling over damp sand—often reveal the most about what lights you up inside.

  3. Take Small Steps
    Purpose isn’t a leap of faith; it’s a collection of small, steady choices. Like building a relationship, nurturing your calling requires patience. Start writing in a notebook, plan an hour for a new hobby each week, or have that uncomfortable-but-necessary conversation you’ve been putting off.

  4. Let Your Present Shape Your Purpose
    It’s tempting to think “someday” is the right time to begin: someday I’ll write, someday I’ll learn to cook, someday I’ll fall in love. But life has a way of giving you everything you need right here and now. Don’t wait for the perfect setting to take yourself seriously.

  5. Trust the Process
    Even if something doesn’t make sense in the moment, let yourself follow it. Those twisty, winding paths have a way of leading us exactly where we need to go.

Let the Lasagna Speak

Looking back, I think it’s poetic that my big realization came during a scene of culinary catastrophe. The universe is nothing if not dramatic. But that’s the point: even when life feels like a mess, it’s still giving you something—a clue, a spark, a push.

Discovering purpose, like falling in love, rarely adheres to a schedule. It’s a mix of happy accidents, stubborn faith, and willingness to embrace both. Next time life splatters marinara sauce on your plans, maybe stop and take a closer look. You never know—it just might reveal your calling.