How a Scratched Marvin Gaye Record Helped Me Find My Purpose
I didn’t set out to find clarity that day. Actually, my only goal was to replace the needle on my mom's record player—because against all odds, she’d managed to wear out her beloved “What’s Going On” vinyl like it dropped last week. But sometimes life pulls tricks on you, like when you go to Target for toothpaste and come out with two throw blankets and snacks you didn’t know existed. Instead of just grabbing a new needle at the record store, I ended up walking out with a revelation about who I was—and what I was meant to do.
It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t a thunderclap moment where a divine voice came down and said, “DeAndre, this is it.” (Although, if Morgan Freeman ever wants to narrate my life, my inbox is wide open). No, it was quieter than that. But honestly? That’s what made it stick.
Chance Encounters: The Real Origin Stories We Rarely Notice
We talk a lot about “aha moments” like they come with confetti and a spotlight. But if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that purpose doesn’t always slide into your DMs like a smooth pickup line—sometimes it sneaks up on you in side streets of your life where you weren’t even looking.
That day, at the record shop, I was shuffling through the soul section when I struck up a conversation with a young guy behind the counter. He noticed the Alan Lomax blues compilation I was holding, and we started talking about Chicago’s musical lineage—Bronzeville, Maxwell Street, the basement parties our parents always swore couldn't be topped. Soon, it wasn’t just about music; we were talking about how culture inside the city is grit and poetry—how stories anchor us.
Somewhere in between his stories about his uncle’s jazz band that played in late-night South Side haunts and my memories of sneaking out as a teen to catch poetry slams downtown, it hit me. I didn’t just love these stories and snapshots—they were part of the marrow in my bones. I’d spent so long writing fiction about the streets I knew and the lives I imagined, but here I was, sitting on these real-life tales of my own—my community’s footprints on my heart—and doing nothing about them.
What I Found in the Static
Here’s the thing about writing. Fiction is where I first found my voice, but it never quite felt like it was mine. I was chasing sounds, styles, themes that borrowed from my idols without digging deep into my “why.” But standing in that record store, held captive by that employee’s stories and the glow of shared memory, a scratched-up horn riff from the speakers nailed me to the floor. The needle was jumping back and forth across a Marvin Gaye groove, but it turned out, the message was still clear: Tell these truths. They matter.
Listen, I’ve always been a storyteller, but before that moment it felt like I was drifting—always writing towards something but never landing anywhere. But as that young guy talked about his family’s kitchen-table jam sessions, and as I shared my stories of walking through Chicago with my dad, earbuds in, letting Curtis Mayfield guide us along the L track, I realized it: I wasn’t born just to tell stories—I was born to preserve them.
In that moment, my “why” shifted. I didn’t just want to write about love, connection, and humanity in a vacuum. I wanted to show how those things thrived inside specific places, people, and histories.
Answering the Call (Even When It’s Lowkey Terrifying)
The thing about discovering your purpose? It feels like falling in love. Suddenly you’re wide-eyed about everything, even the mundane. But like falling in love, purpose has a way of exposing you too. It asks you to go all in.
I started teaching creative writing workshops not long after that day. Let me tell you—it was like learning to ride a bike while simultaneously building one. The stories young people shared with me were raw, messy, borderline magical. They talked about growing up with parents working two jobs, falling in love for the first time on train rides, and what gentrification was doing to grandma’s favorite tavern. And when I watched them mold those fragments into art, into meaning, it hit me: storytelling isn’t just therapy to get you through—it’s a bridge to human connection.
Those teens gave me just as much as I gave them, maybe more. They helped me understand that preserving stories from our neighborhoods isn’t just about nostalgia—it’s about ensuring we’re seen and heard in the larger map of this wild, chaotic world.
Turning Discoveries into Daily Practice
If you’re sitting there thinking, “Wow, DeAndre, that’s great for you, but how does this help me?” don’t worry—I got you. Sometimes purpose feels overwhelming, almost mythic, like you’re searching for the holy grail and a yellow brick road at the same time. But in my experience, it’s simpler than that. Purpose isn’t always about the grand gesture—it’s about following the breadcrumbs that give you life.
Here are a few breadcrumbs worth picking up on your way to discovering your purpose:
-
Lean Into Curiosity
Think about it—what pulls you in like a good cliffhanger? Where do you lose track of time, or who are the people whose stories light you up like the Fourth of July? Follow those threads. They’ll take you somewhere. -
Be Okay with Uncertainty
Purpose isn’t a clean-cut blueprint. It’s complicated, mashed up, and sometimes hidden under everyday junk like burnt toast and overdue bills. Be patient, and remember it’s okay not to have it all figured out. -
Build Through Action, Not Just Ideas
Start small. Offer to help a friend with their project, or rediscover an old hobby just for fun. You never know what will make something inside you click.
Your Purpose Is in the Pieces
When people talk about purpose, it’s easy to zone out because, let’s be real, it’s hard not to picture stock photos of meditating influencers and motivational posters with sunsets. But for me? Purpose isn’t about reaching for some distant, picture-perfect horizon. It’s about parsing through the gritty, beautiful pieces of who you already are and letting them direct your next steps.
I didn’t discover my purpose in a fancy Parisian café or while climbing mountaintops. I found it in a scratched-up record, an overheard jazz story, and a chain of city youth who gave me as much as I gave them. And if you’re still piecing yours together, know this: The clues are already scattered across your life. All you’ve got to do is listen for the groove.
