How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose

If you told me a year ago that I’d find my life purpose by faceplanting into a table covered in overpriced macarons, I’d have laughed and ordered another coffee. But fate has a way of smacking you upside the head—sometimes literally—with answers you weren’t even looking for. My sweetly painful stumble became the moment something clicked, though it took a few more twists to figure out what it all meant. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

The Chaos of Looking for Purpose

Before we get into the macaron mishap (I promise it’ll make sense soon), let’s talk about the pressure to “find your purpose.” It’s everywhere, like a tragic rom-com montage. One minute you’re convinced you’ll write a Pulitzer-winning novel, the next you’re six Amazon deep dives into candle-making kits because you read somewhere that aromatherapy equals self-actualization.

I’m no stranger to that chaos. In fact, I might’ve been the poster child for it. I spent my twenties chasing what I should be doing. I painted. I traveled halfway across the world three separate times. I even flirted (not-so-successfully) with a pottery wheel like I was Demi Moore in “Ghost.” Spoiler: there was a lot of clay in my hair and even less romance.

Yet, nothing seemed to stick. Because, of course, I was doing all these things without stopping to ask myself what actually made me feel alive.

The Macaron Incident of the Century

So, there I was: a moody minus-the-brooding artist, trying to drown my quarter-life existential dread in Parisian confections. My best friend had dragged me to a swanky dessert tasting event. You know the type—dainty cakes, soft jazz humming in the background, and a room full of people trying to decide if they were more “lavender” or “truffle-infused” types of humans.

I could have pretended I fit in, but halfway to the dessert table, I tripped over someone’s obnoxiously large designer bag. My fall wasn’t graceful. I went down hard, sending macarons flying in every direction. Somehow, I managed to land with my nose directly in a chocolate ganache tower. The universe: 1. Dignity: 0.

What happened next surprised me. Instead of an awkward struggle to disappear into the floorboards of my shame, I made a joke about “death by chocolate couture” and turned my mangled macaron into an impromptu mini puppet show, complete with a French accent. People laughed—a lot. Strangers asked if they could join my friend and me. By the end of the night, a room that once felt cold and intimidating was buzzing with warmth, connection, and ridiculous dessert-themed puns.

What struck me was this: the joy in that space had nothing to do with how “perfect” we all appeared. It was about how willing we were to drop our guards (or, in my case, our pastry towers) and just be ridiculous, flawed, and human.

What the Macarons Taught Me

It wasn’t some grand epiphany that hit in the moment. I wasn’t about to run off to write a memoir titled Flawed and Fabulous: The Chocolate Truth Chronicles. But something about that night stayed with me.

Over the coming weeks, I thought about how often we’re so busy chasing an idea of who we think we’re supposed to be that we forget who we actually are. For me, it took tumbling headfirst into sugary chaos to see that my purpose wasn’t about chasing perfection or lofty goals. It was about creating spaces—no matter how small—where people could let their guard down and connect.

I realized that I’d spent years curating moments like that without even noticing. Whether it was rallying my shy cousins into a post-dinner karaoke jam session during Thanksgiving or playing matchmaker at a random coworker’s going-away party (they’re married now, by the way, you’re welcome), those were the moments that fed my soul.

Finding Purpose Isn’t a Grand Adventure

If you’re waiting for the part where I reinvent myself as a guru of vulnerability and connections, spoiler: it’s not coming. Life didn’t magically rearrange itself into a neat Hallmark movie plotline.

That’s the thing about finding purpose—it’s rarely some sweeping, cinematic discovery. For most of us, it’s more like when you’re looking for your wallet, give up, and then magically find it sitting in the fridge next to last week’s takeout. You don’t need to see every answer all at once. Sometimes, it’s just about noticing the little sparks along the way.

How to Stumble Toward Your Purpose Without Faceplanting

Not everyone needs a dramatic macaron-induced accident to figure things out. But if you’re feeling like the old “What do I want with my life?” question is hanging over you like Carrie Bradshaw’s closet existentialism, here are a few things I learned that might help:

  1. Quit Chasing “Big” and Start Noticing “Small.”
    Look at your day-to-day moments. When do you light up? And I don’t mean under literal soft lighting for selfies. Is it cracking jokes that break tension in awkward situations? Helping friends solve problems only you see clearly? Lean into that.

  2. Let Go of The “Shoulds.”
    I spent years trying to live up to the version of me I thought others wanted to see. Turns out, no one was waiting for me to be perfect. The most magnetic thing you can do is throw out the so-called rulebook and just be. Messy, human, you.

  3. Your Purpose Might Not Look Like a Job Description—and That’s Okay.
    Full disclosure: you don’t need to pivot into an entirely new career to fulfill your purpose. Maybe it’s something you cultivate outside work. Maybe it’s how you show up for people, your quirky sense of humor, or your ability to throw a killer game night. Whatever it is, it matters.

  4. Define What “Success” Means for You.
    If your gut reaction to the word “success” is anxiety, then guess what? You’re letting someone else’s definition of it control your life. Rewrite it in a way that sits right with your soul. Mine now includes “laughing until dessert lands on your nose.”

  5. Don’t Be Afraid to Crash (Or Crumble).
    Not every fall will catapult you into monumental clarity, but each one teaches you something. So, go ahead—mess up, try again, and let the lessons sneak up on you when they’re ready.

Embrace the (Beautiful) Mess

I used to think discovering your purpose was a single defining moment—like you’re standing in a spotlight, eyes fixed on some miraculous sign delivered directly from the universe. But now I know it’s more like a messy reel of moments, pieced together by accidents, curiosity, and a willingness to laugh at your own expense.

Maybe your purpose is already out there in the quiet folds of your life, waiting for you to stumble over it. So, do yourself a favor: trip occasionally. Make jokes along the way. And if you land face first in another metaphorical pile of macarons, dust yourself off (or lick the sugar off your fingers) and keep going.

You never know—your next fall might be the key to rising in a way you never expected.