A Cosmic Mix-Up (Or, How I Found My Purpose)
I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized life has an oddly poetic way of leading us where we’re supposed to be—kind of like when you try a surprise-flavor jelly bean and it turns out to be buttered popcorn, not earwax. For me, the realization hit like a ton of bricks. Well, technically, like a ton of overcooked oatmeal. But let me back up.
The Oatmeal Incident
Several years ago, I was having a quarter-life crisis—the kind advertisers promise to solve with a better car or a protein bar that’s somehow also ice cream. Feeling stuck, I signed up for a creative writing workshop at a library just outside Salt Lake City. I figured it would be one of those casual classes where people politely applaud your haiku about snowflakes. Instead, I found myself in a fluorescent-lit room surrounded by twelve middle-aged strangers who took seating arrangements very personally and were wearing an inexplicable amount of fleece.
The instructor, a retired English professor with a voice that could out-monotone a GPS, assigned us an icebreaker: write about a meal that changed your life. My immediate thought? “Get me out of here.” Then, I remembered a truly unfortunate Sunday morning in my teenage years when I attempted—heroically, I might add—to make hot breakfast for my family.
I hadn’t planned on bringing them oatmeal cemented so solidly to the pan we had to throw the whole thing out. But there it was, steaming and ominous, while my siblings looked on, as though I’d just served them socks drenched in glue. My dad slipped on his best “A for effort” face, and my mom mumbled blessings under her breath, probably hoping I’d someday marry into culinary competence.
As I recounted this story in class, something bizarre happened. The room came alive with laughter—not the half-polite kind, but the real, contagious kind where you can barely breathe. I hadn’t felt that alive in ages. More importantly, people were connecting not with polished perfection but with my very real, very messy humanity.
Sometimes, Not Knowing Is the Point
Until that afternoon, I didn’t even consider storytelling might hold the key to who I was meant to be. Truth be told, I signed up for the workshop because it sounded more respectable than binge-watching The Bachelor for the fourth time (not that I’m judging past Caleb’s choices). But here’s the funny thing about purpose—it shows up like a rom-com heroine, sometimes spilling coffee all over your white shirt instead of announcing itself with a marching band.
In retrospect, I think I’d been circling that realization for years. Growing up in Utah’s LDS community, storytelling was everywhere—from hymns to family lore to potluck conversations about Karen’s casserole fiasco. My writing had always felt like a side dish, though—not the casserole itself. I didn’t recognize yet that there’s meaning in expressing who we are, not who we think we’re supposed to be.
Finding Purpose in the Process
Sometimes our culture sells us this idea that purpose is grand, shiny, and waiting just beyond one more productivity spreadsheet. But what I learned that day, sitting under the dull hum of library lighting, was that purpose feels more like stumbling into a warm embrace you didn’t know you needed.
Here’s the thing about finding your purpose: it’s a lot like dating—awkward, unpredictable, and often arrived at through trial and (many) errors. And just like in relationships, the discovery process matters as much as the destination.
A few takeaways that might help:
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Let Go of the Perfect Plan
I used to think purpose meant hitting specific milestones, like some kind of life bingo card: college? Check. Steady career? Check. Profound personal enlightenment while eating kale? Working on it. That workshop reminded me that plans can be overrated. Sometimes opportunities sneak into your life dressed as something unremarkable. -
Celebrate the Mess
Much like my oatmeal disaster, not every moment of self-discovery is comfortable—or edible. But cracks in our carefully curated facades let light (and inspiration) peek through. Trust me, nobody connects with a highlight reel as much as they do with the deleted scenes. Embracing imperfection isn’t just refreshing—it’s potent. -
Listen (Even to Yourself)
Are you the person friends come to for advice? Have you noticed you light up when you're teaching, organizing game nights, or debating the lyricism of Bon Iver? Clues about purpose tumble out of us all the time. You don’t have to go to Peru on a spiritual retreat—sometimes your inner GPS is just waiting for you to quiet down and notice the turn ahead. -
Share the Journey
Your greatest gift to the world might lie in sharing your joys, blunders, and everything in between. Whether it’s writing, teaching, or exclusively communicating in reaction GIFs, the act of putting yourself out there creates ripple effects you can’t predict but always matter.
Purpose Isn’t a Place—it’s a Practice
After that workshop, I didn’t become a fancy-pants published author overnight, though that would’ve made for a nice rom-com ending. Instead, I kept showing up to the page, bit by bit. My purpose wasn’t found in a single moment but revealed through the steady work of turning life’s raw ingredients (oatmeal or otherwise) into something worth savoring.
And what if you don’t find your purpose tomorrow? That’s okay. The secret is to keep exploring, with curiosity and grace for the messy parts—because, let’s be honest, the messy parts make the best stories. And trust me, they’ll taste better than glue-soaked socks any day.
