It was a sweltering afternoon in Houston, the kind that makes you reconsider why you insisted on blow-drying your hair instead of submitting to the city’s inevitable humidity. I wasn’t there for anything glamorous—just an impromptu grocery run because my abuela had decided mid-Saturday that the pozole needed guajillo chiles she didn’t have on hand. It was in the parking lot of Fiesta Mart, a place that for me smells like a mix of ripe plantains, tortillas, and childhood nostalgia, where I had an encounter that redefined how I approached life, love, and the assumptions I held onto far too tightly.

How It Started: Me, My Egos, and My Errands

Picture this: I’m squinting against the sun, fumbling with a misplaced shopping list, and wearing what my best friend Bianca affectionately calls my “don’t talk to me” outfit—oversized tee, sweatpants, and tennis shoes that have more mileage than my Nissan. As I hurried toward the entrance, I glanced at a man parked next to me, unloading what can only be described as a clown-car level of grocery bags into his truck.

He must have noticed my frustration with my wilted Post-it note, because he called out over the hum of the parking lot chaos: “You look like you’re two seconds from giving up... but don’t. Gotta finish what you start.”

I was caught off guard. “Sorry?” The note was now half-stuck to my sweaty hand.

“Life’s easiest when you stop overthinking,” he said casually, shrugging like he wasn’t dropping what felt like a tailor-made life lesson on an unsuspecting stranger. “Grab what you need. Forget the rest.”

Was this grocery-laden oracle calling me out on more than my burnt-out shopping attitude? His words didn’t feel rehearsed, like some inspirational quote regurgitated off an Instagram reel. It was less “live laugh love” and more “snap out of it, chica.” My ego bristled, but something about his tone—direct but kind—made me stop in my tracks. I smiled awkwardly, nodded like I had a clue what I was doing, and marched into Fiesta, determined to find my chiles and figure out why his words lingered like the smell of epazote over a simmering pot.

The Parking Lot Prophet: A Study in Unexpected Wisdom

Here’s the thing: I didn’t think much of small talk with strangers before that moment. You know the type—cashiers commenting on the weather, people at the dog park telling you your pup is “too cute,” Uber drivers philosophizing about their second cousins’ investment strategies. I used to dismiss it as filler noise, proof that people just needed to feel less awkward by filling silence.

But now, I couldn’t help replaying his words while I roamed Fiesta’s narrow aisles. Had I been overthinking everything lately? At that time, I was freshly single, doing my best to convince myself (and my very involved family) that I wasn’t slowly unraveling when I caught myself crying in line at Whataburger while Beyoncé’s “All Night” played on the speakers. I mean, who sobs over fries? (Spoiler: I did. But they were excellent fries, and also heartbreak is melodramatic like that.)

The stranger’s offhand advice wasn’t necessarily groundbreaking, and yet there was something about hearing it from someone with zero context about my life that made it feel weightier. When your tias tell you to “keep going” after a breakup, it’s easy to assume it’s just something they say to round off their speech before pouring you another cup of café con leche. When a stranger takes the time to say it, you can’t help but wonder if the universe is dangling an accidental PSA just for you.

What It Taught Me: Lessons in Letting Go

By the time I made it back to my car, guajillo chiles safely bagged and a three-pack of conchas I didn’t need but definitely deserved in hand, I felt lighter. The parking lot prophet was long gone, but the simplicity of his advice stuck with me—so much so I began reframing parts of my life around it.

Here’s what I’ve learned since that impromptu lesson in the Fiesta Mart parking lot:

  • Stop Romanticizing Perfection (In Love or Grocery Lists): Whether it’s creating the “perfect” date night or expecting someone to read your mind after you’ve sent them a single, cryptically vague emoji, the need for control is exhausting. Approaching relationships—or even singlehood—with curiosity instead of expectation allows you to actually enjoy the ride versus fearing the outcome.

  • Trust Your Momentum: Sometimes, we’re so worried about having all the answers upfront, we don’t realize we’re better off improvising as we go. It’s true whether you’re sharing your feelings during a serious talk or trying to figure out which salsa pairs best with dinner. Keeping the pace instead of stalling forces your confidence to catch up to your intentions.

  • Look For Lessons in Unexpected Places: I used to believe epiphanies only happened in poetic, grand ways—like crying in front of beautiful art at The Menil Collection or during a perfectly timed sunset in Galveston. But moments of clarity can happen anywhere: during a bad first date, washing dishes, or even between a stranger balancing eggs and a gallon of horchata. Turns out, life hands you “aha” moments when you least expect them. You just have to be paying attention.

  • Flirting With Fate Can Be Fun: Alright, maybe flirt is the wrong word in this context—but leaning into chance (like the stranger’s unsolicited grocery-store sermon) makes life wildly more interesting. Not every stranger is a wise philosopher, but they might offer a fresh perspective you didn’t know you craved.

What Now? Moving From Stranger Lessons to Self-Discovery

If you’d asked me pre-Fiesta prophet whether I wanted loud, unsolicited advice from random parking lot strangers, I would’ve given you a very stern no. By default, I’m not great at being vulnerable, which makes me extra guarded when someone tries to get deep with me, fast. But something about that man—his simplicity, his earnestness—pushed me to reconsider my philosophies on connection. Sometimes people see you more clearly when they don’t carry the baggage of knowing your background, your flaws, your stubbornness.

Now, I search for meaning in more places and stop rolling my eyes at talkative Uber drivers, at least half the time. Love and self-discovery don’t always appear in your story neatly, like a character arc from a Netflix rom-com. Sometimes, they’re found between traffic jams and the hum of the everyday.

And as for my parking lot lentor? I don’t remember his face, and I wish I’d said something less awkward than “thanks” before darting away, but that moment taught me something invaluable: real clarity doesn’t come from big, complicated revelations. It often arrives as advice you didn’t ask for, on a Saturday you weren’t ready for, from the stranger parked two spaces over.