How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose

A Spilled Latte and a Life Pivot

It started, as all great epiphanies do, with coffee. Specifically, a disastrously spilled mug of it—down my blouse, over my manuscript drafts, and onto the dim, unsuspecting floor of my tiny apartment in Madrid. It was one of those mornings when life felt like an indie rom-com, except I was neither plucky nor charming. I was cranky, broke, and woefully single.

At the time, I was recovering from heartbreak, which, if you’re wondering, was as dramatic and messy as you’d expect from someone who grew up under Santiago’s sunsets and Neruda’s poetry. I had thrown myself into editing Latin American romance anthologies, likely as penance for my poor taste in men. Yet, even surrounded by words steeped in devotion, love felt like an unwelcome houseguest in my life—loud, clumsy, and always leaving a mess.

But that particular morning, something shifted. As I wiped up the coffee stains and tried to save the ink-smeared pages, I realized that maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t in the wrong place anymore. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

When a Detour Becomes the Main Road

People often talk about their path in life like it’s a straight line. You pick a goal, walk toward it, avoid stepping on any landmines, and voilà—you’re blissful and thriving. In my case, my path looked—and still looks—more like one of those winding, cobblestone streets in Buenos Aires where you keep ending up in the same plaza no matter how many turns you take.

As a teenager in Chile, I thought my “purpose” was teaching, following in my parents’ footsteps. By my 20s, I was convinced it was literature. Later, I adopted writing, figuring it would put my endless thoughts and Chilean melodrama to good use. Each stop felt like a new destination, but none offered long-term certainty. It wasn’t until my life accidentally imploded during that one heartbreak that I found the clue I’d been missing: connection.

What Romance Has to Do with Purpose

Yes, romance—and not just the kind featuring violin soundtracks and grand declarations. I started noticing how much human connection, in all forms, was the common thread in my work. Love letters tucked into poetry anthologies. Conversations in Madrid cafés that blossomed into lifelong relationships. Random moments of raw, unscripted connection.

After that fateful coffee incident—and the ensuing love-hate brunch date I arranged with myself—I decided to stop waiting for some grand epiphany about my purpose. Instead, I began paying quiet attention to where I lit up. I started asking myself questions like:

  • What do I gravitate toward, even when no one’s watching?
  • Which moments leave me smiling or excited to share with others?
  • How can I foster more of that without over-planning my next big “career moment”?

Finding Purpose in the Everyday (Power of Nachos and Books Included)

One tangible change came in how I approached my writing. You see, my work had always carried a heavy literary air—dense, academic, and polished to perfection. But I began sneaking in humor and anecdotes, like that time I ruined my chance at a second date because I ate way too many nachos and had to lie down mid-conversation (tragic, but very on brand for me). I stopped pretending to be an author on a pedestal and embraced the fact that my words held more power when they were messy, raw, and relatable.

This mindset shift trickled into daily interactions. I started sharing more of myself with friends—instead of guarding my pain or second-guessing whether I was likable enough. That’s the funny thing about owning your purpose; people respond to the real you. Suddenly, I wasn’t chasing connection. It was finding me.

Practical ways this played out:
1. Being vulnerable about disappointments. My failed relationships became stories, not failures. Turns out, there’s beauty in being open about your blunders—you laugh more, you connect more.
2. Creating moments, not just chasing milestones. Stopping to truly enjoy the present—even something as simple as a picnic in a Madrid park—became part of how I grounded myself.
3. Focusing on relationships beyond romance. Writing about love made me appreciate the multitude of forms it can take: the tenderness of friendship, the enduring loyalty of family, and the delight of a shared smile with a stranger.

The Myth of the “Happy Accident”

When I tell people my purpose arrived “accidentally,” Santiago-style melodrama aside, I don’t mean it literally fell out of nowhere. I mean my scattered steps and failures added up over time until I could finally see the through line.

That heartbreak? Vital.
Those nights overthinking alone in Madrid? Sobering.
Tripping on my own feet in life until my very core said, “Carmen, sit down girl and pay attention”? Perfectly necessary.

If you’re reading this and wondering what your purpose is, take heart: You don’t need a perfect plan. Spill your metaphorical latte. Let things get messier than perfect Pinterest boards would suggest. Notice where your energy flows, especially in relationships.

Conclusion: Your Purpose Isn’t Lost—It’s Living

How do you find your purpose? By living your life. It’s that simple, and also that daunting. You learn, you scrape your knees, and you fail spectacularly while eating too many nachos (yes, still not over that date). It may take years to see your pattern, but trust me, it’s there.

My purpose? It turned out to be helping others connect—both through love and through stories—in a way that highlights the power of our shared emotions. And it never would’ve happened without a spilled latte, a broken heart, and way, way too many rewrites.

Your path will be uniquely yours, and that makes it worth walking. Just bring napkins.