How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose
The Day I Got Lost in Paris
It was a perfectly ordinary morning in Paris—or at least, it started that way. I had six months in the city on a research grant, diving into the overlap between Japanese ceramics and French impressionism. Naturally, I had meticulously planned my day: an early museum visit, followed by a café stop where I’d eat a questionably overpriced croissant and wrestle with my field notes. But as any Parisian will warn you, this city thrives on upsetting your plans.
I was on my way to a gallery when I accidentally took the wrong turn—classic tourist behavior, even if you have an academic badge to flash. Lost in a confusing intersection somewhere near the Marais, I stumbled into what appeared to be a pop-up art session. A dozen or so people with paint-smudged aprons and wide smiles stood gathered in what looked like a tiny garage-turned-studio. Before I could politely back away, a woman (who I later learned was the session instructor) grabbed my arm and said, in French-accented English, "You must come! No one escapes my class."
It wasn’t a request.
I laughed nervously but stayed, suddenly wielding an unfamiliar brush and staring at a blank canvas. Spoiler alert: I am not a painter. My "landscape" looked like it was suffering from vertigo, my colors were chaotic, and my brushstrokes resembled early toddler attempts. But something magical happened in the chaos.
By the end of the two-hour session, I had forgotten the museum on my itinerary entirely. Standing in that tiny, paint-splattered studio, it struck me: maybe purpose doesn’t begin with perfection.
Purpose Isn’t a Straight Line (But More of a Ramen Noodle Spiral)
Growing up outside Tokyo, I was encouraged to set explicit goals. My parents were blueprint people: map out your ambitions, then follow the steps to get there. And I tried—I really tried. By my twenties, I was all about detailed plans and timelines that spanned years, complete with color-coded notebooks to track progress. (Yes, I was that person.) Becoming a museum curator seemed like a natural fit for my intellectual interests, and for the longest time, I was sure it was my purpose.
But that random painting session in Paris unlocked something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. There was no rigid structure dictating how things "should" unfold, no right answers smirking from a textbook corner. It was just me, a brush I had no idea how to hold properly, and permission to make mistakes. There was joy in the process.
It’s funny, isn’t it? How moments that are technically "off-course" can end up showing you your truest direction? Much like ramen noodles (yes, we’re taking this metaphor all the way), purpose might bend and twist unexpectedly but is so much more satisfying when you let it take its own shape.
How It Shifted My Relationships (Spoiler Alert: A Lot!)
Let’s hit pause on lofty conversations about "destiny" and zoom in on something every reader here can relate to: dating.
At the time of my Paris detour, I had just gone through a breakup. You know the kind where you think your entire future was artfully planned with this person—right down to shared Spotify playlists, folding furniture for a hypothetical apartment, and inside jokes you’re secretly proud of? Yeah, that but worse. I’d been using work (and, in hindsight, overachieving) to distract myself from the lingering sting of being single, lost, and out of sync with myself.
Something about painting lopsided blobs onto that canvas, however, was like a reset button. It got me thinking about how so much of dating—and life—is built on visible milestones: perfect first dates, amazing Instagrammable anniversaries, rings that sparkle in just the right way for the algorithm. We focus so much on "nailing it" that we lose sight of the messy, beautiful process of connection.
The moments where things get delightfully weird—like getting soaked under an unexpected rainstorm, sharing the lamest inside jokes with someone who gets you, or bonding over mutual love for an obscure Ryuichi Sakamoto track—are often where relationships stop being checkbox-perfect and start feeling, well, real. So, just like my painting process that day, I decided to let go of the need for perfectly curated romance. And honestly? It was liberating.
Embrace the Chance Encounters
Here’s the ironic twist: I never professionally pursued painting after that pop-up class—I leave that to people who truly have the talent. What I did embrace, however, was its lesson: try something new, even if it scares or intimidates you.
That single afternoon had a ripple effect. It gave me the courage to pivot from museum curation to writing (a decision I once agonized over). It taught me to stop waiting for everything to fall perfectly into place before taking action. And perhaps most importantly, it reminded me to savor the randomness of life. Like stumbling into the wrong relationship only to realize later it was the stepping stone you needed, or ditching the map on vacation and finding an unforgettable local joint where English isn’t spoken, but kindness is fluently understood.
So, if you're reading this from a spot where life feels a little too predictable—or too messy—here’s my advice for you:
- Take a wrong turn, literally or metaphorically. Book a pottery class. Walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood. Say yes to an invitation that feels random. You never know what you might find along the edges.
- Be terrible at something (on purpose). Not every interest or experience has to become a polished skill. That karaoke night where you butcher Whitney Houston? That’s the spirit.
- Let go of needing a straight path. Purpose isn’t linear—I can’t stress this enough. Don’t fret if you’re in the "spiraling ramen" phase of your journey. It’s delicious there, I promise.
From Messy to Meaningful
Today, my life looks nothing like the template I envisioned a decade ago, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My parents, those blueprint enthusiasts, love to hear about the overlaps in my lived and written experiences—the ways art, culture, and relationships weave together in the stories I now tell for a living. They laugh when I remind them that my so-called "life plan" fell apart in a Parisian alley over spilled paint and an impulsive decision.
Purpose doesn’t wear a nametag. It’s a conversation waiting to unfold between curiosity and courage. You don’t have to nail it on your first try (or your twentieth). But you do have to show up—messy, imperfect, and wholeheartedly human. Sometimes, the wrong turn is exactly where you’re meant to be.
