It started with a broken bridle strap, a rusty Ford truck, and a detour I never saw coming. Now, if you’ve grown up in a place like Telluride, you know that life has a way of teaching you lessons in the most unassuming ways—usually when you're elbow-deep in mud or stuck behind a herd of cattle. But what I didn’t expect that day, somewhere on the edge of the San Juan Mountains, was to stumble face-first into a truth that would redefine how I saw every relationship in my life—including the one I had with myself.

Spoiler alert: it turned out to be my calling. And it looked nothing like what I had imagined.

The Not-So-Grand Beginning

Growing up on a ranch, you kind of expect your greatest life epiphanies to happen while staring into a technicolor sunset, breathing in fresh mountain air, and contemplating the rugged beauty of it all. Reality? It’s usually more like hitting your head on a low-hanging barn beam while wondering why the horses are smarter than you some days.

One summer afternoon, while helping my folks with a group of tourists itching for their cowboy Instagram moment, I found myself fumbling with an old, worn bridle. It snapped right before we loaded everyone onto their horses. Classic. I was already sweating bullets trying to keep up with these cheery visitors from the suburbs, all decked out in freshly purchased “Western” gear. (I’m convinced one guy practiced saying “Yeehaw!” in the mirror that morning.)

Frustrated and armed with duct tape—I’ll let you guess if it worked—I pushed through that day dreaming of what life might look like far away. This wasn’t my purpose, I thought. Surely, there was something bigger waiting for me out there. Something… well, anything that didn’t involve bridle repairs and dodging horse manure.

But then the questions started rolling in. One visitor asked about the trail's history. Another wanted to know if the San Juans had ever been part of some old movie set. And before I knew it, I was telling them stories, not just about the trail but about the old mining towns nearby, the families who’d settled the mountains, and the hard-fought lives they led. People laughed at my corny jokes (“Southwest Colorado: where the gold mines are empty, but our coffee never is”) and nodded as I tied the threads of the past to the world they lived in now.

It wasn’t just small talk; it was connection.

When the Mountains Call

I wouldn’t say I had an Oprah-level epiphany right then and there—no hallelujah choruses in the background—but looking back, I think a light clicked on somewhere deep inside. Telling stories came naturally to me. Suddenly, the scenes of my life on that little ranch weren’t mundane—they were meaningful.

But here’s the kicker. It took years for me to fully understand how this chance moment of storytelling around a dusty trail had planted a seed for who I’d eventually become. We don’t always recognize purpose when it taps us on the shoulder. Sometimes, it barges in with a smile, wearing a tourist’s slightly oversized cowboy hat.

I held onto that thread, though. When I headed off to college to study history, I kept chasing stories. They showed up in term papers, in campfire chats with friends, and later, around classrooms when I started teaching. What started as trail-talk storytelling became a means of honoring past lives and building connections in the present.

Finding Purpose in the Unexpected

Here’s the thing about discovering your calling: it doesn’t always show up wrapped in a tidy bow, ready to unveil itself like the conclusion of a Hallmark movie. More often than not, it sneaks in when you think your hands are too full fixing broken straps, metaphorically or otherwise.

Maybe your “moment” is sitting quiet in the mundane mundanities of daily life—a random hobby you assume is nothing special, a conversation at a café, or even an unexpected text from someone after a decade. Turns out, purpose rarely knocks politely. It often stumbles into your life when you least expect it, tagging along with a bit of chaos.

Take stock of the little things. Are you the one people gravitate toward when they need advice? Maybe you’re the friend who cooks an unforgettable risotto every Friday night while entertaining with your one-man stand-up routine. These accidents, these seemingly small gifts you’ve never thought too much of, often shine a light on where your sweet spot of impact lies.

The Power of Telling (And Living) Your Story

Sharing this “ah-ha” moment helped me realize something surprising: purpose isn’t a singular event. It’s a thread. Some of us were handed it in childhood (looking at you, kid violin prodigies), while most of us are quietly unraveling it one knot at a time.

For me, I found that purpose meant embracing my role as a storyteller. Whether I’m spinning mining-town history to bored college students or writing a feature like this, my goal is the same—to connect. To peel back the layers of the human experience and remind people they’re not walking (or riding) the trail alone.

So, when you think about your own story—the life you’ve lived so far—don’t overlook the scenes where nothing “spectacular” seemed to happen. The magic is often buried in those moments—the overlooked detours, the awkward mishaps, or, in my case, the horse trails where purpose caught me mid-stride.

How You Can Spot It, Too

You might be wondering, “Okay, but how do I figure out what my own trail is leading toward?” Good news. You don’t need duct tape or a broken bridle strap. Here’s what helped me embrace and refine my sense of purpose:

  1. Pay Attention to Pattern Recognition
    What do people consistently come to you for? Advice? Problem-solving? Terrible puns that somehow always land? (“Horse jokes are stable humor,” in case you were wondering.) These clues often pop up repeatedly in the backdrop of your life. Notice them.

  2. Enjoy the Process (Even When It’s Messy)
    The journey isn’t linear. If I’d taken my younger self’s advice and “broke free” from cozy small-town life the way I once dreamed, I wouldn’t have rediscovered the passion right under my nose. Sometimes, your wandering brings you back to center.

  3. Lead with Curiosity
    Be inquisitive and open-minded, both with yourself and with other people. Your purpose doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it’s an intersection of your passions, skills, and the ways you can serve others.

From Flirtation to Full Commitment

Finding your purpose is a lot like dating—it starts with a spark, a flirtation with an idea or an experience. And then, bit by bit, it deepens. You commit. It’s not love-at-first-sight for most of us; it’s built moment by moment, memory by memory, mistake by mistake.

It turns out, your purpose doesn’t have to look glamorous from the outside. Honestly, it’s better if it’s a little rough around the edges, shaped by detours, oddball moments, and unexpected wins. Purpose is what happens when you stop trying to “find” a single answer and simply start paying attention to the story you’re already living.

Looking back, that bent bridle and faded mountain trail were all the clarity I needed—not perfect, just enough.