There’s a saying in Hollywood: “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” While that might be true for things like landing a table at Pizzana on a Friday night, life—and maybe more importantly, purpose—is a little more nuanced. I didn’t plan to stumble into mine, but like most “a-ha” moments, this one snuck up on me when I least expected it. And, surprisingly, it all started with an awkward conversation at a wedding.

The Wrong Plus-One... or So I Thought

It was one of those opulent Bel-Air weddings where the floral budget alone could finance an indie film. I was seated at a table with strangers—actors, agents, and what seemed like an entire Bachelor Nation reunion. Amid the small talk, the person next to me, a woman in her thirties wearing Bottega heels I could only dream of affording, asked me what I did for a living.

I gave my typical spiel: “Screenwriter, sometimes prose writer, currently having an existential crisis about it all.” At this point, I was mid-way through my second spritz and already dreading the familiar chorus of follow-up questions: “Anything I’ve seen?” or “Wow, so like La La Land?”

But instead, she just nodded and said, “You know, I’ve always thought writers have the hardest job. Translating life? That’s no easy feat.”

It wasn’t profound. It wasn’t life-changing. Yet, for some reason, her words clung to me like over-sprayed wedding perfume for days.

What she said hit a nerve. Partially because writing is hard—especially when you grow up surrounded by visions of success that look nothing like messy drafts or rejection emails. But more so because I realized I was translating something—life, love, heartbreak, identity—and somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself it didn’t matter.

My Life in a Coffee Shop Montage

Let’s rewind. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing. Whether it was parsing out what Shabbat dinner felt like for my ever-dramatic diary entries or scripting imaginary blockbusters about tween spies (working title: Mission: Junior Impossible). Words have always been my thing. But seeing my parents navigate Hollywood—successes and failures included—put me in a strange place: I was an insider, yet somehow allergic to the industry pressure bucket.

And while I wanted to do something meaningful, I also daydreamed about living in an old-school Nancy Meyers rom-com. You know, the kind of life with chunky sweaters, endless lattes, and the hyper-edited version of purpose: glossy, clean, equipped with piano scene background music.

But finding purpose didn’t come to me that way. It came to me on an ordinary weekday while I was procrastinating a script deadline at my favorite cafe in Westwood. I overheard a guy at the next table, talking too loudly on his phone. He was mid-rant about his girlfriend “not understanding his sarcasm.”

You ever hear something that makes you pause? Not because it’s Earth-shattering, but because it rings with universal truth? That guy on his phone? The human embodiment of a bad rom-com’s ex-boyfriend archetype? Something about his rant made me realize what has always drawn me to relationships—both in storytelling and in life: the little, messy, misunderstood things that communicate so much about who we are and who we’re trying to be.

It’s the silence after an argument on date night. The eyebrow raise that says, “We’re not done talking about this.” The text reply at 3:00 a.m. that reads “Still up?” A thousand small, beautiful translations of what we mean but can’t quite say aloud.

What It’s Actually Like to Stumble Into Purpose

Here’s the thing about purpose no one tells you: it usually feels like a false start. I didn’t stumble across a divine light moment where I suddenly understood everything. What I did find, however, was that my fascination with relationships was practical, relatable, and maybe even slightly magic.

I started running scenarios in my head: What if Mr. Loud Coffee Shop Guy knew how to communicate sarcasm better? What if his girlfriend had language to express how sarcasm made her feel unheard? What if all of us—flirting, dating, breaking up, moving on—had tools to navigate the mess?

Suddenly, I realized that’s what I’d been doing in my writing—translating relationship frameworks both on and off the page. I was the girl who loved exploring what relationships mean, dissecting toxicity versus growth, crafting quick-fix advice for my friends at lunch breaks, and asking bigger questions like: “Why do people ghost?” or “Is fear of being vulnerable ruining modern romance?”

Actionable Takeaways from My Accidental Discovery

So maybe you’re reading this thinking, “Okay, Becca, good for you. But what does this mean for me?” Here’s what I’ll say: purpose doesn’t come with a flashing sign. It sneaks into doorways you haven’t checked and follows you to places you show up reluctantly (like overpriced weddings with harsh lighting).

If you’re feeling stuck, here are some lessons I learned that might help you stumble into your own:

  • Pay Attention to the Mundane. Life-changing realizations rarely look epic. Sometimes they’re hiding in casual conversations or the background of your daily coffee run. Tune in to the things that consistently catch your interest.

  • Ask Weird Questions. Why does this bother me? Why do I always think about that? Curiosity is the breadcrumb trail to discovering what you actually care about. Follow it, even if it feels silly.

  • Embrace the Awkward. Yes, I feel absurd writing about a guy yelling into an iPhone while sipping an oversized oat milk latte. But life happens in the awkward moments. Push through the cringe and mine it for meaning.

  • You Don’t Have to Be an Expert Yet. When I started focusing on relationships—through writing and just as a person—I felt like an imposter. But nobody starts out as a pro for the thing they’re called to do. Purpose doesn’t require permission; it grows as you do. Let yourself be in the learning stage.

From Weddings to Westwood to Here

So did I find my purpose? Kind of. It wasn’t hiding someplace glamorous or poetic—it was always quietly showing up in my life, like an extra in the background of every scene. I just had to decide to give it a bigger role.

If you’re still searching, know this: your purpose is probably already showing up in ways you don’t expect. Look closely, stay curious, and don’t underestimate where a little messiness—or an ill-fitting plus-one—can take you.