How I Accidentally Discovered My Purpose

I was 22 and floating through life with all the purpose of a beach ball caught in a lazy tide. Technically, I was studying marine biology because, hello, how could I not? My mom was the queen of plankton research, and my evenings as a kid were often filled with dinner table monologues on kelp forests and coastal ecosystems. It seemed like the natural fit. But by year two at UC San Diego, I realized I loved walking the tidepools more than I loved cataloging their microbial inhabitants.

It wasn’t just that I kept zoning out during lab sessions (although that happened too often to be ignored). It was that my heart seemed to wake up in those in-between moments: wandering La Jolla Shores with a camera, dreaming up stories inspired by the crashing waves, listening to the laughter of locals who swore by salted caramel lattes at the beach café. I didn’t know what I wanted—but I knew it wasn’t in yet another lecture about algae migration patterns.

And then, one completely unplanned moment changed everything.

The Encounter That Changed It All

Picture this: it’s low tide on a foggy November morning. I’m squatting over a tidepool in my waders, clipboard in hand—doing my best to pretend I care about documenting barnacle counts because participation equals grades, right? But within 10 minutes, I’ve lost all focus. Instead, I’m watching a tiny hermit crab awkwardly change shells like it’s trying on spring break outfits.

A young boy and his dad wander over, and the kid squats beside me, wide-eyed. “What’s that crab doing?” he asks, tugging on my sleeve. I explain as simply as I can, tossing in a little joke about crabs having real estate problems. He laughs—a loud, giddy kind of laughter—and starts peppering me with more questions. His dad listens, nodding occasionally, but it’s clear the kid is completely in awe.

In that moment, I stop being a disenchanted biology major and become something else: a storyteller. The science alone doesn’t impress the boy—it’s the details and humor I throw in, the way I turn that tiny tidepool into its own universe. Watching his curiosity spark, I realize I’m alive in a way I haven’t felt in ages.

Later, the dad thanks me, saying, “You’ve got a way of making people care about this stuff. You should do this more.”

At first, I laugh it off. But his parting words stick like seaweed to my subconscious: make people care.

Finding My Way to My Passion (By Accident)

Sometimes our purpose isn’t found; it’s revealed. For me, it wasn’t about rejecting biology, but reframing it. Marine biology gave me a deep respect for the ocean, but it didn’t tug at my soul the way storytelling did. Yet, there I was, unknowingly blending the two—turning science into connection, facts into feelings. Turns out, the world doesn’t always need more lab reports; sometimes, it needs a good story that reminds us why the facts matter.

The epiphany wasn’t immediate. For a while, I chalked the moment up to chance, a blip of joy in an otherwise dull semester. But the more I recounted it to friends, the more I felt that electric hum of certainty: I need to do this.

So I started small. I volunteered at a local nature center, where I gave tours and crafted stories about why the tidepools mattered. Soon after, I signed up for a creative writing course, just to see if I could turn my passion into something tangible.

I discovered something surprising along the way: accidental discoveries often lead to life-changing clarity when we give ourselves permission to follow them.

Lessons Learned from My Hermit Crab Epiphany

You might not think a hermit crab swap could lead someone to their calling, but life’s funny that way. Reflecting on that day, I’ve found a few key takeaways that might resonate, no matter where you are on your journey:

1. Don’t Obsess Over a “Master Plan”
Society tells us we need to have it all figured out. But life’s twists are better than any scripted plan we could come up with. I didn’t go to that tidepool searching for purpose; I just showed up—and that was enough.

2. Small Moments Can Be Big Clues
Sometimes your “aha” moment won’t show up with fireworks. It might just quietly sneak up on you while you’re ankle-deep in saltwater, asking a stranger what they find beautiful. Pay attention to how you feel in those little moments. Notice where your energy goes.

3. Your Purpose Doesn’t Have to Be One-Dimensional
I thought passions were like train tracks: you pick one route and stay on it. But actually, life’s more of a sailboat—it’s okay to tack and adjust based on the wind. For me, purpose wasn’t saying goodbye to ocean studies; it was building a bridge between science and storytelling.

4. Helping People Understand Themselves Is Powerful
When that boy lit up at my tidepool story, it wasn’t because I gave him statistics. It’s because I helped him make a connection—between him and the crab, between curiosity and awe. That’s what purpose often boils down to: creating connections that matter.

Practical Ways to Reflect on Your Own Purpose

If you’re feeling a little aimless or drift-y right now, don’t stress. Nobody hands you a treasure map with an “X” marking your exact spot of self-discovery. But there are ways to tune into your gut and start piecing things together:

  • Journal About Peak Joy Moments: Write down three times you felt fully alive—then look for patterns. What were you doing, and why did it light you up?
  • Get Comfortable with Hobbies: It’s not always about diving headfirst into a new career path. Pick up a hobby that feels different. Sometimes puzzles solve themselves when we stop staring at them so hard.
  • Listen to Feedback (Without Overthinking It): Remember how that dad encouraged me? Sometimes outsiders can see what we’re too close to notice. Take compliments and hints seriously.
  • Embrace Your Inner Beginner: Trying something new (like creative writing, in my case) might feel intimidating, but consider this your permission slip to fumble your way forward. Most passions start with a messy first step.

From Hermit Crabs to Human Connection: Your Journey Is Just Starting

Looking back now, that morning in the tidepools feels like fate in action, even though the moment itself was quiet and unassuming. It wasn’t the start I expected—but it was the one I needed.

What I’ve realized is this: your purpose might not show up as a neon sign pointing you toward it. It could be a small nudge, a stranger’s words, or even a curious kid who reminds you what curiosity feels like.

So, take this as a reminder to let life surprise you. Chase the things that spark joy or even just make you pause for a second, because they might hold clues to a path you never planned but always needed.

And, hey, if a hermit crab can figure out how to find a better home, so can you.