Ever had one of those moments where your life feels like a Netflix series held hostage by its writers’ room, only for the plot twist to drop at the most unexpected time? That’s what happened when I accidentally discovered my purpose—an experience that involved an impromptu alpaca chase, a leaky kayak, and an insight so simple it felt like staring at a sunrise and realizing, “Oh, right. The sun does rise every day.” But let me back up.

The Chip in My Compass

I wasn’t always the person who seems to have things figured out (spoiler alert: still don’t). Growing up in Coeur d’Alene, I had the kind of picturesque childhood that leaves you both grateful and restless. Family dinners at the lake, strangers at the resort sharing road trip tales—it was wholesome as heck and didn’t exactly scream “grit.” By my 20s, I’d graduated college in Montana, checked all the “Life Success Starter Pack” boxes, and caught myself staring into the endless abyss of adulthood thinking, “And now what?”

At the time, I was working a vaguely fulfilling nonprofit job, spending weekends writing atmospheric stories about pine trees and heartbreak. But purpose? A calling? That felt lofty, like a concept reserved for people with TED Talks and packed Google Calendars. I figured “purpose” might show up eventually, like a package delivered to the wrong address but somehow still got there. What I wasn’t expecting was for it to barrel into my life like a herd of confused alpacas.

The Alpaca Incident and the Leaky Kayak

It started with a favor. My best friend Kirsten, who owned a small farm just out of town, needed someone to watch her animals while she broke off for a much-needed romantic weekend. She assured me it would be easy (as all people do when asking for massive favors). “Just keep the alpacas fed and don’t let them bolt,” she instructed. As if “bolt” wasn’t already doing the heavy lifting for my fears.

The morning after she left, the alpacas did, in fact, bolt. One second, serene creatures chewing grass; the next, a full-on barnyard jailbreak. I sprinted after them like my life depended on it, except it didn’t—it was their entire reputation as polite livestock on the line.

By the time I wrangled the last escapee, I was a sweaty mess, scratched by branches, definitely not channeling my inner Jane Austen country heroine. But here’s the kicker: once I calmed down and stood catching my breath in the middle of the pasture, I felt something weird—satisfaction. A sense of rightness. Not because wrangling alpacas was suddenly my dream job (it’s not), but because I’d solved a problem in the real, tangible world. No screens, no “reply all” email chains—just wits, willpower, and, okay, a pocketful of carrot sticks.

The next weekend, I borrowed Kirsten’s kayak to paddle out on the lake and reflect. Classic Avery move, I thought—pondering life submerged in tranquil waters, sunlight breaking through trees like a Hallmark ornament. But thirty minutes in, I realized the kayak’s storage compartment was leaking, a stream of water pooling beneath my feet. I could either panic or paddle back faster. So, I paddled, hard. When I finally reached the shore, legs shaking and gear soaked, I laughed. What had started as another serene Kodak moment turned chaotic, messy—and exhilarating.

The Big Ah-Ha (with Less Glitter Than in the Movies)

That week, chin-deep in alpaca shenanigans and kayak chaos, I figured it out—or something close to it. I loved problem-solving. I loved being outside, even when it was inconvenient and muddy. I loved interacting with others (be they humans or haughty livestock). And what lit me up most was knowing my time, energy, and work were building connection—between people, between old friends, or even between someone and their own sense of self. The stories I wanted to tell weren’t about serene, polished love stories or perfectly scripted lives; they were about the messiness that makes us whole.

Purpose, I realized, wasn’t this single shining beacon waiting for you on the horizon. It was more like a compass chip rattling loose in the bottom of your pocket until you remembered to pull it out. It didn’t always point true north—it pointed your north.

Finding Your Own Compass Chip

You don’t have to chase alpacas (or nearly drown in a kayak) to find what lights you up. But if you’re feeling adrift, try this compass calibration method:

  1. Get Out of Your Comfort Zone
    No growth ever happened on autopilot. Whether it’s saying yes to an intimidating opportunity or taking a solo trip, doing unfamiliar, messy activities shakes things up in the best of ways. You’ll never discover a passion hiding inside Netflix queues or predictable habits.

  2. Follow the Thread of Joy
    Think back to the moments that made you lose track of time, even if they didn’t strike you as “productive.” Loved organizing your college group project? Maybe teaching, management, or creating order feels energizing. Helping a stranded neighbor? Maybe connecting people is your secret sauce.

  3. Solve for X
    Life’s purpose isn’t always obvious, but it often sneaks into what frustrates or excites you most. I never would’ve guessed I’d find satisfaction in solving logistical mishaps (hello, alpacas!), but it seeded a deeper understanding of what I value: connection, resourcefulness, and rolling with life’s inevitable leaks.

Purpose Is a Slow Dance, Not a Sprint

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about finding your purpose: it’s not typically a dramatic Eureka! moment. It’s probably nowhere near as symmetrical or magical as Disney movies would have us believe. For me, it was a culmination of unlikely events—an unexpected farm crisis, a questionable water vessel, and some very wet sneakers.

We spend so much time leaning into the big, polished moments—graduations, promotions, or Instagrammable vacations—that we miss the quiet whisper of those gritty, real moments asking us to pay attention. When you stop waiting for your purpose to feel like fireworks, you start to notice it exists in your smallest joys and curious nudges. My compass points me toward messy outdoor adventures, storytelling, and helping others connect with themselves or old friends. What might yours look like?

And if it involves an alpaca or two? Well, you’re in for a ride.