"When life spills your plans, maybe it’s saving you from what’s not meant for you,"
It was 7:42 a.m.
The smell of coffee was supposed to mean beginning. A new day. A fresh start.
But that morning—it meant ending.
I was running late for a meeting that could change everything. Not a movie-scene kind of “everything,” just the sort that promised a small step closer to a version of myself I’ve been chasing quietly.
You know that feeling when your heart beats faster, not from nerves, but from hope? That was me, holding my coffee like it was my ticket to finally being “enough.”
Then, just three steps from the car—splat.
Hot coffee down my blouse. A perfect metaphor. My dreams, freshly brewed, spilled right across the pavement.
For five seconds, I just stood there, frozen. Angry. Embarrassed.
But mostly—tired.
Tired of almost.
Tired of trying to look okay while life keeps spilling over.
So, I did something strange.
I laughed.
It wasn’t a happy laugh. More like the kind you give when you realize the universe is probably running a sitcom and you’re the punchline.
Then I went inside.
Not to the meeting (I missed that).
But to the little café next door. Ordered another cup. Sat quietly.
And for the first time, I didn’t open my planner. I didn’t rehearse my goals.
I just… sat.
Somewhere between the first and last sip, I realized—
Maybe the coffee didn’t spill on my dreams.
Maybe it spilled for them.
Because that mess made me stop. Made me breathe. Made me remember that sometimes, what we call “bad timing” is really divine redirection.
I didn’t get the job that day.
But I got my peace back.
And somehow, that felt like the real win.