I had my masters in public health, and the goal was to be a

In the journey of every soul, there comes a moment when the path we planned crumbles beneath the weight of truth. Yvonne Orji, with grace and humor, once confessed: “I had my masters in public health, and the goal was to be a doctor, and organic chemistry let me know that that was not going to happen, as did my fear of blood.” Beneath the laughter of her words lies an ancient wisdom—the recognition that destiny is not always found in the dreams we begin with, but in the courage to follow where failure leads. For it is not the fall that defines a person, but what light they choose to see in the dust.

In this quote, Orji speaks not merely of education or career, but of acceptance, that humbling teacher which no school can provide. She reminds us that the world often teaches through denial: the locked door, the exam failed, the fear faced too late. These are not punishments, but signposts pointing toward the road we were meant to walk. The study of organic chemistry, difficult and unforgiving, became for her not an obstacle but a mirror—reflecting back a truth she could no longer avoid. Likewise, her fear of blood, so small and human, became the whisper of fate saying, “Not this way, child. Yours is another calling.”

Consider the tale of Michelangelo, who once sought to be a sculptor of marble and nothing more. When ordered by Pope Julius II to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he resisted, saying, “I am no painter.” Yet when he obeyed the turning of fate, his brush revealed the divine. So too did Orji, when the path of medicine closed before her, uncover a new gift—the power to heal not bodies but spirits through art, humor, and storytelling. For just as the physician restores the body, the artist restores the soul; both are healers, though their tools differ.

What Orji teaches through her humility is that failure is not the enemy of destiny—it is its midwife. Many have lost their way by clinging to an image of who they thought they must become, refusing to see the door that opens when another shuts. The ancients said that the gods laugh at our plans not in cruelty, but in wisdom, for they know the hearts of men better than men themselves. When organic chemistry closed its gates, the universe was merely saying, “You were made for a different kind of medicine.”

Let us then remember: fear itself can be a guide. Her fear of blood, so seemingly trivial, was no shame—it was revelation. For what one dreads often points to where one does not belong, just as what one loves without reason points to where one does. To be honest about one’s limitations is to walk in truth, and truth, though humbling, is the only road to peace. To deny it is to live in shadow, pretending that the mask is one’s own face.

From Orji’s confession shines a lesson for all seekers: when the dream you built your life upon begins to crumble, do not mourn too long. Gather the stones, and build again—but build according to the design of your heart, not the expectations of others. Purpose is not discovered in perfection; it is born in surrender, in listening to the quiet voice that says, “Try another way.” The river that meets a boulder does not stop—it curves, finding a new course, and so must we.

Therefore, to those who find themselves standing before the ruins of their first ambition, take heart. You have not failed—you have been redirected. Like Yvonne Orji, you may yet find your true medicine waiting where you least expect it: in laughter, in words, in compassion, in the craft that brings light to others. Walk boldly toward what calls you now, not what once did. For the truest success is not to fulfill the plan, but to fulfill the purpose—and purpose is written not in textbooks or titles, but in the quiet joy of doing what only your soul was meant to do.