Half a lifetime ago, I dreamed of being a high-powered advertising executive. I wanted a fast-paced career, complete with high-stakes meetings and 2-hour client lunches, wearing power suits, stilettos and vampire red lipstick. So, logically, for my undergraduate degree, I studied business with a major in marketing. In my senior year, my roommate had a girlfriend who co-organized a feminist film festival. She invited him to many screenings, which he generously obliged, and one evening, I tagged along.

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I wasn’t particularly well versed about women’s issues and probably didn’t have a favourable impression of feminism at the time. But that night, after watching The Vienna Tribunal, a short documentary produced by the National Film Board of Canada, the earth began rotating on a new axis for me.

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The film itself was uncomplicated. In 1995, there had been a five-day human rights conference held in Austria – one day of which was devoted to women’s human rights. One by one, women from across the globe testified about the plight of women in their countries. I remember sitting in the theatre, gob-smacked. I had never heard about female genital cutting before. Or women being stoned to death. Or pre-pubescent girls being trafficked as sex slaves. By the end of the film, I was beside myself. In rage about all the ways in which women were being abused around the world. But also enraged that none of these issues had been covered in my three-year degree program. How could I be graduating from a top-tier university and not know about this stuff?

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After seeing that film, there was no turning back. High heels, pitch decks and a C-suite job had lost their allure. Instead, I plunged full-throttle into gender studies and all forms of women’s empowerment. Pre-film, I was a bona fide material girl. Post-film, I had become a social justice warrior. I made my way through the canon of feminist work, shedding my uninformed worldview like a snake losing a layer of skin. I trained as a volunteer for a crisis line, taking anonymous calls from survivors of rape and sexual abuse. I served on an advisory board for a non-profit organization that provides entrepreneurship training to female artisans in the global south. I even completed a Master’s thesis deconstructing the representation of women in advertising from a feminist perspective – the furthest possible thing you could imagine from becoming a hot-shot ad exec.

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In September 2007, after three years of coursework and a thorough literature review, I successfully completed my PhD “comps” (comprehensive exams). My research topic at the time was critical media education.

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That same fall, I took on a new professional challenge. Given the nature of the work and my desire to succeed in the role, I told Michael (my thesis advisor) that I would need a year sabbatical from my academic pursuits to focus on my professional work. He was more than willing to accommodate this, but insisted that we meet six months hence, simply to catch up.

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In February 2008, I found myself in Michael’s office. By then, I had plans to spend part of the summer in Rwanda with my sister Helen, volunteering with a women’s organization that provided trauma counseling and micro-credit loans to survivors of the genocide. Upon hearing about my plans, Michael shared an observation with me.

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He said, “I’ve known you almost four years now and when you get to talking about some things, Anita, your eyes light up like a Christmas tree. So, I’m reflecting back to you that I don’t think you’ve found your passion. And you may want to revisit your research topic.”

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I was stunned.

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He continued: “I recommend that you take some time, maybe two or three months, to consider what you’re really passionate about. I bet you have some kind of file, folder or drawer at home in which you place all sorts of miscellaneous articles, clippings, or whatever. And you’re not quite sure why you do it, but you do it all the same. I suggest you open that file and explore its contents. I bet then you’ll discover your passion.”

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Shortly after that fateful meeting, I took Michael’s suggestion to heart and literally opened a “Misc.” file in my two-drawer filing cabinet. To my amazement, when I fanned all the articles across my dining room table, I saw the common thread: I was intrinsically interested in and attracted to individuals who were contributing to social change.

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That’s how I came to do research about social entrepreneurs. And I will be forever grateful to Michael for his advice. Not only did I discover my passion. I found my bliss.