I’ve been driving trucks for eight years. Long highways, sudden detours, and rough weather are part of the job. But to me, “that truck isn’t just steel and horsepower—it’s an extension of who I am.” On the road, I feel freedom and peace.
Back home, my family doesn’t see it that way. My mom always asks, “You’re still doing that truck thing?” as if it’s temporary. At Thanksgiving, my uncle joked, “You sure you don’t want a husband to drive you around instead?” Everyone laughed—except me.
On a solo run through the mountains, I watched the sunrise in silence. Later, when heavy rain poured, I spotted someone stranded on the roadside and stopped to help. It reminded me that just being out here means I can make a difference.
At a rest stop, I met a young man who had just lost his job. I told him, “People will always try to squeeze you into molds that don’t fit… But it’s okay to drive away from their expectations.” His eyes lit up. “I needed to hear that.”
This life isn’t only mine—it connects me to others. We may not get applause, but we get freedom. And sometimes, our story is the spark someone else needs.
