Some days I don't want to do this.

I was at a shipper today. The clerk behind the counter tried to stifle a yawn and didn't quite make it. It sounded like it hurt.

"That didn't sound good," I told him.

"I'm just tired," he said. Then he looked at me like he'd admitted something wrong. "Your job is harder than mine, though."

I didn't argue with him. I just told him the truth.

"Some days I don't want to do this. And other days — I get paid to do this."

Then I just grinned.

He didn't need a speech. He didn't need me to compare hard days or trade tired stories. He just needed to see somebody who meant it.

There's a difference between a job and a calling. I don't always feel it. Some mornings the alarm is just an alarm and the miles are just miles. But then the sun comes up over an empty highway and I remember — I chose this. I keep choosing this.

That's not nothing. That's actually a lot.