This week has been a busy one for me — the kind of busy that doesn’t just fill your schedule, but fills your mind too. Winter showed up in full force here in the Northeast, and with it comes another responsibility I take on every year: plowing snow for my family’s business. It’s one of those seasonal tasks that slips into my life as naturally as the campground slips out.
There’s a rhythm to it — the late-night calls, the early-morning starts, the long hours behind the wheel staring into a wall of falling snow. It’s work I don’t mind, work I’ve done for years, but it still adds a weight to the week that you can feel in your shoulders by Friday. Between my regular job and the winter storm routines, it becomes a stretch of days where I’m constantly moving, constantly thinking, constantly pushing through.
By the end of the week, I’m exhausted — not just physically from the shoveling, the driving, the hours on the road — but mentally, too. The kind of tired that sits behind your eyes and makes you pause for a moment before starting the next thing on your list. This time of year fills the gap left by the campground, but it replaces the peace of summer fires with the grind of winter storms. There’s a certain purpose in it, yes, but also a heaviness that settles in when everything piles up at once.
Tuesday and Wednesday were my days off from my regular driving job because of the snow. When storms move in, my boss gives me the time I need to handle the plowing, then I return once everything is cleaned up. It’s something I’ve always appreciated — the understanding, the flexibility, the recognition that this time of year is different for me.
Tuesday morning started early, around 7:30 AM, finishing the last of the driveway staking so we could see the paths once the snow covered everything. Now, let’s be honest — this storm wasn’t anything remarkable. Three inches at most, and that’s if you measured the deepest spot. But the work still has to be done, and after months away from the plows, you spend the first storm knocking the rust off your skills and hoping the equipment wakes up after its long Spring–Summer–Fall hibernation.
For me, the prep didn’t start Tuesday. It actually began Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. While most people were enjoying leftovers or relaxing, I was out staking driveways and mounting plows and salters back onto the trucks. The weekend looked the same — in and out of the truck, stake after stake, getting everything ready for winter’s return.
Monday I worked my regular job, and at the end of the day my boss said, “I’ll see you Wednesday or Thursday — you tell me when you’re coming back.”
That kind of trust goes a long way, especially when balancing two responsibilities. It’s something I’ve never taken for granted.
Tuesday turned into one of those marathon days — 7:30 AM to 11:50 PM, barely stopping long enough to grab a drink or something quick to eat. Just hours of plowing, clearing, checking equipment, and driving from one property to the next until the day finally caught up with me.
Wednesday started even earlier. We were out the door by 4:00 AM salting driveways and parking lots before anyone else woke up. It wasn’t as long as Tuesday, but it was still a solid eight hours of work before I could finally head home. Once everything was wrapped up, I crashed for a short nap before trying to shift my mind back into regular life.
Thursday was one of those days where I was just going through the motions — still tired, still trying to wrap my mind around being back at work after the storm. It wasn’t a bad day by any means. In fact, it reminded me how grateful I am to have a job I enjoy, something I don’t dread walking into every morning. In today’s world, that alone feels like a gift.
By Friday, I finally felt like myself again. I was given a six-hour run to deliver safety surfacing for a playground, and honestly, the long drive was exactly what I needed. There’s something about having uninterrupted time on the highway that lets everything inside me settle. It’s just me, the road, and whatever thoughts decide to show up. No noise, no pressure — just clarity.
A lot happened this week. Work was intense. The kids are doing well, though one of them is dealing with a few challenges we’re working through together. I’ll probably share more about that in a future post, once there’s more to tell and I’ve had time to process it. But today’s drive gave me space to think about everything — the good, the stressful, the unexpected.
And somewhere in the middle of that quiet, I ran into a hard truth:
I might need to move again.
Not for me — for my kids.
To get them closer to where they want to be in school.
To put them back in the environment they feel connected to.
To let them reunite with the friends they miss.
It hit me because I know exactly what they’re feeling.
I was their age when I was moved away from everything familiar, and I remember how badly it hurt, even years later. The uncertainty, the distance, the quiet ache of missing people you weren’t ready to lose — it leaves a mark. Watching my kids feel some of those same things… it’s harder than anything I deal with at work.
But decisions like this can’t be made quickly or emotionally.
I need to think this through — really think it through — because the last thing I want is to put myself or my children in a situation that isn’t stable or healthy for us. Their happiness matters more than anything, but so does making sure we move into something that will truly support them in the long run.
It’s a lot to carry, but the highway has a way of giving me the space to sort through it piece by piece. And today, that solitude helped me see things more clearly than I have in a long time.
The thoughts I’ve sat with this week all keep circling back to one truth: something needs to change in my life. I don’t know exactly what that change looks like yet, or how to make it happen, but I can feel it pressing on me in a way that’s hard to ignore. I tried to make that change last year and it fell apart when I got laid off. I ended up having to move away again and stay with family just to get back on my feet. I was lucky to get my job back, but the setback was a reminder that not every leap lands the way you expect it to.
These are the thoughts that keep me awake some nights — not out of fear, but out of the weight of wanting to do right by my kids and finally create stability that doesn’t slip out from under us. As overwhelming as it can be, I’m grateful for the ability to sit with my thoughts, to work through things in the quiet of the truck or on long drives. That space is where I find the clearest answers, even when those answers aren’t fully formed yet.
Right now, I’m actively researching jobs and looking at apartments in the town my kids want to attend school in. I’m not sure I’m ready to jump immediately — I’ve learned the hard way that rushing a big decision can do more harm than good. Part of me wonders if renting an apartment just to establish an address for my kids might be enough for now. Maybe that would give them what they need without forcing an abrupt upheaval on all of us.
But regardless of the path I take, I know one thing:
I need to be financially ready for whatever comes next.
I need clarity, stability, and a plan I can stand behind. And until I reach that point, I have to keep thinking, keep preparing, and keep being honest with myself about what’s right for my family.
I’m working on making a decision that won’t just change my life — it will shape theirs. And that’s not something I can take lightly.
As this week comes to a close, I’m realizing that life doesn’t always hand us clear answers — sometimes it just hands us questions we aren’t ready for. Between work, winter storms, long drives, and the quiet moments where my thoughts finally catch up to me, I’ve been pushed to look at my life in a way I’ve been avoiding. Change is on the horizon for me. I can feel it. But standing at the edge of that kind of decision comes with its own mix of fear, hope, and responsibility.
I want to make choices that give my kids a better path than the one I had. I want stability, closeness, and the chance for them to feel rooted in a way I wasn’t at their age. But big decisions take time, and the weight of getting it right isn’t something I take lightly. So for now, I’m doing the only thing I can — thinking, planning, listening to the quiet parts of myself that finally speak up when the world slows down.
Weeks like this remind me that we all carry more than we let people see. We all have our storms, our moments of clarity, our late-night thoughts we don’t always know how to express. And sometimes, just saying them out loud — or writing them down — makes them a little easier to carry.
If you’ve had a week that made you think, reflect, or feel more than usual, I’d genuinely love to hear about it.
What challenged you?
What surprised you?
What moment stood out — good or bad?
Your story might be exactly what someone else needs to read tonight.
True North Thoughts 
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