True North Thoughts

Category: Uncategorized

  • While Sitting In A Red Truck

    Today I was sitting at work, in a red truck, just thinking about the day. For some reason when I woke up this morning I felt a sense of being just blah, and for the first time in a long time I allowed that feeling to carry into work with me.

    I am big on the concept of leaving things at the door. When I walk in—or rather get out of my vehicle at 6:35 in the morning—I usually leave the stress and most of the things bothering me in my pickup truck and go into work with a smile on my face. Today the smile was there on the outside, but on the inside I was miserable. My back was bothering me, and it seemed like everything was putting me in a bad mood.

    I guess it didn’t help that I found out my assigned truck had been driven by someone else. The only spare we had available was a manual transmission, and my truck for the time being is an automatic. The driver who used it doesn’t normally drive the manuals we run, so my truck ended up being used.

    When I checked it over, I noticed the body of the truck had been left dirty. That would have been annoying any day of the week, but today it was extra annoying. When I addressed it to my boss, he just stared at me and said something about how he had gotten complaints about me leaving bodies dirty before and that I should just clean it or drive the other truck because he didn’t have time for it.

    Needless to say, that is probably the closest I’ve come in a long time to almost crossing a line with a manager. I didn’t come looking for an immediate solution except maybe something simple like “just drive the other truck and address yours later.” Instead, it felt like my concern was dismissed and flipped back on me by bringing up complaints that were supposedly from last year—complaints I had never heard about at the time, weren’t brought up then, and weren’t even mentioned during my review.

    Throughout the day I was again met with the highway and time to just think. I made my normal phone calls, checked in with people, and vented to a coworker about my interaction that morning. Sometimes it’s necessary to just let it out and get some feedback.

    As the day drew on, I found myself sitting and waiting to be loaded. I was staring out the windshield at the red hood of the truck and the yard in front of me. It was in that moment that I realized I had overreacted that morning and allowed my bad mood to walk through the front door of work with me, which is something I normally try very hard not to do.

    In that moment I composed a quick text to my boss. Nothing big or extravagant, just a simple message:

    “Hey bossman, just wanted to say I’m sorry for the attitude earlier. Having a rough day and my back hurts, so it’s putting me in an off mood. I’ll address my truck later, don’t worry about having the other driver do it.”

    I knew I had been wrong in how I approached the situation and was trying to correct it. After I sent that message, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. It felt like I had started to make things right, and in doing so I made the rest of my day a little better.

    While I’m driving, I often look for the lesson or reflection of the day. Today the lesson was simple: we all have stresses in life and things that will throw us off center. Bad mornings happen. Pain happens. Frustration happens.

    What matters is how we handle those moments when they show up.

    It does no good to go off half-cocked at someone, to let frustration take control, or to intentionally seek conflict. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is step back, take a breath, and admit when you brought the wrong energy into a situation.

    Today I had to do exactly that.

    And sometimes the right direction in life isn’t about never getting it wrong—it’s about recognizing when you did and making the effort to set things right.

  • The Calm After The Storm

    Morning: Small Routines, Big Responsibility

    January 26, 2026 started like any other winter day — salt in the back, coffee steaming in my hands, boots heavy with grit from yesterday’s plow. The wind bit at my face as I left the house, carrying the small routines that make life feel manageable while the world quietly prepares to punish you. On the news, they gave it a name: Winter Storm Benjamin. Thirty-six hours, they said. Like naming it made it manageable.

    I glanced at the fleet list. Five trucks. Two down. Three working. My chest tightened. Every route, every driveway, every expectation depended on nothing else failing. My phone buzzed with route updates, crew check-ins. I muttered under my breath, “Just make it through today. Just make it through today.”

    People say to rest before a storm. I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t stop racing. I was responsible — not just for clearing snow, but for keeping the team moving, keeping the streets safe, keeping my family in the game.

    Midnight: Hopes Shattered

    By midnight, the storm wasn’t the only thing closing in. We still had two trucks, and for a moment, hope existed — fragile, but real. Maybe we could make it through without losing more ground.

    Then ten minutes later, my phone rang again. “Dad’s truck’s out.” My stomach sank. Two had become one.

    Before I could even process that, another call. My brother. Off a driveway, wedged between a tree and a light post, snow piling around him, waiting for a tow truck. One truck left. One. That’s all we had to carry the weight of every route, every sidewalk, every expectation still coming.

    I remember gripping the steering wheel, cold sweat on my palms, whispering, “Just keep going. You can handle this.” Panic hit like a punch to the chest, hollow and sharp, but the thread of determination refused to snap. What else could I do but move forward?

    The New Truck: Temporary Relief

    I was pulled off my route to retrieve the new truck — the one we had all agreed wasn’t ready for plowing. Not ideal. Not tested. But necessary. Snow whipped against the windows as I drove, visibility low, wind rattling the cab. I thought about the team relying on me, my father waiting for a tire replacement, my brother stuck, and the streets that needed clearing. There was no room to hesitate.

    Noon Monday — the truck was ready. Relief hit in brief flashes — chest loosening, shoulders easing just a little. I drove thirty minutes. It felt solid. Normal. I parked it and let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe the worst was behind me. Foolish, maybe. But a spark of hope is always welcome.

    The Grind: Exhaustion Becomes Weight

    I slept seven hours because my body demanded it. Then I went right back out.

    Seven hours after parking the truck, I turned the key. Nothing. That hollow, almost-start — the pause where you bargain with an engine to come alive. It never did. Same problem. Same sinking realization. Towed. Again.

    I climbed into another truck. My shoveler never came back that night. From 7:45 PM Monday until 4:30 PM Tuesday, I kept going. Not fast. Not strong. Just steady. Snow crusted the plow edges. Wind rattled the cab. Exhaustion pressed into my bones. At some point, tired stops being something you feel and becomes something you carry, like a weight you can’t put down.

    4:45 AM Tuesday — my body finally demanded a reset. I pulled into a quiet parking lot, heart pounding, snow muffling the streets. Fifteen minutes. Eyes closed. Engine off. Just fifteen minutes of nothing — enough to remind myself I could survive another stretch.

    Recovery and Human Connection

    We survived. Everyone had been plowed twice. Sidewalks were still buried, still waiting, but we agreed they could wait until Wednesday. Sometimes “good enough” is all you have left. Sometimes it has to be enough.

    Tuesday night, I came home. Hot meal in hand. The smell of bread, the warmth of the kitchen, comfort I hadn’t felt in two days. I collapsed at 6 PM, out for eleven and a half hours. No dreams. No sound. Just rest. My body had shut itself down before my mind could catch up.

    When I woke, my phone told another story: thirty missed calls. Thirty voicemails. Over fifty texts. All asking about sidewalks. Pulling me back into the storm’s weight.

    Among them: a girl I’ve been talking to. Worried I might be hurt. Or worse. That hit differently. A reminder that while I was buried in responsibility, someone still cared about me. Someone saw me as a person, not just a worker. That human connection cut through exhaustion like a lifeline.

    Reflection: Lessons in Perseverance

    After another full day of shoveling and blowing, knowing tomorrow holds maybe four more hours before the paperwork begins — route sheets, notes, invoices — I feel every ounce of tiredness. But beneath it, a quiet thread of resolve hums. The snow will melt. The trucks will get fixed. Sidewalks will be cleared.

    And the news says another storm like this one is forming for the weekend. Another battle. Another stretch of relentless hours. But this time, I carry a small certainty: we’ll survive it again, like we did this time.

    I’ve learned something in these hours: surviving isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up. About pushing through, again and again, even when your body screams no. About finding hope in the smallest moments — a hot meal, a text from someone who cares, a truck that finally starts.

    Even in the middle of exhaustion, with everything stacked against you, hope finds a way in. We’ll show up. We’ll endure. We’ll make it through. Again.