When I was little, I didn’t know what I wanted to be or do when I grew up, but I knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t be like you. You, with your 70-hour workweeks driving trucks, reporting to a boss you couldn’t stand. Your doing Every. Single. Thing with “elbow grease,” when all I wanted to do was slide by and find the easy, fun way out of a project. Your chosen lifestyle seemed like hell, and I didn’t understand you. I could only focus on the chasm of glaring differences that divided us.