I Outperformed Kids Half My Age as a FedEx Driver (Here's What I Learned)

"Don’t step in dog sh!t," he said.

"Don’t hit the mailbox or the power lines," he also said.

But what he didn’t say was, “This job is going to push you to the edge of who you are, and you’ll have to face the reality of what stares back at you.”

"It’s cool, bro; I got this."

And I did.

But not without moments of wanting to quit every day for the first few weeks. Not without my body screaming at me every morning, reminding me that I'm not twenty-five anymore. Not without the youngins looking at me like I was someone's mom (even though I was) who accidentally showed up to the wrong workplace.

I remember forgetting the dolly on my first day, and I had to deliver two 150-lb electric fireplaces that were somehow folded in cardboard boxes. I remember my arms shaking from exhaustion as I unloaded 17 oversized packages to a new house still under construction by the lake, then doing it two more times over the next few days. I remember wearing the wrong shoes for 2 days and then dealing with the pain of plantar fasciitis for over a year. I remember pretending I was okay when I'd have to drop 30 packages at one doctor's office and then drive half a mile and drop another 25 at the next doctor's office. And honestly, most days I was okay.

I remember going home and soaking in a hot tub, knowing that I definitely lost all my marbles when I chose FedEx as an actual real-life job, and not a job that I found filtering through my occasional nightmares.

But I also remember the pillow Ms. Ellie gave me. She met me at the front door, like she always did, and hurried to ask, "Are you a photographer, by chance?" Wide-eyed and giggly, I said, "I actually am." She rushed over to a big garbage bag full of pillows that she had made and grabbed one. With a divine measure of mama-bear pride in her eyes, she excitedly shoved a pillow in my arms and said, "I didn't know you were a photographer, but I had this fabric and I wanted to make a gift for you because you've been so good to me." 🥺️ It was meticulously crafted into a perfect square, a solid black fabric on the back, and a pattern of perfectly spaced black and white cameras on the front.

We had only met a few times, but I already knew everything there was to know about her. Her husband and sister had recently passed, she was designing a unique embroidered tea towel in honor of her sister, she was thinking of moving to Virginia now that she was alone, the fence builders in her backyard were "charging her too much and doing a horrible job - she was going to have to fuss at them she didn't want to do that," she disliked that Wal-Mart packed small things in big boxes and big things in small boxes, we shared a last name, and her granddaughter was the same age as my oldest son.

I remember a beautiful lady who eagerly sat in her driveway waiting for the urn she bought to hold her husband's ashes. She met me with tears and a hug, and I responded in kind, because my friend had died the same weekend, and our grief was still fresh and confused.

I also remember the ice-cold drinks, the sweet and salty snacks, and the popsicles that stained my shirt - each given as gifts from my new friends on route. I remember the Halloween decorations that screamed at me when I walked up the sidewalk, the kids who'd wave as I drove by and asked me to honk my horn, and the other kids who sold lemonade and candy on the street corner and I'd always have cash on hand just for them. I remember sitting by the lake watching the ducks swim the waves of Lake Eerie while I pondered the meaning of life and purpose.

I outperformed my yesterday-self every day. I outperformed the kids more than half my age. I outperformed my ego, my perceived weaknesses, and my 46-year-old body. I conquered the rocky edge like a surfer conquers the wave, using balanced grit and smooth determination. I did the damn thing with grace.

The thing about proving yourself wrong is that it's equally terrifying and intoxicating. Every time you surprise yourself, you realize how many other lies you've been telling yourself about what you can't do, what you're too old for, what you don't have the energy for. Every small victory becomes evidence against the limiting beliefs you've been carrying around like heavy luggage.

Forcing yourself out of your comfort zone does that to you. It presses you up against the darkest parts of your inner world, a place where you can’t pass go or slither away in fear. There’s growth in discomfort, remember? Sure, you could do the disappointing thing and run from greatness, but that’s not what you really want, is it? No, it’s not.

You desperately want the next version of you, the intentional version, the healed version, the relaxed version, the safe version, the indestructible version. You’re ready this time. You’ve sat at the gates of hell, planned your purposeful exit, and you reek of the piles of dog sh!t you’ve already stepped in, so you’re basically primed and ready, right? You may be a bit smelly, but yes, that’s right.

The only thing you need now is you, and the next choice you make. I hope you choose you this time. I hope you choose happiness and excitement. I hope you choose curiosity and wonder. I hope you choose favor and opportunity. I hope you choose more dog sh!t and less ease.

Greatness needs your help to evolve. Don't let it escape while you drown yourself with distractions and shiny objects. This is your edge, your wave. It's also your time.