A Long Way From Home

It started out so innocently. I was working for a Las Vegas construction company, in the accounting department. My husband, Harry, was driving one of the company's delivery trucks that took supplies to the job sites around the city. One weekend he had an out-of-town run and I got permission to go along for the ride. By the time we were at the destination I knew I wanted to drive a big rig myself. Truck driving school lasted about four weeks. There were twenty students in the class and only two women, a ratio that reflects the entire industry. I was learning a new skill at age fifty-four, so very different from the quiet and predictable desk jobs I had done in the past. Being a woman in a man's world can be challenging, is rarely boring, and is surprisingly comfortable. I have been treated with respect by my fellow Drivers and accepted without hesitation or condescension. There are no barriers. If, a half-dozen years ago, someone had told me I?d be doing this job today, I would have laughed them off. Ten years ago, I would have assumed them certifiably insane. Yet, here I am.