Meals, Moments, and Meaning

I don’t look too far ahead. I’m not one of those five-year-plan guys with vision boards and motivational podcasts queued up. I keep things simple. Minimalist by nature, introvert by design. That’s a lot to carry, but somehow it makes life easier. Less noise. Fewer distractions. Just me, my thoughts, and the work I choose to do.

Right now, I’ve found a job that fits me in a way most things don’t. I work for the Meals on Wheels program in our county here in Ohio. And yeah, we actually get paid—this isn’t a volunteer gig, though I’d do it for free if they asked. It comes with health insurance and retirement, which is nice, but what really sticks with me is something way more human.

Every day, I knock on the same doors. I see the same faces. Most of these folks are older, many living alone. Some don’t have family nearby, and I might be the only person they see all day. Think about that. One conversation, one smile, one corny joke—they hang on to it like gold. And honestly? So do I.

I sit down with them for a few minutes—sometimes longer if I can swing it—and we talk. About anything. Weather, old memories, TV shows they don’t understand, TV shows I don’t understand. And in those moments, it’s not just a job. It’s a connection. I walk away every time feeling like I’ve done something that matters—not in a grand, change-the-world way, but in a quiet, almost sacred way.

So when someone asks, “What job would you want to do for just one day?” I honestly think… I already am. Sure, I might try something wild for a day—ride along in a fire truck or work in a national park—but truth is, I wouldn’t trade this for anything long-term.

I do this job for them. But I think, deep down, I also do it for me also.