When I arrived in the USA, I first started working for Uber Eats. The earnings were modest — about $100 a day. I was looking for another job, but due to my physical weakness, I couldn’t handle hard tasks or stand for long periods, so most options were automatically ruled out.

The only way out was to become a truck driver. I enrolled in a course and got my CDL in just two and a half weeks. I really liked the idea of driving a truck and earning good money. My first company was based in Chicago. I was so enthusiastic about my new job that I could stay on the road for five weeks without returning home. Although my physical weakness was noticeable, it wasn’t severe enough to make me quit.

The first month was tough: I got into three minor accidents. However, I didn’t give up, thanks to the support of my parents and my aunt. I was earning decent money, but I got caught in a trucking market downturn, so I didn’t see the “crazy” money I was hoping for.

Then conflicts with my ex-wife over the divorce began. It took a toll on my nerves, and that was when my legs completely gave out for the first time — for a month and a half. This happened while I was in Albania. I had no idea how I would get back to the USA since I couldn’t walk. A friend was waiting for me there, expecting me to start working with him, and I couldn’t let him down.

In despair, I began to pray sincerely, asking God for help. And believe it or not, on the very last evening before my flight, I got up and walked. I passed through four airports, and in Chicago, a guy pushed me in a wheelchair (God bless him! I’m very grateful to him!).

After landing in Sacramento, God led me on His path, and it was perfect. I essentially started my life from scratch: a new job, a new home, a girlfriend, and friends. The only difference was that I started walking much less, but at least I was still walking.

I loved my job and lived for it, but over time, I realized that I wanted more than just being a truck driver. Physically, it became increasingly difficult to work. I didn’t admit to anyone that I was showering in the truck itself because it was too hard to walk to the truck stop. Once, during an inspection, I fell and couldn’t get up. My friend came to pick me up, but on the way, he kept insulting me with words. It was already hard enough, and his words made it even worse.

I wanted to quit, but I was held back by the fear of the unknown and financial instability. Three years passed. The truck I was driving broke down — the transmission failed. It was sent for repairs, and I waited for two months. When I called my friend, he told me he would look for another driver because it would be more profitable for him that way.

That’s how my career as a truck driver ended, and a new life began.

Thank you, God, for helping me move on