Two construction workers were hired for the same big job, and although they didn’t know each other, they soon started eating lunch together during their breaks. Each day, the two men would take a seat near their work, pop open the lunch boxes they brought from home, and exchange pleasant, if not superficial, conversation about their day as they ate and rested.

Each day, as both men opened their lunch boxes to survey what was inside, one would audibly sigh and exclaim, “God, I hate tuna fish.” He would then reluctantly pull the plastic wrapped sandwich out of the box, begrudgingly unwrap it, and unhappily chew away at the white bread, tuna, and mayonnaise combination, seemingly willing to weather yet another terrible meal in favor of staving off starvation. Finally, after a week of watching the same spectacle each day, the second construction worker interrupted the daily ceremony of tuna fish and misery:

“Hey man, if you hate tuna fish so much, why don’t you just ask your old lady to make something else?” He asked his lunchtime compatriot.

“Old lady? I’m not married?” The first man replied through a mouthful of his least favorite lunch.

“Then who keeps making you that?” The second man asked.

“Me.” Came the reply. “I make my own sandwiches.”

If I’m being honest, I’m not sure anymore where I first heard that story. It may have been in a book, or maybe it was conveyed to me by some older, wiser guy that spotted me wandering through life with a downtrodden look on my face… but wherever it came from, this short story about two construction workers eating lunch would go on to change the entire course of my life for the better.

At first glance, the story almost seems nonsensical: why would someone continue to make themselves the same lunch, day after day, despite hating it? What type of person would do such a thing? In terms of sandwiches, perhaps not many of us. In terms of life choices, however, I believe it’s something that we all do.