Last night, I watched Up in the Air starring George Clooney. I had all sorts of reactions on many different levels because for a chunk of time, I was Ryan Bingham (the traveling part, not the hatchet man part.)

And I knew a lot of other Ryan Binghams. And the reality that each of us shared that not one of us would ever admit in public was that it was not the being away from home 200+ days of the year that killed us slowly inside, but the going back home at the end of every trip. Yet we told ourselves and those around us that we traveled to support our families, that we were doing this all for them, that we missed our kids, our wives or our girlfriends.

But we secretly loved the road.

I miss my Ryan Bingham days.