Do The Hard Things, But...

My daily routine is so set now that it almost seems boring. But I love to turn boring things into interesting things. Firstly, we have always been told, "Do what you love to do." I do not buy this. There is nothing wrong with doing the thing we love to do, but what if we don't love the thing that we have to do, ie, 'the hard things'? I have built a habit of doing the hard things, which I started to love doing, but not always.

Yesterday was my scheduled running day, but the morning brought a heavy, relentless downpour. Running in the rain after you are already out on the road is tolerable, but stepping out the front door into a torrent feels counterintuitive and strange.

All day at the office, I felt a lingering sense of incompletion. My body missed the familiar, satisfying fatigue that comes from a morning run. I kept promising myself that I would make up for it after work. The moment I arrived home, I changed into my running gear and headed south into the cool air, without a preset route, target distance, or fixed destination.

The sky was bruised with heavy, dark rain clouds. Expecting another shower, I decided to leave my earbuds behind. Running without music or a podcast is unusual for me, but not having a podcast or music allowed me to have a space. Without voices in my ears, the sounds of the world rushed in to fill the void. The rumble of passing buses was annoying, and the scratchy shoes striking the damp tarmac was rhythmic. I also found that my cadence had a direct correlation with the rising beat of my heart.

More than anything, I was left alone with my thoughts. Without podcasters to occupy my mind, I was forced to be present, to reflect, and to talk to myself.

To avoid the fumes and traffic noise of the main road, I cut down toward the banks of the Bagmati River. As the route veered toward Khokana, I found myself passing through the paddy fields, crossing a suspension bridge, and into ancient Newar settlement. Leaving the riverbank, the path swung into a steep, unrelenting uphill climb toward the town center. My breathing turned heavy and ragged; the sheer gradient was breathtaking and brutal. It was nearing dusk. Local residents were gathering outside their traditional brick homes and resting after a long day. It started to rain. 

I kept going. By the time I finished, I had logged 18 kilometers. Sitting down afterward, I felt a deep, grounded sense of accomplishment. There is a satisfaction in voluntarily choosing discomfort. 

While running, I was ruminating on the hard work. We live in a culture that incessantly preaches a simple mantra: "Do hard things."

And up to a point, the advice is undeniable. Voluntarily subjecting ourselves to physical and mental friction is essential for personal growth. It fortifies the body, builds physical stamina, and cultivates deep psychological resilience. When we routinely choose the harder path, future obstacles don't magically get easier—rather, we expand our capacity to endure them. We become stronger, sharper, and more disciplined.

However, "doing hard things" is only one side of the coin. Difficulty alone is not a virtue, nor is hardship inherently noble. The hard work holds value if it follows a PURPOSE. I ask myself, "Why am I putting myself through this struggle?"

Without a clear answer, efforts are empty or even counterproductive. Purpose is the single thread that transforms raw labour into meaningful achievement.

Viktor Frankl, in his book, 'Man's Search for Meaning', observed that human beings can endure almost any degree of suffering, provided they possess a reason to live. He posited that when people fail to cultivate a genuine sense of purpose, they often attempt to fill the void with superficial pleasures or mindless busyness to mask their existential anxiety. Frankl’s insights drew directly on philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous maxim, "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

When the 'why' is anchored in something real, the internal drive naturally carries through the physical and emotional friction.

This brings me to the crucial "but" of the blog title.

Because society conditions us to believe that valuable things are hard to achieve, we fall into a cognitive trap. We assume that because a task is hard, it must automatically be valuable.

This misconception creates a dangerous loop for high achievers and "hyper-responders." Driven by an underlying fear of standing still, people turn into workaholics and insecure overachievers, chasing unnecessary struggle under the guise of noble ambition. They wear their burnout like a badge of honor, taking on friction not because it serves a purpose, but because suffering makes them feel productive.

As podcaster and thinker Chris Williamson insightfully observed:

"By convincing themselves that perpetual delayed gratification is inherently noble, individuals avoid confronting their difficulty with gratitude and present happiness. Prioritizing meaning over happiness often stems from happiness being hard to reach—but taking delayed gratification to the extreme ultimately results in having no gratification at all."

By all means, I do the 'hard' things. I run after office; I lean into the discomfort. But I always audit my motives. I make sure my hard work serves my purpose, and I also question myself if my version of hard work is not an extreme form of delayed gratification.

There's a beautiful quote from Mark Manson on hard work. He says, 'Do hard shit not because it's fun, but because the win actually means something. You bled for it, you broke for it, you earned it. Easy wins are forgettable; hard ones change you.' Do hard work, but it must fit into the overall purpose.