For the last three years—around this very moment—I have had the same thought.
Working hard sucks.
I come from a place where work ethic defines people. So I feel a mix of anxiety and sheepish guilt and shame simply uttering these words. One of the last things you want to do in our society is say you don’t like working hard. Because people will think less of you. They’ll call you lazy. They’ll include you in this couldn’t be further from the truth nobody wants to work category somebody dreamed up in the last few years.
But these people fail to miss several key points—
The distinction between hard work and working hard.
The choice you have—or don’t have—to work hard or not.
The reality that people are burnt out or on the verge of getting there.
The rush to the exits for smaller American cities and towns, other countries altogether or just a simpler, easier, softer life wherever you currently hang your hat and pull up your bootstraps.
This working hard sucks feeling has intensified gradually over each of the last three Januaries ahead of Februaries where I take all or part of the month off to travel.
This gradual intensification I’m experiencing is—as I reflect on it—one of the most pivotal moments of my life. Particularly my semi-retired life.