Do hard things

Do Hard Things

By Rafe Johnson

What is a Hard Thing?

This is a short essay on the importance of doing hard things—a reminder to myself and perhaps to a reader or two that life is better when you do hard things. But wait, you may ask, “What exactly do I mean by ‘hard things’?” If the idea of pushing yourself sounds a bit like the overhyped grind culture, don’t worry—that’s not the message here. The point is that intentionally taking on difficult tasks, for no other reason than to challenge yourself, can be one of the most rewarding decisions you make.

So what do I mean by a hard thing? Here’s a simple framing:

‘Taking on a challenging task that requires intention and sustained effort.’

It’s a deliberately broad framing, but it captures the essence. A hard thing could mean running 1 km, or it could be running the length of a country. ‘Hard’ is relative to you. If you find it difficult, then it counts. Of course, the harder and more ambitious the challenge, the greater the potential upside. But the argument I’m making is that choosing to do anything hard, regardless of the degree of difficulty, moves the needle in the right direction. It doesn’t have to be grand goals like running ultra-marathons or becoming a world chess champion—though these are great—it could also be knitting a jumper, reading a challenging book, completing a hard video game, or paying more attention to your child as they tell you about their day. It should be something that involves some resistance, even worry, and in doing so, it will reward you. Attempting a hard thing is something you know you won’t regret, and that’s much of the project of living a good life—continually making decisions you don’t regret. You and I likely know this, but why, in today’s world, is it so hard to do hard things?

The Modern Challenge

It’s easy to acknowledge that doing hard things is wise, yet in practice, we fall back into easy routines and avoid the discomfort of challenging ourselves. One reason for this is that we face an unusual problem in our modern times, one our biology is ill-equipped for. For those of us lucky enough to be born into wealthy countries, we find ourselves with luxuries our ancestors would have only dreamed of. Hot showers, endless digital entertainment, global cuisines delivered to our doorstep, any film or book available whenever we want, the ability to speak to loved ones on the other side of the world—these are godly luxuries we seem to have acquired. So why does dissatisfaction persist despite such joys? The answer lies in the fleeting nature of short-term, easy pleasures.

Our minds and bodies evolved to handle scarcity—to not know when the next meal would arrive, to have to hunt for days, to build our own shelters, and to fend off scary animals that might eat us. Luckily, getting eaten is a problem of the past, I hope. However, the world around us has developed far more quickly than our minds and bodies have, leaving us in an environment our brains haven’t evolved for. How does this all relate to doing hard things? Well, we no longer have to do hard things; it’s optional for the first time. Our consumerist culture doesn’t assist us here either, perpetually convincing us to indulge in pleasures. It’s everywhere all the time, making it difficult to resist. It’s hard enough to go for a run; it’s even harder to go for a run when you could easily order food and watch TV.

So we need tools to face the problem of these constant modern temptations. Intentionally doing hard things, I believe, is one of the great tools to combat the unusual problem we face. It gives us longer-lasting satisfaction, different from the fleeting and later regretful pleasures of that social media binge. The satisfaction and reward of gradually learning a language, building up the fitness to run a marathon, or learning to salsa dance far outweigh the small fleeting pleasures and provide much longer-lasting value to our lives. And by realising this, you build some resilience to the temptations surrounding you. But it’s far more than just a tool to stave off modern temptations—doing hard things is about self-evolution, becoming useful to the world, and deepening our experiences.

Levelling Up and Becoming Useful for the World

Embarking on a quest to solve a problem, learn a new skill, or create something meaningful often takes you on a journey much like the ones we see in stories. In a good story, the protagonist encounters conflicts and challenges, and in confronting these, they find ways to overcome the obstacles in their path and undergo a transformation in the process. If it’s a happy story, they might endure hardships but emerge on the other side changed.

Take the film The Secret Life of Walter Mitty as an example. Throughout his journey, Walter faces numerous challenges that push him to confront his fears and insecurities. He learns to take risks, embrace the unknown, and live more fully in the present moment. The daydreams that once dominated his life are replaced by real-life adventures and achievements. By the end of the movie, Walter has transformed from a passive dreamer into someone who actively engages with the world and his own potential.

Video games are also a great analogy here. In most games, you start off useless, not unlike starting off in the real world. You have very little skill and knowledge; you are an empty canvas. But then you start doing things, exploring, making discoveries, interacting with the world, and acquiring powers and tools, taking on quests and challenges that grant you experience points (XP)—not unlike the real world. In video games, you can use that XP to acquire more skills, tools, and powers that allow you to progress through the game in creative ways, taking on ever more difficult challenges, and maybe there’s a big boss at the end of the level that grants some great rewards. When you complete the level, you are free to move on to the next level and keep exploring and experiencing.

Much of the joy we get from playing these games comes from that feeling of progressing through harder and harder tasks, the story we craft along the way, and the satisfaction of becoming more capable in the process, using your new skills and knowledge in creative ways to solve problems. Note, however, that when you complete a hard task, the satisfaction is fleeting. Completing the goal isn’t actually the thing that grants the positive experience; it’s all the moments leading up to it that collectively generate a good time. This is why setting goals is useful for finding a direction, but knowing it’s not the outcome that truly matters—it’s the process of working towards that goal, the transformation you undergo, and the adventure it takes to get there.

Great games take you on great journeys—the joy of gaining skills, transforming, and becoming something more. This is also true for doing hard things in real life, and in my experience, the best ‘hard things’ are those in which you really don’t know if you’re capable of succeeding. There’s anxiety in the possibility that you can’t do it, and I think this anxiety signals the opportunities for the most growth. When was the last time you failed at something? If you haven’t failed in a while, perhaps you could be pushing the boat out further than you’re comfortable with and see what transformation might occur in those depths.

As you continually do hard things, overcoming challenges, and levelling yourself up, you become a more capable, reliable person. This has obvious benefits in areas of your life such as your workplace but equally benefits any social relationship you find yourself in, assuming your difficult tasks don’t cause you to be an absent parent. By becoming more capable, less lazy, more energetic, and more thoughtful, you become someone more enjoyable to be around. I use a meditation app called Waking Up by Sam Harris. In one of the sessions, he makes the case that while meditating is a valuable exercise for yourself, you’re not just doing it for yourself—you do it for those you spend time with by becoming less reactive, more present, more open. Huh, not only am I improving my own experience, but I might be making myself more tolerable to my friends? Wonderful! The same logic applies to doing hard things. Should the individuals of the world all collectively decide to make a little more effort to challenge ourselves—challenge our assumptions, our health, our knowledge, and our fears by doing hard things—we may just move the needle to a more positive world.

To illustrate the points I’ve been making, let me tell you a short story about a father, a son, and a perilous mountain.

The Mountain

Late one winter, my father and I decided to climb a mountain. My dad, in his early 70s, had a life full of precarious mountain adventures, climbing in all weather conditions, sometimes rope-less, and mostly without fear. I seem to have missed out on his fearless genes. In short, he knows what he’s doing when it comes to mountains and the great outdoors. I, on the other hand, was quite the contrast, just entering my 20s with little to no mountaineering experience aside from riding in his backpack as a kid. So it’s safe to say I knew little of the ways of the mountains.

We set out late in the afternoon—late for a winter’s day. After hiking for around 7 miles through rugged orange grasslands, rough purple heather, and past what was supposedly once a gold mine, I got my first real look at the mountain in question. It was a vast, bulking mound of black rock with two angry peaks glaring at me, horned-like in appearance, with icy snow cemented on the top half.I felt the first wave of anxiety flow through my body, warning me that I was attempting something I wasn’t sure I was capable of.

The ascent began as a slow trudge up the mountain’s staircase. The only other people we saw were a handful of folks walking the other way, looking curiously at the two of us heading toward the mountain as the sunset crept closer. Some hours later, we found ourselves halfway up the mountain, arriving at a cliff base as the sun disappeared behind a dark cover of clouds. Tired and worried, I looked around the crater-like cliff, struggling to see a clear path forward in the icy snow. My inner dialogue told me, ‘There’s nothing for it—back down we go,’ in stark contrast to my dad’s confident tone: ‘I’m sure we’ll find a way through the rocks. Let’s head up!’ Whatever you say, Dad. Throughout much of this walk, I battled with an internal resistance—why should I be here in the cold, experiencing physical discomfort, when I could be at home sipping coffee, playing League of Legends? Isn’t this all a bit dangerous anyway? And yet, another part of me began to marvel at our dramatic surroundings. I felt like I was a character in a movie, taking on the mountains on some grand quest.

After some very icy and steep scrambling, we found ourselves on a steep cliff edge, my dad a little further ahead, carelessly trudging upwards. I made the mistake of looking behind, quickly realising we wouldn’t be able to return the way we came—it was too steep and too slippery. Should one lose their grip, the fall would be catastrophic. A subtle trembling in my legs began and spread through my body as I imagined us slipping away to our icy dooms. I felt a pure, visceral fear cutting through me, unravelling my confidence and replacing it with a desperate urge to get off the mountain, but there was no way besides up. A cliff face is not an ideal place to have a panic attack, but they do tend to appear at inconvenient times. I glanced upward again to see my dad continuing on, disappearing behind some dark ledges. ‘Just keep moving,’ I told myself. The fear didn’t subside, but I managed to keep moving forward. An hour or so later, with all my adrenaline stores depleted, the fear began to subside, replaced by exhaustion and a strong sense of gratitude.

The harsh cliffs eventually gave way to flatter, snow-covered peaks, with the landscape unfolding around us, and the wind carrying sparkling snow dancing through the air. We reached the top, looking back down at what we had just braved. Almost as if the mountain was rewarding us for our challenge, the sun revealed itself again, dipping below the clouds nestled in the small gap between the horizon, casting vivid rays of pink and orange across the winter landscape. It was one of the clearest, most open feelings I had ever experienced. I felt truly spent, yet light—a sensation of overcoming both external and internal obstacles, and a deep gratitude for making it through. I’m sure you know the feeling—the relief after facing a fear-inducing challenge and realising you’ve survived. We sat for a moment’s peace to take it in, though the moment wouldn’t last long; we still had the way back down.

You’ll be glad to know we made it off the mountain. This is perhaps an extreme example—I’m not suggesting you go climb perilous winter mountains; it wasn’t the wisest difficult thing I’ve ever done—but it created one of the most beautiful moments of my life. It gave me the confidence to climb more, larger mountains as well as a deeper appreciation and respect for nature. It created memories that have stayed with me and that I reflect on years later.

A Reminder

In a world that constantly offers the path of least resistance, choosing to do hard things isn’t just about personal growth or developing tools to fend off a world that’s always trying to sell you something—it’s about carving out a life that’s truly satisfying and filled with meaningful experiences. Climbing that mountain opened up a world of adventures for me—new peaks to conquer, more experiences to embrace, and the simple knowledge that I can face challenges and emerge on the other side better for it. That’s why I write this: to remind myself and anyone who’s made it this far to do hard things—it’s worth it. So, what hard thing will you do?

Some Further Readings, Games, and Films That Explore This Theme:

• Book: The Comfort Crisis - Michael Easter

• Book: The Stoic Path - William B. Irvine

• Short story: The Death of Ivan Ilyich - Leo Tolstoy

• Essay: How to Do Great Work - Paul Graham

• Video Game: Elden Ring (You gamers know the pain)

Thank you for reading.

By, Rafe Johnson