It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard… is what makes it great.

-A League of Their Own

I have always in some way espoused to this way of thinking. I’ve often opted for more difficult roads in life, or made choices that involved hard work. Part of me has pride in not shying away from working hard with determination to achieve a goal. Sometimes, I wonder if working hard is an excuse for avoiding even more difficult decisions.

I discovered ballet relatively late in life, during a high school love affair with musical theatre. I loved being on stage, circling one another, with saute arabesque and jetes. As an adult, fresh out of college, I finally found the finances and time to start taking classes. Despite being a late comer to dance, I discovered I loved the discipline of it, the need for exacting precision, and the repetition of the barre.

It was both confounding and freeing, how difficult the movement, and how beautiful the music; such that nothing else could exist in my mind at the same time. The day’s stress and problems were forced to my mind’s recesses as I struggled to hold a cou-de-pied balance. This was perhaps the best part about it, that freeing of the mind. I always came away a little clearer in my thinking.

Ballet is so difficult, it takes years, or even a lifetime, to master. Despite it being hard, and knowing I would never become a good dancer, or even a proficient dancer, I didn’t mind. I loved how I felt when taking class. I loved the heat in my muscles, the resulting limberness, the feeling of putting a piece of music on and just going, dancing whatever steps came to mind. I still do.

Conversely, I started the violin at 8, awed by the beauty and the sound, that ethereal, resonant sound. I continued throughout adolescence, despite struggling, and not paying it the necessary time. It too required precision and dedication, but I found it to be burdensome. It was too hard. I relished the feel of the lights on stage, the glow of the oak floors, the smell of rosin on the bow, but I didn’t enjoy practicing. I felt it frustrating I could not master the quality of sound, seemingly unattainable.

In hindsight, I recall something a good friend said to me when explaining why she was leaving our chemical engineering major: ‘It wasn’t enough that it was hard.’ This struck me as rather prophetic. I had no love for my major either, and rather lamented how hard it was. I wished that I, too, was brave enough to make such a decision, all the while knowing I would stick with the road I had chosen, however hard it ended up being.

We are faced with these types of decisions all the time. Life is both short and long. Grueling tasks, projects, and life-long commitments will seem unconscionably long, but overall the time is short, and to me, seems to be going faster with each passing year. This seems visually illuminated in my children’s exponential growth. How did they get so big, when it seems yesterday they were babies? Yet, it also seems a lot has happened, looking back over those years. Every parent has surely had these thoughts.

I eventually quit the violin at 14, when forced to make a decision between orchestra and choir, when both could not fit into my high school schedule. I found I missed it somewhat, but in truth, my most profound emotion was relief. I didn’t love it. It wasn’t enough that it was hard.

Today in my work, there are clients, with whom I have close working rapport. They could call or email at any time, with the strangest or most difficult project, and I would happily do it. I would enjoy helping them. I likely would find the process interesting and satisfying, even if it was difficult.

And then there are some other teams, where every step of the process seems painfully mired in delay, disappointment, and re-work. My natural inclination in these situations is to become the victim, to suffer through it, grumbling along the way about how difficult it all is.

I’d like to make different choices where possible. In business, as in life, it may be perfectly acceptable to admit when there is not a fit with one’s skills, abilities, and temperament. We all have experienced friendships like this, where it seems more work than fun. These are the friends where you come away from being with them feeling down about yourself, or second guessing what you said.

Perhaps, rather like violin, such situations should not be viewed as quitting, but simply moving on. Knowing when to do this is a difficult skill, one I have yet to master. I find I so often want to hold on, even when doing so makes me unhappy. Trying to early impart this wisdom to my children, I read to them from Dr Seuss:

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

There is only so much of our time and energy. To spend it in endeavors and relationship that are frustrating and unsatisfying seems a fool’s errand. It’s not enough that it’s hard. The hard on its own doesn’t make it satisfying. It is the heart that makes it great.