When I catch myself complaining about my job, I think about my grandfather who worked on a submarine.

He said the beds were so tight, he had to sleep on his back with his nose just two inches from the bunk above him.

A couple months into one of his voyages, the eggs went bad. They still had to eat them. But, nobody was allowed to order their eggs runny. In fact, they all had to be scrambled. If you didn’t like scrambled eggs, well, tough titties.

One time they had an issue with their oxygen supply. And so for 2-3 days, nobody was permitted to get out of their beds for fear the excess movement would cause them to use up too much air.

They weren’t able to take any showers, either. My grandfather said that when they finally docked in Japan and he bathed for the first time, the dead skin fell off in sheets. I think this might have been hogwash but who knows.

Anyway, I try and think about my grandfather when I’m throwing a pity party after a “hard” day’s work.

Call me old-fashioned, but our society—myself included—needs to toughen up. We don’t know what hard is.

Working 8 hour days in an air-conditioned space isn’t hard. Taking Zoom calls in pajama bottoms isn’t hard. Getting 4 weeks of paid vacation isn’t hard.

If I worked in coal mines, drove garbage trucks, roofed houses or fought forest fires, then I’d allow myself a pass. I would let myself complain all I want about my work being hard.

But, creative work isn’t hard. It’s like getting paid to go to recess. You get a scraped knee every now and again but, for the most part, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

I don’t mean to preach. But, I think most folks complaining about their work being hard, just need to get back to work.