I was standing in my kitchen the other morning, staring at a bag of whole bean coffee and a manual hand-crank grinder I’d bought on a whim. My electric grinder—the one that turns beans into dust in exactly four seconds—was sitting right next to it, looking sleek and efficient. And yet, for some reason, I reached for the hand-crank one. Ten minutes later, my arm was slightly sore, my coffee wasn’t even brewed yet, and I realized I was late for a phone call. But as I smelled those freshly crushed beans, I felt… better. Not more productive, certainly. Just better.
It’s a weird thing to admit in a world that’s obsessed with “hacks” and “optimization.” We’re told constantly that if we can do something faster, we should. We’ve got apps to order groceries so we don’t have to walk the aisles, and we’ve got short-form videos so we don’t have to commit to a full-length movie. We are, quite literally, optimizing the “life” out of our lives. But lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe we’ve gotten it backwards. Maybe the “hard way” is actually the only way to stay sane.
The Trap of Constant Efficiency
We’ve been sold this idea that time is a resource to be harvested. Every minute saved is a minute earned, right? But what are we earning it for? Usually, we save ten minutes on a task just so we can squeeze in another task, or—let’s be honest—so we can spend those ten minutes scrolling through a feed of people we don’t actually know. It’s a bit of a cycle that never really ends.
I remember when I first started my career, I was obsessed with being the most efficient person in the room. I had every shortcut memorized. I looked for the fastest way through every project. I thought that by clearing my plate as quickly as possible, I’d find this mythical place called “peace of mind.” But the faster I worked, the more work just filled the vacuum. It was like running on a treadmill that kept speeding up. I wasn’t getting anywhere; I was just getting exhausted.
The problem with efficiency is that it removes the friction from our lives. Friction sounds like a bad thing—it’s what causes heat and wear and tear. But friction is also what gives us a sense of reality. When everything is frictionless, everything starts to feel a bit thin. A bit hollow. You finish a day having done fifty things, but you can’t actually remember the weight of any of them.
The Physicality of Being Present
There’s something about using your hands that changes the way your brain processes time. I’m not just talking about crafts or hobbies, though those are great. I’m talking about the mundane stuff. Chopping vegetables for a soup instead of buying the pre-cut bag. Walking to the post office instead of printing a label at home. Actually writing a thank-you note with a pen on paper.
When you do things the hard way, you’re forced to be where you are. You can’t really “multitask” when you’re carefully dicing an onion unless you want to lose a fingertip. You have to look at the onion. You have to feel the knife. You have to notice the way the layers pull apart. It sounds trivial, I know. It’s just an onion. But those few minutes of focus are a tiny island of calm in a day that’s usually a blur of notifications and demands.
I’ve noticed that when I take the “slow route,” my anxiety levels take a noticeable dip. It’s like my nervous system finally realizes that there’s no immediate threat. When we’re rushing, our bodies often go into a mild fight-or-flight mode. But when we’re deliberately taking our time—even if it’s just with a coffee grinder—we’re sending a signal to ourselves that it’s okay to just exist.
Finding the “Flow” in the Mundane
You’ve probably heard of “flow state”—that feeling where you lose track of time because you’re so immersed in what you’re doing. Usually, we associate this with big things, like painting a masterpiece or coding a complex program. But I’ve found you can find a mini-flow in the simplest chores if you stop trying to get them over with.
- Folding laundry becomes a rhythmic, tactile exercise.
- Washing dishes (by hand, occasionally) becomes a sensory experience of warm water and soap.
- Gardening—pulling actual weeds from actual dirt—connects you to the physical world in a way a screen never can.
It’s about the “middle parts.” We’re so focused on the result—the clean shirt, the empty sink, the finished project—that we treat the process as an obstacle. But the process is where your life actually happens. The result is just a fleeting moment before you move on to the next thing.
Why “Instant” Isn’t Always Better
I think we’ve lost a bit of our tolerance for boredom, and that’s a shame. Boredom is often the precursor to creativity. When we have an answer for everything instantly, we stop asking the interesting questions. When we can buy anything with one click, we lose the anticipation that makes owning something special.
Think about the difference between streaming a song and playing a vinyl record. With a stream, you can skip, pause, and jump around. It’s convenient. But with a record, you have to take it out of the sleeve, clean it, drop the needle, and then… you usually just sit there and listen. You listen to the whole side. You hear the transitions between songs. You notice the crackle. It’s a commitment. And because it’s a commitment, the music carries more weight.
I’ve applied this to my reading lately, too. I love my e-reader for traveling, but at home, I’ve gone back to physical books. There’s no “search” function. There’s no backlight. There’s just the smell of the paper and the physical progress of moving your bookmark. It’s harder. It’s slower. But I remember what I read so much better. My brain isn’t scanning for the next link; it’s actually digesting the sentences.
The Skill of Patience
Patience isn’t just a virtue; it’s a muscle. And like any muscle, if you don’t use it, it withers. Our modern environment is basically a gym where all the weights have been replaced with feathers. We don’t have to wait for anything anymore. Not for the news, not for a friend to reply, not for a package to arrive.
But life eventually throws things at us that we *have* to wait for. Big things. Recovery from an illness. The growth of a relationship. The slow progress of a long-term goal. If we’ve spent all our time optimizing every second of our day-to-day life, we’re going to be absolutely miserable when we encounter a situation that can’t be “hacked.”
Doing things the hard way is like “patience training.” When I spend an afternoon fixing a leaky faucet instead of calling a plumber (assuming I actually know what I’m doing, which is a big ‘if’), I’m practicing the art of sticking with something until it’s done. I’m learning how to handle the frustration of a bolt that won’t turn. That resilience carries over into the rest of my life.
How to Start (Without Losing Your Mind)
Now, I’m not suggesting you sell your car and start commuting by horse and carriage. I’m not a martyr. I like my microwave and my high-speed internet as much as the next person. The goal isn’t to make life miserable; it’s to choose your “hard” moments intentionally.
Maybe pick one thing this week that you normally rush through and try doing it the “long way.” Just one. It could be:
- Walking to the store instead of driving.
- Cooking a recipe that takes more than 30 minutes.
- Hand-writing a letter to someone you care about.
- Building something from scratch instead of buying the pre-assembled version.
Pay attention to how you feel during the process. You’ll probably feel an itch to check your phone at first. That’s normal. That’s just the “efficiency brain” complaining. If you can push past that first ten minutes of restlessness, you’ll usually find a certain kind of peace on the other side.
A Final Thought
We’re often told that “work smarter, not harder” is the ultimate goal. And in many professional contexts, that’s perfectly sound advice. But when it comes to living a life that feels like it actually belongs to you, sometimes working “harder”—or at least more deliberately—is the smartest thing you can do.
It’s in the struggle, the slow pace, and the manual effort that we find our connection to the world around us. It’s how we differentiate one day from the next. So, the next time you have the choice between the shortcut and the long road, maybe try the long road. It’s got a much better view, and you might just find that the destination wasn’t the most important part anyway.
I’m going to go finish that coffee now. It took me way too long to make, but I can honestly say, it’s the best cup I’ve had all week.