Doing Hard Things

Thoughts on raising a son in the current moment

This weekend, I went on a quick hike with two friends that are still in the military. The path to the top of our overlook had two options. One path was a rugged 1.6 miles. The other was a maintained 5 mile path. Both gained 4,000’ over the course of the ascent. Halfway up, I started to think I made a mistake agreeing to the first path. My heels were blistering and my hands had swollen slightly from the backpack. Just a year ago I had been able to comfortably live out of a backpack for weeks on end. What was happening? I realized that I had let myself get soft.

The word “soft” is often understood. Many modern men think of soft as lacking physical strong. That is not what it means. I still run multiple times a week, I lift weights routinely, and I am active. Despite my workout routine, I was physically struggling on what was a trying, but not impossible, hike.

We went fast and completed the climb in less than two hours. Had I gone slower it would have been easier but I would have lost a valuable lesson. The lesson was not that I am getting older. It was that I am physically different.

When I was in the military we rucked constantly and lived in boots. Rucking changes your body in ways you don’t appreciate, until it’s gone. Constantly wearing boots hardens your feet and weight of the rucksacks callouses the skin on your traps. The hike made small changes I didn’t appreciate at the time apparent. After years of rucking in a military uniform I had rubbed the hair off my legs in some spots and the skin was tougher. That is no longer the case. I was physically softer than I had been.

We still finished the climb, at the top we joked and took photos, then we headed down. I headed back to my more comfortable life where I can rest on the memories of having been hard once.

I was not hard when I joined the army. I had a very normal teenage life. Yes, I played sports, and it required me to learn to be uncomfortable, but I also play video games, sat around on the couch, and hated working in the yard. I was soft by the standards I would reach in my mid and late twenties. The person I was in my mid-twenties was soft compared to the me in my mid-thirties. Today, I maybe physically softer than I was, but I have gained emotional resilience from persisting through physically and psychological challenges.

This is what the hike reminded me. Being hard can’t be found in a gym. It is not a demand for respect. It is not something you can demand at all. It is about submitting yourself to the accumulation of pain and experience. It is not stopping when it hurts, but pushing just a bit more. It is also about gradually building your capacity.

Therein lies my dilemma. How do I raise a son to be hard when so much of the world is based on instant gratification. Right now, while he is young, it’s easier. I can make him go outside, he does not have access to screens or phones at home. But, even then I am sometimes my own worst enemy. Because I can make it easier for him, I do. But at what cost? A friend told me “you have to love them enough to let them fail. It’s the only way.”

I am learning that is the hardest thing to do.