#124: In defense of the long way around.

How shortcuts rob us of both growth and joy.

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"If you want a hack, go listen to a podcast. Here, we do the work."

I was sweating on my treadmill when Peloton instructor Robin Arzon leaned into the camera and yanked me up by my virtual Lululemon collar. She wasn’t letting me cut her intervals short.

Because she knows there's no hack for good health — or for good anything. You have to put in the reps.

This is an unpopular opinion in a world obsessed with shortcuts. Silicon Valley, for example, gave us "complete nutrition" you eat from a pouch. Cut the corner, squeeze beige goo into your mouth, and boom — feeding accomplished. Not because they're soldiers in combat or astronauts in space. Because they're busy coding and can't be bothered with the "inefficiency" of chewing.

What these bros missed wasn't just meals that actually taste good. They missed connection over food that nourishes our souls. Pauses that refresh our minds. The return to presence that comes with each extra savory bite.

For years, my nutrient pouch was coffee. Who needs sleep when you can mainline caffeine? My digestive tract still sends me hate mail for that shortcut. But I had a corporate career to crush and kids to raise. Sleep was for the weak. Or maybe the wise. Either way, not for me.

We laugh at Silicon Valley's absurdity, but we all have our version of the nutrient pouch — the corner we think we can cut without consequence.

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Hacks promise to save time, but they're really about avoiding discomfort.

One less sweaty interval. One less frustrated stare into an empty fridge. One less hour spent “wasting” your life sleeping. So we can move on and accomplish more more more!

The problem? Some of life's most important muscles only develop through discomfort… one of which includes the capacity to notice and appreciate the little things.

When Mike died, I tired to hack grief. Compartmentalize during work hours, function for the kids, cry in the shower where nobody could hear me. Deal with the emotional fallout later. Much later. Like never.

But grief is the ultimate anti-hack zone. It demands the long, messy road — and turns out, that road leads somewhere worth going. After these years of feeling my feelings instead of intellectualizing them, I’ve discovered something worth dedicating an entire Substack to: I'm more present, more connected, more alive. Not despite the hard path, but because of it.

The shortcut I thought would protect me was actually robbing me of transformation and joy. And that's the paradox of hacks — in trying to avoid pain, we miss the growth. In rushing to the destination, we miss the gifts scattered along the way.

My 50th birthday in Patagonia, two years after Mike died.

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I spent 28 days on the pilgrim trail because I knew a hack wouldn’t work.

I was trying to figure out what was “next” in my life — how to fill my time, define my priorities, and introduce myself at dinner parties after leaving my corporate career. Luckily, I had a nagging suspicion I needed the real deal. No spreadsheets, no productivity apps, no life coaches selling me "five easy steps to clarity." Just one foot in front of the other, day after day, with nothing but my thoughts and the Scandinavian horizon.

And it worked. I had answers to both the questions that I did and didn’t know I had — what matters to me now, who I am when I'm not defined by my job title, how I move forward in a way that is authentic to me. Some things just require time and space and even a little bit of struggle to unfold.

On one of my last nights in Norway, I was journaling by the light of the midnight sun, looking back through the messy, imperfect scrawl that documented my journey. What I saw wasn't a straight line to enlightenment, but a rich tapestry of moments: sunburnt shoulders and psychological breakthroughs, wrong turns and unexpected kindnesses from strangers, frustration and wonder.

A celebratory selfie after walking 560 km.

The answers hadn't come in spite of the challenge. They had come through it. The same way my grief transformation didn’t happen despite the pain, but because of it.

The path is the point. The journey is where the magic happens. (Just ask a fortune cookie.)

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I'm not saying all shortcuts are bad.

Sometimes we need to get through Tuesday's mundane tasks to reach Wednesday's joy. But hacks have become our default approach to everything, even the experiences meant to be savored.

So I've decided there are places where I'll let myself go straight for the destination, and places where I'm in it for the journey — like time with my kids, walks in Great Falls Park, or writing these posts for you. Because those journeys offer too many scenic detours, unexpected insights, and sighs of affection, wonder, or breakthrough that I simply refuse to miss.

The type of hack I can get behind.

The next time you're tempted by a life hack that promises to eliminate discomfort, consider the choice carefully. Is the saved time worth the shortened journey? Remember that the path to becoming more — more capable, more present, more alive, more you — runs straight through the middle of things we're trying to avoid.

Because life's richest gifts aren't waiting at the finish line. They're scattered along the path, waiting for us to slow down and notice.

Taking the long way,

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