We traded sweat for ease, grit for gadgets, and now we wonder why we’re falling apart.

There was a time when 90 degrees wasn’t considered “dangerous.” It was just called summer. People stepped outside, worked in the garden, sat under a tree, and dealt with it. We didn’t have AC in every room. We had box fans, screen doors, and common sense. Now, walk into the heat and you’d think the sky was falling. Everyone acts like the weather has betrayed them, when really we just forgot how to live in it.

The problem isn’t the heat. The problem is that we’ve gotten soft. We’ve spent decades building lives that dodge every bit of friction. Temperature too hot? Cool it. Food takes time? Order it. Don’t want to get up? Click it. Convenience has become the default setting, and it’s draining the grit right out of us.

We don’t cook anymore. We microwave. We don’t fix anything. We throw it away. We don’t walk. We tap a button and someone else brings it to us. It sounds like progress, but it’s not. It’s slow decay. We’re trading strength for ease and calling it modern living.

Here’s what it’s costing us:

Our bodies are weak from lack of effort. We avoid heat, cold, hunger, and even mild physical labor. Then we call it a crisis when the power goes out or the gym closes.

Our minds are impatient and overstimulated. We can’t wait, can’t focus, and can’t tolerate boredom. We’ve been taught that discomfort is a bug in the system instead of a normal part of being alive.

Our spirits are flat. Without struggle, there’s no satisfaction. Without discomfort, there’s no depth. We scroll, we consume, we avoid. And then we wonder why nothing feels real anymore.

Convenience isn’t evil. But the dependency it creates is. Because when the systems fail—when the lights go out, the food stops flowing, or the weather stops playing nice—convenience won’t save you. And most people don’t know what to do without it.

But we can change that. Not with panic. Not with pretense. Just by stepping back into a little honest effort.

Turn off the AC for a while. Learn to sweat again. Cook from scratch. Grow something. Hang a clothesline. Fix something instead of replacing it. Teach your kids how to use a tool. Talk to your neighbors.

Do the things that aren’t convenient—on purpose.

Because what makes us capable isn’t comfort. It’s work. It’s effort. It’s living in the world as it is, not as we wish it would be.

Convenience made us weak. Doing the hard things makes us strong.

Get uncomfortable. It’ll remind you who you are.