Are We Making Life Too Easy for Ourselves?

We have spent generations trying to make life easier.

And in so many ways, we have succeeded.

We can order food without cooking it.

We can speak to someone on the other side of the world in seconds.

We can buy almost anything without leaving our homes.

Machines wash our clothes.

Machines clean our floors.

Cars take us where we need to go.

Screens entertain us whenever we feel bored.

Even our thoughts can be outsourced.

We can ask a machine to write for us, calculate for us, remember for us, navigate for us, recommend something for us and sometimes even decide what we should watch next.

Convenience is everywhere.

And of course, convenience is not the enemy.

There is enormous value in technology, medicine, accessibility and all the things that have genuinely made many aspects of life safer and easier.

But I keep wondering about something else.

What happens when we remove too much effort from being human?

We are not only minds. We are bodies.

For most of human history, everyday life required physical involvement.

We walked because we had to get somewhere.

We carried things.

We grew food.

We cooked.

We repaired.

We built.

We cleaned.

We made things with our hands.

We travelled.

We solved problems because there was nobody else to solve them for us.

Our hands were not simply tools for pressing buttons.

They were part of how we interacted with the world.

And our brains were constantly receiving information from movement, touch, effort, mistakes and problem-solving.

Today, much of our life can happen while sitting still.

We can work without moving very much.

We can shop without walking around a shop.

We can communicate without looking at another person’s face.

We can entertain ourselves without creating anything.

We can fill every empty moment without ever having to experience boredom.

And perhaps this matters more than we realise.

The World Health Organization recognises physical activity as important not only for physical health but also for mental health, cognitive health and overall wellbeing. It also includes everyday movement, household tasks and physical work as forms of activity. (World Health Organization)

Maybe movement was never meant to be something we squeeze into an hour at the gym after spending the other fifteen hours barely moving.

Maybe movement was meant to be part of life.

There is something different about making something

Think about the difference between ordering something and making it.

When you make something, you have to participate.

You have to choose.

You have to try.

You make mistakes.

You adjust.

You solve problems.

You use your hands.

You wait.

And eventually, you have something in front of you that did not exist before.

There is a particular satisfaction in that.

It could be gardening.

Painting.

Cooking.

Woodwork.

Sewing.

Repairing something.

Writing by hand.

Building something for your home.

Even folding a piece of paper carefully and turning it into something beautiful.

The result matters, but so does the process.

Because during the process, you are doing something rather than simply consuming something.

What handwriting asks from us

This is one of the reasons I keep coming back to handwriting.

When we type, the words can appear almost as quickly as we think them.

Handwriting is different.

The hand has to move.

The letters have to be formed.

The pace slows down.

We have to stay with the thought for a little longer.

Interestingly, a 2024 study involving 36 university students found more elaborate patterns of brain connectivity during handwriting than during the study’s typing condition. The researchers suggested that the combination of visual and precise hand movements may be relevant to learning and memory. However, a later commentary pointed out important limitations, including the small sample and the unusual typing condition, so the findings should not be treated as proof that handwriting is universally superior to typing. (Frontiers)

But perhaps we don’t need a scientific conclusion before appreciating something very simple:

Writing by hand makes us participate.

It asks us to slow down.

To think.

To feel the movement of the pen.

To see our thoughts becoming physical.

And then, when another person reads those words, something else happens.

The thought has travelled from one human mind, through a hand, onto paper, and eventually into another person’s hands.

That is quite extraordinary when you stop and think about it.

And then there is the question of problems

We often talk about problems as if they are always something we should eliminate.

But are they?

Some problems are obviously destructive and unnecessary. Poverty, violence, illness and suffering are not things we should romanticise.

But everyday challenges are different.

Learning how to fix something.

Finding your way somewhere.

Working out how to make something.

Trying a recipe that doesn’t quite work.

Growing something and discovering what it needs.

Writing a difficult letter.

Solving a puzzle.

Learning an instrument.

Building something badly before learning how to build it better.

These things give our minds something to work with.

They require attention.

They give us feedback.

They allow us to experience frustration followed by understanding.

And perhaps that process is important.

Because there is a difference between suffering and effort.

We don’t need more suffering.

But we may need more meaningful effort.

The mouse experiment everyone talks about

There is an experiment that often appears in conversations about comfort, abundance and society: John B. Calhoun’s famous Universe 25 experiment.

Calhoun created an enclosed environment for mice with abundant food and water and protection from predators. The population grew dramatically and eventually declined to extinction, accompanied by changes in social and reproductive behaviour. Calhoun described a phenomenon he called a “behavioural sink.” (Science History Institute)

It is an unsettling story.

But it is also a story that has been simplified far too much.

Universe 25 does not demonstrate that giving humans comfort, food and material abundance will inevitably cause society to collapse.

Mice are not humans.

The enclosure was artificial, the social environment was highly constrained, and the experiment has not been independently replicated in a way that would justify treating it as a direct model of human civilisation. Human responses to density and social conditions are far more complicated. (The Scientist)

So I don’t think the lesson is:

“Comfort will destroy us.”

I think there is a more interesting question hiding underneath it.

What does a living creature need besides having its basic needs met?

Perhaps survival isn’t the same as flourishing

Imagine a life where everything is provided.

You never have to walk anywhere.

You never have to cook.

You never have to repair anything.

You never have to wait.

You never have to be bored.

You never have to figure anything out.

You never have to make anything.

You never have to struggle with a difficult task.

Every question is answered immediately.

Every desire can be fulfilled almost instantly.

Every uncomfortable moment can be distracted away.

Would that necessarily make us happier?

I don’t know.

And I don’t think the answer is as simple as yes or no.

But I do wonder whether meaning comes partly from participation.

From having something to do.

Someone to care for.

Something to learn.

Something to create.

Something to solve.

Somewhere to go.

Something to look forward to.

Perhaps a comfortable life still needs resistance.

Not the resistance of suffering.

The resistance of reality.

The resistance that comes from trying.

We may need to reclaim some friction

Maybe we don’t need to reject technology.

Maybe we simply need to stop allowing convenience to become the default answer to everything.

Walk somewhere when you could drive.

Cook something when you could order it.

Repair something before replacing it.

Make something before buying it.

Write something by hand.

Learn something that doesn’t come easily.

Spend time outside without headphones.

Let yourself be bored occasionally.

Give a child the opportunity to work something out rather than immediately giving them the answer.

Let them build.

Explore.

Ask questions.

Get muddy.

Make mistakes.

Try again.

These things may look insignificant.

But perhaps they are small ways of reminding ourselves:

I can participate in my own life.

Maybe the goal isn’t a harder life

I don’t want to romanticise the past.

There is nothing beautiful about unnecessary hardship.

I don’t want people to live without medicine, technology, comfort or the incredible things humanity has created.

I don’t want us to go backwards.

I want us to become more conscious about what we keep.

And what we give away.

Because perhaps the real question isn’t:

“How can we make life easier?”

We have become extraordinarily good at that.

Perhaps the next question should be:

“Which parts of life should remain ours to do?”

The walking.

The making.

The thinking.

The solving.

The learning.

The waiting.

The writing.

The wondering.

The creating.

The connecting.

The little difficulties that remind us we are alive.

Maybe comfort should be something that supports life…

not something that replaces it.

And maybe sometimes, the things that take a little more time, effort and attention are precisely the things that give something back to us.

Because we are not machines designed to consume comfort.

We are human beings.

And perhaps we need to do, not only have.

To create, not only consume.

To solve, not only receive answers.

To move, not only watch.

To write, not only scroll.

To live, not only make life convenient. ❤️

Letters Club is a quiet place in a noisy world.