the hidden joy in doing what you hate
I hate writing. The act of wrestling thoughts into sentences on a blank page is torture. I'd rather talk about writing, think about writing, dream about writing – anything but actually write. When I do manage to string words together, I realize how much of what I thought was profound is actually hot garbage.
So I procrastinate, and say "ahh, I'll do it another day" or "ahh, I write better in the mornings anyway" or my personal favourite: "I can't start now—the clock needs to strike a perfect hour or half-hour, otherwise I’ll kill my creative juices”.
Strangely, I love publishing.
Hitting that Substack button is a rush. Like standing on a cliff's edge, eyeing the deep blue below. One breath, then plunge. Pencil diving into the unknown. Will I slice through smoothly or belly flop spectacularly? Only one way to find out.
But here's the thing, before I even reach that cliff, I've got to drag myself up a mountain of stairs. Each word is a step, each paragraph is a flight, and by the time I reach the top, I'm exhausted. The publishing high doesn't outweigh the writing dread.
Result? Eight months of procrastination.
Merton's Mind Bomb
Enter Thomas Merton, a Christian mystic and Trappist monk who devoted his life to solitude and prayer. His autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain kind of fell into my lap one day and I found a line that hit me like a lightning bolt:
"If you don't want the effect, do something to remove the causes. There is no use loving the cause and fearing the effect and being surprised when the effect inevitably follows the cause."
Damn. It's not that I didn't know about cause and effect before. We all do. It's basic stuff we learn as kids. But Merton's way of framing it...If you don't like the effect, change the cause. And the flip side: If you want the effect, embrace the cause. Simple. Obvious. It was like seeing the arrow in the FedEx logo for the first time – hidden in plain sight and impossible to unsee.
If I love the effects of publishing, I must learn to love writing.
That's when it clicked. I was staring at a paradox – the cause-effect paradox.
What's truly good for you stems from causes you hate. And what's bad for you? Usually comes from causes you love. It's life's cosmic joke.
Think about it. You crave the fit body but dread the gym sessions. You want the promotion but resist the extra hours. You want to learn French but want to murder the duolingo owl.
Flip it around: You enjoy the buzz of drinking but hate the hangover. You love binge-watching but regret the wasted time.
The Cosmic Balance Sheet
The cause-effect paradox is everywhere once you start looking. It's the invisible force behind your struggles, your procrastination, your constant battle between what you want and what you're willing to do to get it.
But it's not a coincidence. It's the universe's way of maintaining balance. Think of it as life's investment strategy:
When it comes to meaningful results, the cause is unpleasant and you’re asked to pay upfront with your comfort, your ease, and your immediate desires.
And it's a hefty price tag, which is why you resist it.
But the investment yields returns over time with all the gooey good stuff, like health, peace and achievement.
Tempting vices, on the other hand, offer you a loan of pleasure. It’s like maxing out on your credit card. It requires no immediate payment. You’re seduced with instant gratification. But like any loan, the bill eventually comes due, and with inflation high interest.
The real challenge then, is how do you bridge the gap between cause and effect? How do you embrace a difficult cause when you desire its good effect?
Blurring the Lines
Walking is good for me, especially when I'm stressed and my thoughts are racing and the walls feel like they’re closing in. Yet I can't bring myself to do it at the very moment I need to do it. I love the calm I feel afterwards, but I hate the act of putting on my shoes and stepping out the door. It’s almost a herculean task.
What I realised was that I had been so fixated on walking to feel better that I'd missed the point entirely. The goal wasn't to endure the walk for some future reward or some future anticipation of how I might feel.
It was to find the reward in the walk itself.
Let the cause become the effect.
It’s a slight shift in reframe that takes the pressure off. It's not about anticipating how I might feel later or projecting into some imaginary future.
It's about now.
The reason I couldn't walk was because I was paralyzed by fear and stress, always thinking about the 'after' instead of the 'during'.
I just needed to walk. One foot in front of the other. How did I bring myself to do it? I stopped thinking about the destination. I focused on the journey. The first step. The second. The sound of my shoes on the pavement. The rhythm of my breath.
Similarly with writing, I'd been so focused on the end result—the published piece, the likes, the comments—that I'd lost sight of the act itself. I was treating writing as a necessary evil, a painful means to a desired end.
But then I started to pay attention to the process. The satisfying click of keys under my fingers. The way a half-formed thought would suddenly form a perfect sentence. The small thrill of finding the right word.
Gradually, writing became its own reward. I wasn’t writing to have written; I was writing to write.
Make a list
It's not always easy. There are still days when the words feel like they're being pulled out of me with pliers. But more often than not, I find myself looking forward to the act of writing itself, not just the moment when I can finally hit 'publish'.
Once I understood the cause-effect paradox, the next step was putting this knowledge into action. Here is what helped me:
Make a list of activities where you love the effect but resist the cause. For me, this was writing, journaling and water colour painting (seriously, it’s awesome) but I hate getting it prepared.
Instead of viewing the cause as an obstacle, try to see it as an integral part of the effect you desire. With writing, focus on the joy of exploring your ideas rather than just the finished piece.
Commit.
Over to you
Thomas Merton's insight didn't just change my writing—it reshaped my entire approach to the boring stuff I hate doing. When I started to see the cause-effect paradox everywhere, I learned that the real magic happens when I begin to blur the lines between cause and effect and to find joy in the process as much as the outcome.
As a result, I’m putting my money where my mouth is and committing to publishing more and more long forms as a way to enjoy the process.
So here's your challenge: Pick one thing you hate doing but love the result of. Maybe it's exercise, learning a new skill, or tackling a difficult project. Then, find one tiny aspect of the process to enjoy. The burn in your muscles. The 'aha' moment when a concept clicks. The satisfaction of crossing off a task.
Start there. Build on it. Watch how the line between cause and effect starts to blur.