is effort... sexy?

inspired by a farmers market peach

I wish I could bottle up the feeling of eating a farmers market peach for the first time.

The freshness of eating something that the earth provided in her own timing. As I squish the edges around the stem and take note of the farmer’s words of wisdom, I take a tentative bite. The tart sweetness pools in my cheeks, my lips puckering into a smile. It’s full of natural richness, each bite reminding me that this is only possible through true effort and risk. There is no guarantee that each peach I eat will be a good one, but I spend so much of my time optimizing the circumstances that might get me there.

I live so much of my life on my own timeline, rushing into things that have no business being in the present.

The farmers market peach reminds me that the best parts of life are never guaranteed. Each fruit, each vegetable is fought for by its farmer. Its vibrancy is drawn out through tenderness and care.

I don’t know why it look me so long to visit a farmers market. Maybe it was the allure of Whole Foods’ air conditioning and well-organized, colorful aisles. Maybe it was the ease of access that grocery stores provide, as opposed to a farmers market’s time and location bound nature. Compared to the messy outdoor market with leftover, half-eaten bits and pieces strewn across the floor, it never occurred to me that I was leaving the ripest, sweetest fruit on the table.

Mess is what makes life memorable. What makes the farmers market stand out against the Whole Foods of the world.

So when did effort—the harbinger of life’s mess—become unsexy?

Maybe it’s the fatigue of adulthood or the mere realization that a life well lived requires more than we’re often willing to give. And now, AI is our enabler. Effort and the mess of thoughts that trail behind are seen to be wasteful tasks, reserved for those who didn’t invest in Claude Pro.

Efficiency is the newest hallmark of a life well lived, and there’s a new smugness in not allowing a single effort to go wasted. There is no more struggling through or investing in the fraught parts of life. Friendships. Passion. Work. If they fail, it is a mark of the other’s character, not ours (and we have AI to tell us exactly that as well).

Effort is incredibly unsexy.

We no longer want to be caught dead living a life that could be considered taxing. “It’s about the journey, not the destination” is merely a pithy saying that we performatively nod along to now.

So instead, we live in a world where friendships are one-sided, leaning against the person who has not yet given up. Relationships sputter and die at the first sign of hardship or real friction. Effort is reserved for the few who we have deemed can handle the weight of it. Those caught in the past. It’s reserved for the sacrificial lambs, placed on the stone either by ignorance or manipulation.

Yet there is a certain beauty found in mulling over a problem, working through it bit by bit and wringing our hands together with little prayers for it all to work out. I found it as I bit into the farmers market peach. The moments leading up to it are always filled with potential, the burgeoning excitement that sits ballooning in my chest. The smile that crosses my face doesn’t come from the guarantee of a sweet peach, but from the realization that this venture was worth the effort: picking up each one at the market, checking for the ripeness, and talking to the vendor in hopes that their advice will produce results. (And don’t even get me started on all the effort that it even took for the farmer to get to that market.)

To me, effort is charming. Sexy. Perhaps due to its rarity.

Its consequential mess is an artifact that we were here on earth, that we struggled, toiled, and won against the facts of life.

These were actually not those legendary farmers market peaches. These 2 peaches are from another farmers market and they were actually not that great, hence the reflection on effort, risk, and reward.