The Adventiade 2025 - Round IV: Two worlds

Sometimes, sitting in the office drafting a report, I think of Thoreau watching his neighbours rot gently in shops and offices all day, for weeks and months, aye, almost for years at a time - astonished not by their work ethic, but by their capacity to endure it without despair. To discover that the miracle persists nearly two centuries later would likely have driven him to one. My heart aches because I have become one of his neighbours.

Which probably explains why I long for the weekends because they are the only time I step outside and work with my hands in my garden, under a sun whose rays were made to fall on a worthier kind of toil.

Of course, I realise now Thoreau’s neighbours endured out of necessity; we endure because convenience has made endurance comfortable. It’s a shame that though my heart aches, my body is rarely forced to follow it - comfort steps in and makes postponement feel reasonable.

This is exactly why this week’s challenge - asking what place or situation would make me feel at home - has put me at a fork in the road. I love doing things the hard way, but I also love the convenience of skipping certain tasks entirely, especially when skipping them seems perfectly reasonable. Why go to the trouble?

^{I just want to be a Hobbit who lives in the Shire...}

But to really answer the question, I’m fairly certain I don’t want to end up like the sedentary, overindulged fat people in Wall-E. I’d choose a time when technology barely existed and people stayed active simply to survive - long before industrial capitalism ever took hold.

A time when families managed their own affairs, grew and ate their own food, and engaged in small trades, with markets bustling with genuine small businesses run by master craftsmen. Communities thrived through collective effort, and people lived with moderation rather than greed, leaving little need for intervention of any kind. Class divisions were minimal, and life felt tangible and purposeful, rooted in the work of one’s own hands and the quiet satisfaction of contributing something real to the world around you.

A world where simple living was an everyday reality, not a feel-good video you scroll past on your phone while silently wishing you could live that way someday. Communication was deliberate and handmade, and expressions were real, not measured in clicks or likes but in presence and meaning.

From this way of life, people were generally sincere, with patience, depth, and understanding. They acted with purpose, knowing that nothing came easily. They were also less likely to take things for granted, because effort was visible in everything they did and consequences were immediate.

That isn’t to say sincerity no longer exists today. It does, but it feels rarer and is often treated less as a baseline and more as an anomaly. When someone acts with genuine intent now, it can prompt surprise, even suspicion, as if sincerity itself has become something unexpected rather than assumed.

Sometimes I wonder how things have ended up this way. I have a small idea that it all comes down to convenience. I don’t mean to sound dismissive of how technology has paved the way for so much of what we have today, but it has subtly reshaped how we live and relate to one another. Tasks that once required effort and attention can now be done instantly, often removing the sense of accomplishment or connection that came from doing things by hand.

Interactions have become faster, more frequent, but also shallower. We are connected in unprecedented ways, yet at the same time, that very convenience has made the deliberate and meaningful feel almost extraordinary.

We all enjoy convenience, of course we do. It saves time, reduces suffering, and expands access. Human ingenuity naturally drives us to find ways to do things faster and easier. The problem is that in the process, some of the patience, effort, and depth that once shaped our daily lives can get lost. When everything is instant, life can feel efficient - but also strangely empty (much like a day in the life of the fat people in Wall-E, pretty much a reminder of what comfort without effort looks like).

Both the past and the present have their advantages, and it is still possible to live a life reminiscent of the old ways while navigating modern life. But there is one caveat: you have to truly want it, because nothing comes from halfhearted effort. Living deliberately and valuing process over instant results requires intention; otherwise, the convenience of today will quietly take over.

To close, not all effort is sacred, but some is worth protecting. And so here’s a question I find myself returning to:

What kinds of effort are worth protecting - even when convenience makes them unnecessary?

^{The image is a snippet from the movie LOTR}

^01-01-2026