Convenience is not class. Past a certain level no matter how high you rise life will never get easier for you. Living is difficult. I mean being with yourself. Existing alongside imperfection, your own and in what is around you, what always will be. Accepting that you do not have the power to change and influence. Accepting that the world doesn’t bend at your whim. 

Now we think of labour as moral—a protestant ethic. If you do not work hard you do not deserve to live. That is bullshit. But work is important. The medievals talked about this. A life without labour is hard to live. A life lived in convenience and luxury unmoors you, setting you free in the worst way. 

There are different forms of labour. Different forms of difficulty. Living alone, working from home, materially comfortable. This is its own kind of frictionless environment. This is depraved and languishing luxury.

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