Almost anything can be fun for a while. Baking bread, for example. But no matter how much enjoyment may come from mixing and kneading and baking and turning out a perfect loaf, being forced to do it is a chore. Being forced to do it over and over is work. There is usually little joy in work, so defined.
Oh, but pride later in a job well done? The glow of accomplishment? Well, yes, but there are many ways to achieve that, some quite hands off. I mow my own lawn and like to see the resulting green carpet. My neighbors simply call a lawn service and, I am sure, have the same satisfied smile.
As one climbs the ladder of recognized achievement and wealth, “doing” becomes more and more esoteric. First simple delegation, then active managing, then planning, or just “vision.” At the highest levels it is almost magic_ just snap fingers and “build a dam.” Or whatever.
Hobbies let us drop down to tactile doing for a while, which is their great gift. And so I think will be the eventual fate of a lot of what is now paid work. Writing only when we want to, for the sheer joy of thinking.
But, what then, will remain of all the relatively painless work many have been paid for lately?
HuntingtonHarborThoughts 