In 2007, Canadian businessman Isadore Sharp sold his company—Four Seasons Hotels and Resorts—for 3.8 billion US dollars. Sharp has a fascinating story, but one of his quotes has always resonated with me more than the rest:
“Excellence is the capacity to take pain”
How much pain did Sharp have to endure to develop billions of dollars of excellence? Was this pain worth it, or is there a better option? Should you live your life like Sharp, or will this ultimately lead to a hollow sense of success in the absence of true meaning?
A Cautionary Tale
This leads us to the story of Larry Miller. Neglecting his health, relationships, and happiness, Miller focused entirely on excellence in the business world. By the time of his death, he owned over 60 car dealerships, had no relationship with his wife and children, and was suffering severe complications of type 2 diabetes. He died at 64, leaving his wife Gail alone with a net worth of $1.9 billion. She is the richest person in Utah, but I guarantee she’s not the happiest. In Larry’s autobiography, Gail says this of Larry’s death:
“I miss him, but it’s not like he was here when he was alive anyway”
Take a second to read that again. Really think about it.
Imagine if your family says this about you when you die. Imagine working insanely hard for decades, only to realise you’ve irreversibly neglected the most important parts of your life. I can’t think of many things worse than that.
Okay, then. What is the right way to live your life?
Unhelpful Helpful Advice
At this point in most articles, you’d expect something along the lines of:
“The story of Larry Miller exemplifies the importance of balance. It reminds us to relax on a regular basis, and to not take life too seriously. Only by doing this can we hope to lead a fulfilling life.”
There is some truth in this inoffensive advice, but I’m not sure I entirely agree with it. To begin with, society benefits from people as driven as Larry Miller. Their relentless innovation can push us forward collectively, albeit often to the detriment of their personal lives. These hypermotivated people exist as a consequence of probability, and to dismiss their approach to life is to disregard a valuable learning opportunity. Brilliance may demand sacrifice, but mediocrity demands surrender.
If Miller’s motivation burned through his life like wildfire, I believe we can build furnaces to harness these same flames to improve our lives. We may not accumulate billions of dollars, but perhaps we can achieve something far greater instead. The question is: how?
The Kingdom of the Mind
The stoics believed in the concept of the ‘inner citadel’: a place within each of us were we can retreat from the trials of daily life. Nothing can permeate the walls of the inner citadel, and its construction is entirely within our control. Whilst this originally serves as a demonstration of mental fortitude, I think it can be expanded to teach us the role of discomfort in our own lives.
Every time you do something uncomfortable—you go to the gym, or study for an upcoming test, or start a conversation with someone new—the foundations of your inner citadel becoming incrementally stronger. Although the exact nature of your actions influences the type of buildings constructed within the citadel’s walls, all forms of discomfort strengthen the underpinnings of your life. Conversely, every time you give in to the allure of comfort—you sit on the couch instead of going for a walk, or scroll on social media instead of talking to people in real life—you chip away at the bedrock of your existence. Do this often enough, and you’ll see entire components of your life fall away into the abyss.
Miller and Sharp are unique because they dedicated all their efforts to commercial success for extended periods of time. Whilst this radically increased their probability of achieving their goals, it doesn’t mean you have to do the same. It’s not shameful to live a balanced life; it’s shameful to live a life of least resistance. You should work as hard as Miller or Sharp did, but you might choose to dedicate this effort to a wider range of things. Perhaps, instead of focusing purely on financial gain, you could also strengthen your relationships, read more books, and exercise regularly. Your inner citadel may not have a skyscraper as tall as those of history’s richest entrepreneurs, but you’ll cultivate a rich, varied village with unbreakable foundations of strength and meaning.
There is no greater privilege than the ability to seek discomfort. It enables you to expand your life in whatever area you choose. Maybe a well-lived life isn’t signified by corporate supremacy or unimaginable wealth, but by a person that becomes a bit more formidable each day.
Never stop thinking.
- Will