The Problem With “Work Harder”

When I was a first-year electrical apprentice, I worked on a job at Northridge Hospital.​

I don’t remember exactly what we were building.

I think it was some kind of emergency receiving area for ambulances—triage, treatment rooms, something like that. I remember it being about three stories.

But honestly?

I was a fucking first-year apprentice.

I didn’t know shit.

I was trying to learn electrical work, stay out of everybody’s way, carry what I was told to carry, and not embarrass myself too badly.

But there was one thing I could see even then.

My foreman, Ron Harper, didn’t know how to run that crew very well.

His answer to practically everything was the same.

Work harder.

Work faster.

We’re behind?

Work harder.

Something went wrong?

Work faster.

We have to redo something?

Hurry up.

Somebody’s struggling?

Push him harder.

Everything was urgency.

Everything was pressure.

Everything required more effort.

And the job settled into the classic pattern:

Three steps forward, two steps back.

Sometimes three forward and four back.

We’d rush.

Something wouldn’t get thought through.

Something would go wrong.

Then we’d have to tear into it again.

Now we were further behind.

So naturally the solution was to work faster.

Which created another mistake.

Which created more pressure.

Which meant everybody needed to work even faster.

I couldn’t have told you what was wrong with any of it.

I didn’t know systems thinking.

I didn’t know anything about constraints.

I wasn’t reading management books.

I was trying to figure out how not to fuck up as an apprentice.

But I knew waste when I saw it.

And we were surrounded by it.

The Guys I Was Learning From

The people I remember most from that crew were Ron Harper, the foreman, and three journeymen: Ernie, John, and Bob.

These weren’t guys figuring out the trade like I was.

Ernie and John had decades of experience and were getting close to retirement.

They’d probably forgotten more about electrical work than I’d ever know.

Bob was also an old-timer who, if I remember right, was already able to retire or was close enough that the job didn’t have much leverage over him anymore.

As a first-year apprentice, I should have been surrounded by a gold mine of experience.

And in a lot of ways, I was.

But I also got to see how leadership could either help experienced people use what they knew—or get in the way of it.

Ernest Frank

Ernie’s full name was Ernest Frank.

He always got a kick out of that.

Both names.

Ernie was from Canada.

And one of the things he was incredibly proud of was what he called his thick blood.

I had moved from Hawaii only a few years earlier, and I was still not completely adapted to San Fernando Valley winters.

I’d be freezing my ass off.

Jacket on.

Trying to stay warm.

And there was Ernie walking around in a fucking T-shirt.

Completely comfortable.

Proud as hell.

He’d basically explain that he was Canadian, he had thick blood and the cold didn’t bother him.

I remember things like that.

Those little details stay with you.

Especially when you’re a young apprentice working alongside older journeymen who have already lived entire careers before you’ve even figured out what you’re doing.

And Ernie knew the trade.

So did John.

These were experienced electricians.

Yet Ron could rattle both of them.

He’d start pushing.

Faster.

Faster.

Why isn’t this done?

What’s taking so long?

And you could watch the change happen.

They’d start reacting instead of thinking.

They’d hurry.

They’d get worried about what Ron was going to say next.

Something happened that I didn’t fully understand until years later:

Pressure could make experienced men stop using their experience.

The knowledge was still there.

The skill was still there.

But fear and anxiety were getting between them and it.

Their attention wasn’t entirely on the work anymore.

Part of it was on the boss.

Part of it was on whether they were moving fast enough.

Part of it was on whether somebody was about to come around the corner and start pushing again.

The objective quietly changed.

Instead of:

Do good work.

It became:

Don’t get yelled at.

Those are two completely different ways to work.

John

John was another interesting character.

I don’t remember his last name anymore.

But I remember his stories.

He’d grown up in Sylmar and lived in the Valley most or all of his life.

He used to tell me about taking public transportation from Sylmar all the way out to the Santa Monica Pier.

That's a 26-mile drive today on the freeway, one way, he would make the trip on the train as a kid!

He’d fish from the pier and then ride the trains back home.

He hated that Los Angeles had gotten rid of so much of that old transit system.​

I loved listening to him.

That was one of the things about construction.

You’d be standing next to somebody who had lived an entire lifetime before you ever showed up.

You learned electrical work.

But you also learned about Los Angeles.

Neighborhoods.

Marriage.

Money.

Kids.

Mistakes.

Health.

Life.

John was also losing his hair.

Not just on his head.

His eyebrows.

Even the hair inside his nose.

It might sound funny at first.

It wasn’t.

Construction dust would tear him up, and he got sick a lot.

Sometimes, working next to him, he’d get me sick too.

Welcome to construction.

But the thing I remember most about John on that job wasn’t the stories or the dust.

It was watching a man with decades of experience get rattled because the person running the crew kept turning up the emotional pressure.

Ernie would get rattled.

John would get rattled.

Then there was Bob.

Bob Didn’t Give a Fuck

I don’t remember Bob’s last name either.

But I remember how he worked.

Bob didn’t give a fuck.

Not in the irresponsible sense.

Bob cared about the work.

He just didn’t seem to care much about Ron’s anxiety.

If I remember right, Bob could either already retire or was close enough that the foreman’s bullshit didn’t have much leverage over him.

He was still there because he liked doing the work.

And Bob would just keep working.

Ron could come through pushing everybody—

Move faster.

Why isn’t this done?

We need this now.

Bob would keep doing what Bob was doing.

Steady.

Not lazy.

Not screwing around.

Not dragging his feet.

Just steady.

He knew how to do the work.

He knew how long it took.

And he wasn’t going to let somebody else’s panic become his panic.

Watching Bob taught me something I understand much better today:

Calm can be faster than urgency.

Bob wasn’t constantly creating problems that had to be fixed later.

He wasn’t burning energy getting rattled.

He wasn’t rushing through something and then tearing it apart.

He’d just do the work.

Once.

There’s a big difference between doing something steadily one time and doing it really fucking fast twice.

“Work Harder” Sounds Good

“Work harder” sounds like good advice.

It sounds tough.

Disciplined.

Responsible.

There’s an entire culture built around it.

Grind.

Hustle.

Push harder.

No excuses.

And sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

Sometimes you’re screwing around.

Sometimes you’re avoiding something difficult.

Sometimes the answer really is:

Chuck, shut the fuck up and do the work.

Fair enough.

I’m not arguing against effort.

Construction taught me hard work.

Martial arts taught me hard work.

Business keeps teaching me hard work.

If you don’t put in the reps, you’re probably not going very far.

But there’s a question that should come before “work harder.”

And it’s this:

Why isn’t the work working?

• Maybe the problem isn’t effort.
• Maybe the sequence is wrong.
• Maybe information is missing.
• Maybe somebody made a bad call three steps earlier.
• Maybe another trade is blocking you.
• Maybe the material isn’t there.
• Maybe the drawings don’t match reality.
• Maybe nobody’s made the decision everybody’s waiting on.
• Maybe people don’t understand the goal.

Or they understand it but don’t have what they need.

Maybe you’re doing something twice because nobody stopped long enough to figure out how to do it once.

And now you’re trying to overpower a thinking problem with effort.

Hard Work Is a Multiplier

I’ve come to think of effort almost like a power tool.

It multiplies what you’re already doing.

Hard work applied to the right thing can produce incredible results.

Hard work applied to the wrong thing can produce a bigger problem faster.

If your crew is installing the wrong thing, twice the effort means you’re installing the wrong thing twice as fast.

If your process produces mistakes, more speed means more mistakes.

If your direction is wrong, working harder just moves you farther in the wrong direction.

That doesn’t mean stop working.

It means:

Diagnose before you prescribe effort.

Ron Was Pushing Instead of Fixing

Looking back, that’s what bothered me about that Northridge job.

Ron kept pushing the crew.

But pushing the crew and solving the problem aren’t the same thing.

• Maybe the drawings were unclear.
• Maybe the work wasn’t sequenced right.
• Maybe another trade was in the way.
• Maybe materials weren’t ready.
• Maybe something had already been installed wrong.
• Maybe a decision hadn’t been made.

I don’t remember.

Again—

I was a first-year apprentice.

I didn’t know shit.

But I remember the pattern.

Pressure. Rush. Mistake. Redo. More pressure.

And there’s another cost to leading that way.

Eventually people stop thinking primarily about the work and start thinking about how to avoid punishment.

Look busy.

Move faster when the boss walks by.

Don’t ask too many questions.

Don’t admit you’re unsure.

Don’t stop and think too long, because somebody might decide you aren’t working.

See a problem?

Maybe keep going.

Stopping might get you yelled at.

That’s how little problems become expensive ones.

You Can Waste Your Best People

That may be the biggest lesson I took from Ernie and John.

Ron had decades of experience standing right in front of him.

Ernie knew the trade.

John knew the trade.

And still, the environment could make it harder for them to use what they knew.

Think about the waste in that.

You can hire someone with twenty or thirty years of experience and create conditions where he performs below his ability.

Not because he forgot the trade.

Because you’ve made it harder for him to access the judgment he spent decades developing.

That’s a leadership problem.

A good leader can do the opposite.

Create enough clarity and stability that people can actually think.

They know what’s expected.

They know when speed matters.

They know when quality matters.

They know when to stop.

They know they can say:

“Hold on. Something isn’t right.”

They get to use their experience instead of hiding it.

Bob Wasn’t Slow

If you’d watched Bob from across the jobsite, maybe he looked slower, after all he was in his 60s.

He wasn’t frantic.

He wasn’t running around.

He wasn’t responding to every emotional spike coming from Ron.

But steady and slow aren’t the same thing.

And frantic and productive sure as hell aren’t the same thing.

Bob was doing the work.

Once.

That matters.

Construction taught me to respect the person who can keep his head while everybody else is losing theirs.

Martial arts reinforced it later.

Business keeps teaching me the same lesson.

Speed without control isn’t really speed.

Sometimes it’s just chaos with better marketing.

Before You Work Harder

So now, when I catch myself thinking:

I need to work harder.

I try to ask one question first.

Why?

• What’s actually not working?
• What’s slowing me down?
• What’s the real constraint?
• What result am I trying to create?
• What’s preventing it?
• Is effort actually what’s missing?
• Or am I trying to solve a thinking problem with more work?

Sometimes the answer really is:

Work harder.

Great.

Then work harder.

But not every problem is an effort problem.

Some are planning problems.

Some are sequencing problems.

Some are communication problems.

Some are leadership problems.

Some are systems problems.

Some are decision problems.

And if your answer to every one of those is:

People need to work harder

eventually you’re going to break something.

Maybe the project.

Maybe the business.

Maybe your people.

Maybe yourself.

Three Steps Forward

I was a first-year apprentice at Northridge Hospital in 1989.

Almost forty years ago.

I couldn’t have designed the electrical system.

I couldn’t have run the crew.

I couldn’t even have fully explained why the job felt so screwed up.

But I could see three steps forward and two steps back.

I could see Ernie and John—men with decades more experience than me—get rattled.

And I could see Bob quietly refusing to let somebody else’s panic dictate the quality of his work.

Almost forty years later, I still think about all three of them.

Ernie in his T-shirt, proud of his Canadian thick blood while I froze my ass off.

John telling me stories about growing up in the Valley and riding out to Santa Monica to fish.

And Bob just plodding along, doing his work, once.

But here’s the important part:

This story isn’t really about Ron, Ernie, John, Bob, or me.

It’s about you.

Because somewhere in your life right now, there’s a good chance you’re doing exactly what we were doing on that jobsite.

Something isn’t working.

So you’re applying more effort.

You’re staying later.

Trying harder.

Pushing yourself.

Pushing somebody else.

Adding another workout.

Opening another tab.

Sending another email.

Taking on another project.

Working through lunch.

Trying to squeeze another hour out of a day that already doesn’t have enough hours in it.

And maybe effort really is what you need.

But maybe it isn’t.

Maybe you’re just doing the same fucking thing faster.

That’s where this old construction story can make your life a little easier.

Before you add effort, diagnose the work.

⚔ The Dojo Drill: Why Isn't This Working?

Take one thing in your life that currently feels harder than it should.

Don’t pick ten things.

Pick one.

Maybe it’s your work.

Your business.

Your training.

Your finances.

Your health.

Your relationship.

A project you’ve been avoiding.

Something where you keep telling yourself:

I need to try harder.

Now put it on the mat.

1. Name the result.

What are you actually trying to accomplish?

Not:

“Work on my business.”

What result?

Not:

“Get healthier.”

What does better look like?

Not:

“Fix my relationship.”

What’s actually happening that you want to change?

Get specific enough that you would know whether the work succeeded.

2. Ask the better question.

Instead of:

Why am I not working hard enough?

Ask:

Why isn’t the work working?

Sit with that for a minute.

Don’t immediately answer with your usual story.

Look at what’s actually happening.

3. Find the friction.

Which kind of problem are you dealing with?

Is it really an effort problem?

Or is it a:

Planning problem?

You don’t know what you’re actually trying to accomplish.

Sequencing problem?

You’re doing things in the wrong order.

Information problem?

You’re missing something you need to know.

Decision problem?

Something can’t move because you haven’t made the call.

Communication problem?

The people involved don’t understand one another.

Systems problem?

Your normal process keeps recreating the same problem.

Leadership problem?

People are spending more energy managing pressure than doing good work.

Maybe it’s something else entirely.

The labels aren’t important.

Seeing the problem more clearly is.

4. Remove one piece of friction.

Don’t rebuild your entire life today.

Fix one thing.

Get the missing information.

Make the decision.

Have the conversation.

Change the sequence.

Remove the unnecessary step.

Ask for help.

Stop doing the thing that keeps creating rework.

Give yourself or somebody else enough room to think.

Then see what happens.

5. And if the problem really is effort?

Good.

Now you know.

Put your head down.

Do the reps.

Work harder.

But now your effort is pointed at something worth multiplying.

Put It on the Mat

Here’s your challenge for today:

Before the day ends, catch yourself one time saying some version of:

• “I need to work harder.”
• “I need to hurry.”
• “I need to push through this.”
• “They need to move faster.”

And don’t immediately obey it.

Stop for sixty seconds.

Ask:

What’s actually slowing this down?

That’s it.

One pause.

One diagnosis.

One better decision.

You may discover you really do need to push harder.

Then push.

But you may also discover that what you thought was a motivation problem is actually a planning problem.

Or a missing conversation.

Or a bad process.

Or something you should stop doing altogether.

That can save you hours.

It can save you frustration.

If you’re leading other people, it can keep you from turning good people into nervous people.

And if you’re doing it to yourself, it might make your own life a little less exhausting.

That’s why this story from almost forty years ago still matters to me.

Hard work matters.

But hard work isn’t a strategy.

And “work harder” isn’t leadership.

Before you ask yourself—or somebody working for you—to move faster, stop long enough to ask:

What’s actually slowing us down?

Because sometimes the fastest way forward isn’t more effort.

It’s figuring out why you keep having to do the same fucking work twice.

📚 Leader’s Library

​Factfulness by Hans Rosling​

Why?

Because this book is a great reminder that the world in our heads is not always the world that actually exists.

We naturally notice dramatic stories, divide things into simple categories, and give more weight to bad news than slow improvement.

Rosling shows how easily those instincts can distort our judgment—and how looking at the data can change the picture.

For leaders, that matters.

Better decisions begin with seeing reality more clearly, not merely believing the story we’ve already told ourselves about it.

P.S. Know a martial arts gym owner who’s stressed about money or student numbers?

Do them a favor: send them to The Leader's Dōjō, my website where I help owners get more students and keep them longer with simple systems.

One forward from you could change their gym: The Leader's Dōjō​

Chuck