Most of us grow up hearing some version of the same advice.
When life gets hard, you get tougher.
You keep your head down. You push through. You don’t complain, and you certainly don’t let people see you struggling. Whatever life throws at you, you’re supposed to carry it, figure it out, and come out stronger on the other side.
I understand that way of thinking. For a long time, I lived by it.
I’ve always been someone who tries to handle things. When something goes wrong, my instinct is to figure out what needs to happen next. Find a solution. Make a plan. Keep moving.
And there’s value in that. Life doesn’t stop just because you’re having a difficult time. Responsibilities don’t disappear. People still depend on you.
But I’ve learned that being able to carry something doesn’t necessarily mean you should have to carry it alone.
And being strong doesn’t always mean being unaffected.
That’s where Hard Years came from.
Lyric video
The Weight We Get Used to Carrying
There’s a line at the beginning of the song that describes a version of myself I recognize pretty well.
I used to wear the weight
Like it made me strong
Kept my head down
Kept moving along
I think a lot of us mistake endurance for strength.
We become proud of how much we can handle. How little we complain. How quickly we can put something difficult behind us and get back to whatever needs to be done.
Sometimes we even start measuring ourselves by how much we’re willing to put up with.
I’ve done that.
I’ve pushed through difficult periods in my career, navigated relationships that weren’t working the way I’d hoped, and experienced losses I wasn’t prepared for.
And through a lot of those experiences, my response was the same.
Keep going.
Don’t dwell on it.
You’ll figure it out.
The problem is that you can get so good at pushing through things that you forget you’re actually allowed to feel them.
You can convince yourself you’re doing fine because you’re still getting up every morning, still going to work, still handling everything you’re supposed to handle.
But being functional and being okay aren’t always the same thing.
It took me a while to understand that.
What the Hard Years Actually Change
One of the more surprising things about getting older is realizing how differently you respond to situations that once would have consumed you.
Things that used to make me angry don’t always have the same effect anymore. Arguments I might have felt compelled to win don’t seem nearly as important. And I’ve become a lot more willing to accept that I don’t understand everything someone else is going through.
I don’t think that’s because life has gotten easier.
In some ways, it’s because life has gotten harder.
I’ve experienced enough disappointment to know that things don’t always work out the way you planned. I’ve lost people I loved. I’ve watched relationships change. I’ve had moments when the future looked nothing like the one I’d imagined.
And those experiences changed me.
But not necessarily in the way I expected.
These hard years
Made me softer somehow
That’s probably the most important line in the entire song.
Because you’d think difficult experiences would make you more guarded. More cynical. Less willing to trust people or open yourself up to disappointment.
And sometimes they do.
There have certainly been moments when I’ve felt that way.
But when I look at who I am today compared with who I was ten or fifteen years ago, I don’t think the biggest change is that I’ve become tougher.
I think I’ve become more understanding.
I’m slower to assume I know someone’s whole story. I’m more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. And I understand that sometimes the person who seems impatient, distracted, or difficult might be carrying something nobody else can see.
You never really know what someone is dealing with when they walk into a room.
The hard years taught me that.
Grief Changes the Way You See Everything
There’s another line in the song that means a great deal to me.
But grief has a way
Of opening your hands
You stop needing answers
You just understand
Losing someone changes things.
It changes the way you think about time. The conversations you wish you’d had. The things you worried about that suddenly don’t seem important anymore.
Grief isn’t particularly interested in your schedule. It doesn’t care whether you have a meeting tomorrow or a hundred things that need your attention.
And it doesn’t always show up when you expect it.
Sometimes it’s a memory. A song. Something funny you wish you could tell someone. An ordinary moment when you suddenly remember that a person who was once such a significant part of your life isn’t there anymore.
There isn’t a solution for that.
And for someone who has spent much of his life trying to solve problems, that’s a difficult thing to accept.
You can’t negotiate with loss. You can’t work harder and reverse it. You can’t come up with a better plan and change what happened.
You just have to learn how to live with it.
I think that’s part of what the song means when it talks about grief opening your hands.
Eventually, you realize that not everything in life is something you’re supposed to control.
Sometimes you don’t get an explanation that makes you feel better.
Sometimes there isn’t a lesson that makes the loss worthwhile.
Sometimes something terrible happened, and you wish it hadn’t.
And you have to find a way to keep living anyway.
That experience has made me more patient with other people, because I know how much someone can be carrying while appearing perfectly fine on the outside.
Softer Doesn’t Mean Weaker
I think we have a strange relationship with the idea of softness.
Especially as men, we’re often taught that being emotional, vulnerable, or openly affected by something is a sign that we aren’t strong enough.
I don’t believe that anymore.
I think there’s a kind of strength in being able to tell someone you’re having a difficult time.
There’s strength in apologizing when you’re wrong. In admitting you don’t have the answer. In being willing to listen to someone else’s experience without immediately explaining why you think they’re mistaken.
And there’s strength in remaining kind when life has given you plenty of reasons not to be.
That’s not always easy.
Sometimes it’s much easier to become cynical. To assume the worst. To build walls and tell yourself you’re simply protecting your peace.
But I’ve come to believe that protecting yourself and closing yourself off from the world aren’t the same thing.
You can have boundaries and still have compassion.
You can recognize when someone has hurt you without deciding that everyone else will.
You can be disappointed by the way something turned out and still believe there’s good ahead.
And you can acknowledge that you’ve been through some difficult years without making those years your entire identity.
I don’t curse the storm
Like I used to do
Some things break you open
So the light gets through
I love that idea.
Not because I believe every painful experience happens for some greater purpose.
I don’t.
There are things I’ve experienced that I would gladly have avoided. People I’d give anything to have another conversation with. Moments I wish had gone differently.
I don’t need to pretend those experiences were good to recognize that they changed me.
And I don’t have to be grateful for the pain to appreciate the person I’ve become while learning to live with it.
The Things That Matter More Now
One thing I’ve noticed about myself is that my definition of a good life has changed.
There was a time when I probably measured success more by what I accomplished, what I earned, or what I was working toward next.
Those things still matter to me. I’m ambitious. I like building things. I like setting goals and seeing what I can accomplish.
I don’t think that part of me is ever going away.
But I’ve become a lot more aware of the importance of everything happening around those accomplishments.
A good conversation with a friend.
An afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing important.
The people who check on you when they don’t need anything.
The opportunity to be present for someone you love.
And the realization that a perfectly ordinary day can turn into a memory you’ll wish you could experience one more time.
I think the hard years have made me appreciate those things more.
Because once you’ve experienced enough loss, you start to understand that the things we take for granted aren’t guaranteed.
You stop assuming there will always be another opportunity.
Another holiday. Another conversation. Another summer. Another chance to tell someone what they mean to you.
And maybe you become a little more intentional about enjoying the moments you have while they’re happening.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to do.
I’m certainly not perfect at it.
But I think I’m getting better.
Still Here, Still Standing
What I love about the ending of Hard Years is how simple it is.
I’m still here
Still standing now
That’s it.
No grand declaration that everything worked out. No promise that life is going to be easy from here on out. No attempt to turn every difficult experience into some inspirational victory.
Just an acknowledgment that you’ve made it this far.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
I think we put too much pressure on ourselves to come out of every difficult chapter stronger, wiser, happier, and somehow completely transformed.
Sometimes you’re just tired.
Sometimes you’re still figuring out what happened.
Sometimes you’re doing a little better than you were six months ago, even if you aren’t quite where you want to be.
That counts, too.
You don’t have to turn every hardship into a success story for your experience to matter.
And you don’t have to become a harder person just because life has been hard on you.
If anything, I hope the difficult years have made me someone who’s a little easier to talk to. Someone who’s more patient, more forgiving, and more willing to recognize that everybody is dealing with something.
I still make mistakes. I still get frustrated. There are still moments when I react before I think, or let something bother me more than it should.
But I’m learning.
And I think that’s what Hard Years is really about.
Not celebrating the difficult seasons.
Not wishing them on anyone.
Just recognizing that after everything you’ve been through, you still have a choice about the kind of person you want to be.
You can let those years make you bitter.
Or you can let them remind you how much kindness matters.
I’ve had some hard years.
And somehow, they made me softer.
I’m okay with that.
In fact, I think I’m better for it.
Harbor Vale
Listen to Hard Years
Hard Years is from my album Under The Summer Sun, available on Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube Music, Amazon Music, and wherever you listen to music.
Listen on Spotify · Hard Years on harborvalemusic.com · Listen on your favorite platform
If you’ve been through a difficult season and found yourself a little more understanding, a little more patient, or a little more appreciative of the people around you, I hope this song resonates with you.
And if you’re still in the middle of one of those seasons, I hope you give yourself a little grace.
You don’t have to have everything figured out today.
Sometimes being here, still trying, is enough.
Thanks for listening.
