I used to believe in the myth of hard work. Not just the idea that effort matters ... but the heavier, more seductive version. The one that whispers: if you work harder than everyone else, someone will notice... someone will choose you.

The only place I ever felt that collapse under me was ironically the one place in the world I most wanted to be. I took a job there because I needed the hours to afford the classes they offered. Classes I craved more than anything. But the work itself... was miserable. Not because of the tasks, but because of the way I was treated.

I was already educated. I had already lived enough life to know my worth. But to the intern manager, I was just another untested kid. She was the kind of Hollywood caricature you’d expect to see in a drama series ... quick to belittle, quicker to make you feel small. Maybe some interns needed that. But I didn’t. And when you keep pressing someone down long enough, it isn’t discipline you create... it’s mutiny.

I drank the Kool-Aid for a while. I believed the harder I worked, the sooner I’d be seen. But effort without dignity is a cruel magic trick. You pour yourself in, and the applause never comes. You go home bitter, carrying the ache of wanting to belong to a place that refuses to see you.

And yet... I was good at that job. I was helpful. I knew how to read people, how to make someone feel comfortable, how to create trust. Maybe I wasn’t built for crisis management, but I was killer at service and engagement. That’s why I thrived as a flight attendant later ... the skills I carried weren’t invisible at all. They just weren’t the kind of skills that manager valued.

That job taught me the most important lesson about leadership I’ve ever learned: a manager is a leader first. And if you make your people feel small for long enough, you don’t just lose their respect. You ignite rebellion.

So was the myth wrong? Not completely. Hard work still matters. But it’s not the whole legend. The missing part is knowing why you’re working hard, and who you’re working for. If it’s just to be chosen, you’ll end up bitter, waiting for applause that may never come. But if it’s to make the end goal greater ... to serve something bigger than yourself ... then the recognition, if it comes, is just a side effect.

These days, when I feel myself slipping back into that old mindset, I don’t ask, is it worth doing? I always finish what I start. The question I ask is, how hard is this worth doing? Because the truth is, not every hill deserves your whole body. Some things are worth your all. Others only ask for enough. And knowing the difference ... that’s the real magic.