In Homer’s epic poem The Odyssey, Odysseus and his men faced a long, arduous journey home to Ithaca after the Trojan War.

Early in the voyage, a series of fierce storms blow them off course and land them on a mysterious, sunlit island.

It seemed peaceful, with gentle winds, calm seas, and fertile land. The inhabitants were friendly and welcoming. They offered Odysseus and his men food, specifically the fruit of the lotus plant.

But this was no ordinary fruit. The moment the men tasted it, something strange happened:

They lost all desire to continue their difficult journey home. Their will disappeared. Their quest. Their mission. Their purpose. Gone. All they wanted was to stay on that island, eat more lotus, and live in comfort.

When Odysseus saw what was happening, he realized the danger. It wasn’t a violent enemy or a storm threatening his men—it was comfort.

Fearing he would lose them forever, Odysseus acted decisively:

“They longed to stay there, to browse on the lotus, and forget their homecoming; but I drove them back, weeping, to the ships and bound them under the benches.”

This story is about the risk of comfort: A subtle, silent force that lures us off course.

There’s a quote from author Robert Brault that I think about often:

“We are kept from our goals not by obstacles but by a clear path to lesser goals.”

The greatest threat to achieving our goals rarely comes from the outside world. It comes from within.

When things get hard, that little voice starts whispering:

• "This is too hard."
• "Maybe this was unrealistic."
• "I've done enough."

It's not malicious. It's natural. The part of you that craves safety, comfort, and relief.

But the moment you tune into that voice, the moment you focus on it, you give yourself an out.

You give yourself a clear path to lesser goals.

Your success in life is determined by your ability to stay true to your original intent. Your quest. Your mission. Your purpose.

To hear that voice, smile, and answer back:

"Yes, this is hard. It's supposed to be. That's what makes it worth doing."

There is a special joy found in giving everything you have to a difficult pursuit.

We do hard things because nothing feels better than a hard-earned win. Nothing. The pain. The struggle. The resilience. And then, the reward. The thrill of knowing that you paid the cost of entry for the thing you wanted to achieve. Hard things are good for the soul.

Because in the end, it's not the storms that keep you from Ithaca—it's the lotus.