From a steady stream of passerby’s on a busy Saturday morning, my eyes drifted from one dog I could not pet to another and I wondered whether things will ever return to normal. The smell of cigarettes came and went, a scented reminder of those who are burdened by purpose, leaving only an ephemeral waft of tobacco for me to remember them by.

A metal skeleton of a door encased in clear plastic fabric is pushed open and I am granted entry as a reward for the cold wait. Inside, a colorful array of cream cheese decorated the display that serves as a boundary between supply and demand. Erected above it a wall of bagels in every shade of brown. A crescendo of order confirmations and reiterations welcomed me. Footsteps barraged the floor to the rhythm of monetary transactions. Cash a little faster than card. Utensils clinked and clanked in the sink and paper bags crumpled to indicate their contents to be ready for consumption. A comforting aroma of freshly baked bread permeated the air, but the fragrance of coffee could still be noticed by those who witnessed its pouring.

As I attempted to absorb the bustling atmosphere, a pang of guilt intruded the attitude of leisure I had adopted a day prior. There is much to learn from a crowded New York city bagel shop. I watched an employee apply cream cheese on halved bagels at an impressive speed with polished, uniform strokes and a look of disturbed apathy. It was obvious she did not care for these bagels, yet she was so meticulous and industrious I questioned whether I’ve ever emulated such hustle, wondering about the circumstances that must pre-exist to push me so. What were her motivations to be so adept at something she so dismisses?

For too long I have brainstormed the ways to mutate suffering into pleasure, yet laziness continues to clog the gears of productivity and stall progress (here “suffering” is just a substitute for everything I dislike doing). I realize now that the grease of discipline is not compatible with pleasure. Instead of trying to convince myself to endure for the sake of delayed gratification, perhaps the correct path is to accept suffering in its true, inevitable form. Only then, will discipline follow. It excites me to see what could follow this coming of peace, with the hope that it comes at all.