Drudgery, as we often think of the term, is something to trudge through to get to the other side. Drudgery is unexciting, monotonous work whose end is always welcomed. We must bear its oppressive weight for a time in order to get to the good stuff, or so we’re inclined to think. The Russian author Leo Tolstoy had a perspective that challenges our modern sensibilities around drudgery. He wrote a short story of a peasant farmer whose neighbors stop working their fields in protest of their low wages. As the sun sets, rather than protest, the peasant lines his plow with lit candles and resumes his labor in the fields. The beauty of the lone farmer and his horse working the fields as the sun fades exemplifies the potential richness of drudgery.

One need not be a 19th century Russian peasant to relate to Tolstoy’s story. Our families, relationships, and vocations are demanding, often monotonous hard work. We are inclined to forget that such routine holds gobs of good stuff. Like the peasant, we possess the means of creating beauty in the midst of the mundane. We can commit ourselves fully to this work and recognize the art that emerges through our diligence and good faith. We can line our plow with candles, set out in the night, and note each star as it appears.

Like master artists we do well to immerse ourselves in the unfolding progression of work within our relationships. Pieces of art are at this moment evolving between us and everyone we know. But in relationships, unlike in art-making, the work is never done. We never create a final product from which we can step back and say, “it is complete.” The best, richest relationships are also inconvenient and challenging. But the fact that relationships are inconvenient and challenging is a gift to us. I would be half the person I am today if my relationships were a breeze.

My relationship with my wife is the most valuable and rewarding I will ever know. That we enjoy what I would call a “good marriage” is more indicative of the process than a place we’ve arrived. Hard work in relationships, rather than connoting a negative reality, is indicative that something good is afoot. This is true in personal as well as professional relationships. Like the farmer and his plow, relationships offer an unparallelled opportunity to create something beautiful.

Nonetheless, I am a big fan of the glaring, wonderful exceptions to drudgery: the birth of a child, a stroll through an art museum, camping with other families, and the blooming of fruit trees. I love that life orchestrates these kinds of “mundanity busters.” I feel within me the wish that all of life be a break from the familiar and mundane. I suppose similar desires birthed Las Vegas. But what I know to be true is that, while these blessed interruptions are welcomed refreshments, they do not and should not characterize the balance of our lives. Accepting this reality is freeing. I no longer want to just get through the day; I want to bob along in its current and take in the scenery. Though today may be familiar, a near carbon copy of yesterday, it is a gift. It is where real life happens.