Padel is the end of the world
I played tennis as a kid.
Proper tennis. Big court. High net. Yellow balls that felt like rocks when you mishit them. Serves that either clipped the tape or disappeared over the fence. Long rallies (if you were lucky). Mostly, though, it was toss, swing, swear, collect ball, repeat.
It was hard.
You had to run. Sprint. Side to side. Baseline to net. You had to get your timing right. You had to practise your serve until your shoulder ached. You had to accept that for the first year or two, you were mostly shit.
And that was the point.
And now we have padel.
Smaller court. Doubles by default. Glass walls so you can’t ever hit it out. Underarm serves. Less running. Slower balls. Less strain. Less risk. Less effort.
Easy.
Anyone can turn up having never played before and have a half-decent game within 20 minutes.
People love that. And I get it. It's part of the appeal. But the rise of padel feels like a metaphor for the decline of society in 2026. We’re redesigning life to remove friction.
And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
The Rise of an 'Easier Version'
Padel isn’t evil. It’s fun. Social. Accessible. It lowers the barrier to entry.
That’s the sales pitch.
But really, it just mirrors something deeper in our culture: a relentless drive to make everything easier, quicker, more convenient, more instant.
Learning a language? There’s an app.
Writing a song? Press a button.
Designing a logo? Type three words into a prompt.
Writing an article? You barely have to think anymore.
We’ve created a world where the hard part has been smoothed out. And again, I understand the appeal. Who wants to struggle?
But struggle is where meaning lives.
The Joy We’re Deleting
Think about the last time you achieved something that genuinely mattered to you. Was it easy?
Or was it the result of weeks, months, maybe years of effort?
Getting fitter. Losing weight. Building a business. Learning to code. Writing something that finally works. Running further than you’ve ever run before. Playing a piece of music cleanly for the first time.
Those moments hit hard because they were hard.
You couldn’t do it last week. Or last month. Or last year. And now you can. That change. That visible sign of progress is pure joy.
Padel gives you the illusion of competence quickly. Tennis makes you earn it.
And life, historically, has been much closer to tennis than padel.
We Want the Outcome Without the Process
We want:
- The six-pack without the diet.
- The insight without the reading.
- The business without the risk.
- The creativity without the boredom.
- The mastery without the repetition.
We want the outcome. We don’t want the reps. And technology has started to indulge that impulse.
Why practise writing when a machine can do it faster?
Why wrestle with a melody when software can generate 50 options instantly?
Why think deeply when you can summarise instantly?
Why train for years when there’s a shortcut version?
The friction is disappearing.
But friction is what builds you.
The Dangerous Comfort of “Good Enough”
Padel is “good enough” tennis.
It gives you the feel of the sport without demanding the full physical and technical investment. And that’s fine for leisure.
But what happens when “good enough” becomes your default setting for life?
If you never stretch your capacity, you never discover it. If you never struggle, you never grow. If everything is made easier, you become softer. I don’t mean physically. I mean psychologically.
Resilience is built through difficulty.
Confidence is built through competence.
Competence is built through repetition.
And yes, I know, repetition is boring.
And we’ve built a culture that's allergic to boredom.
The Discomfort Deficit
There’s something happening to our tolerance for discomfort. You can see it every day. Watch people in a queue and count how long it is before they pull out their phone. Cyclists can't be even bothered to stop at red lights any more (too boring).
Have a proper discussion or debate and see how many people in the room actually admit that they're wrong. People can't stand the discomfort of being wrong, so they refuse to admit it (even to themselves).
And as for the phrase "I don't know", I genuinely think it's disappearing from the English language. You never hear it these days.
But when you remove these minor discomforts from your life, you also weaken your ability to handle the major ones.
Tennis teaches you patience. Endurance. Humility. You lose a lot before you win.
Padel gives you a dopamine hit quickly.
And I worry we’re training ourselves for quick hits, not deep satisfaction.
There's Something Sacred About Hard Things
Some things should be hard.
Writing well should be hard.
Running a marathon should be hard.
Building a relationship should be hard.
Raising children should be hard.
Learning an instrument should be hard.
Starting something new should be hard.
The difficulty is not a design flaw.
It’s the feature.
It’s the part that transforms you.
When you remove the difficulty, you remove the transformation.
You get the activity without the growth.
You get the simulation without the substance.
The Illusion of Progress
The real risk is that when everything becomes easier, you can feel like you’re making progress without actually improving at all.
You can play padel three times a week and feel sporty.
You can generate content daily and feel productive.
You can consume summaries and feel informed.
You can automate tasks and feel efficient.
But are you deeper? Stronger? Sharper? More capable?
Or just more comfortable?
Comfort feels like progress.
It isn’t.
I’m Not Immune
Let me be honest. I love convenience as much as you. I love tools that speed things up. I love not having to struggle unnecessarily.
And I’m not suggesting we all return to chalkboards and wooden rackets.
But I’ve started asking myself where am I choosing the smaller court? Where am I shrinking the challenge to protect my ego? Where am I opting for the easy win instead of the harder growth?
Because the easier path doesn’t just save energy.
It shapes identity.
If you constantly choose the easier version, you become someone who avoids difficulty.
And that becomes your ceiling.
The Struggle Is the Point
The struggle is not an obstacle to life.
The struggle is life.
The hours spent missing serves.
The drafts that don’t work.
The early mornings that hurt.
The failed attempts.
The awkward first tries.
That’s the texture of growth.
And if we engineer a world where struggle disappears, we might also engineer a world where depth disappears.
Padel is fine for a laugh.
But I don’t want to live on a smaller court.
Until next time,
Jon "much prefers golf" Kaye
Choosing to live more deliberately