I have noticed a certain toughness that arises from within. My experience was not always that, but now there is more I am able to tolerate, and just in time! The hardest years are perhaps ahead of me. I am to be deleted by my culture, drained of vitality and then removed from my best-yet-remunerating livelihood (and it is merely a livelihood). I may find myself gathering bricks where someone has razed an old building. Yet, that toughness will assist, though the body has waned. I consider the literature of the ancients the source of that toughness. Through so many years it has seeped into me, compelling me to endure in the best manner. It is the strength and strain towards excellence, arete, that accomplishes this task, I suspect. It seems that the world grows ever softer, expecting that the cushions produced for moderns will assist. I am not saying that there is no suffering in the world, no. There exists pain. But the effort at self-overcoming (you know the one I mean) it is Homeric. It is harder.
That is not to say that the toughness is the only virtuous part of living, no. The humanity that comes from soft living assists as well, yes? Take both and temper them.