Ben Writing

The Work We Must Do

The Work We Must Do

Back in 2019, during an emergency meeting at ABC Foods, a packaging error triggered complaints from a customer. The CEO walked into the room and showed a single slide. It had two bold words: MUST DO.

Then he spoke. “We work because we must. We must earn a living. We must grow. We must prove our worth. We must contribute—to this company, and to society.”

He paused. “But who are we doing this for? For the CEO?”

He pointed to the company logo.

“No. We do it for this name. This brand.”

Customers don’t see our faces. They only see the product. They know the company name, not the people behind it. That’s why every task, even the smallest, must be done with care. Every act shapes the brand. Every mistake chips away at trust.

That day, I realized: our work isn’t just labor. It’s ownership. And ownership means doing what must be done, even when no one’s watching.

The Work We Want to Do

There’s a scene in Avengers: Age of Ultron that stuck with me. Thanos, frustrated by his minions’ failures, finally says: “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

I’ve felt that moment.

When others fail to meet expectations, when teams stall, or plans collapse—it’s easy to blame. But sometimes, there’s only one move left: take the damn gauntlet and do it yourself.

Leadership isn’t shouting orders. It’s stepping in when no one else will. Not because it’s your job, but because you care enough to get it done.

The Work We’re Paid to Do

Let’s say you believe your work is worth 10 coins, but your company pays you 5.

You have two options:

  • Walk away. No deal.
  • Stay. If you stay, how will you work?

You could choose:

  • A: Work for 5 coins. Do just enough. Fair trade.
  • B: Work as if paid 10. Keep your standards. Keep your pride.
  • C: Work like you’re worth 15. Use the gap as a challenge. Level up.
  • D: Work like it’s worth 1. Give up. Make a point. But lose yourself.

Each choice has a cost.

Choose A, and you keep your money. But your peers see a half-hearted effort. Your reputation shrinks.

Choose B, and you lose money. But you keep your identity. You show others who you are—even when it costs you.

Choose C, and you go further. You turn underpayment into self-discovery. You push your limits, not for the job, but for your own growth.

Those who choose B or C are often seen as naïve. But they’ve usually been through A and D before. They know what matters. Like eagles, they see beyond the tree line while sparrows hop branch to branch.

And maybe one day, when I’m the one writing paychecks, I’ll spot the eagles in my team—because I learned how to fly.