A real man does not want all his barriers leveled. He of course welcomes easy tasks, but he welcomes hard ones also. The difficult or unpleasant thing puts him on his mettle, throws him on his own resources. It gives him something of

"The stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel."

Moreover as a foil or contrast it enables him to value more truly the good things he constantly enjoys, perhaps without perceiving them.

I sorter like a gloomy day,
Th' kind that jest won't smile;
It makes a feller hump hisself
T' make life seem wuth while.
When sun's a-shinin' an' th' sky
Is washed out bright an' gay,
It ain't no job to whistle—but
It is—
When skies air gray!

So gloomy days air good fer us,
They make us look about
To find our blessin's—make us count
The friends who never doubt,
Most any one kin smile and joke
And hold blue-devils back
When it is bright, but we must work
T' grin—
When skies air black!

That's why I sorter like dark days,
That put it up to me
To keep th' gloom from soakin' in
My whole anatomy!
An' if they never come along
My soul would surely rust—
Th' dark days keeps my cheerfulness
From draggin'
In th' dust!

Everard Jack Appleton.

From "The Quiet Courage."