The Beauty in the Rise and Fall of Life

“Let it rain on some days, Let yourself shiver on some cold nights, So when it’s Spring you’ll know why it was all worth going through.”

Sanhita Baruah

We all want the beautiful parts of life — the dreams fulfilled, the fears eased, the joy uninterrupted. We want the softness without the sharp edges, the rise without the fall. And yet, life doesn’t work that way. It's not meant to be a curated highlight reel of only peaks and sunshine.

Still, it’s easy to look sideways — to someone else’s life that seems perfectly polished, perpetually rising. And we wonder: why am I the one moving through shadows, stillness, sadness, or fear?

But the truth is, life was never designed to be linear. It was never promised to be smooth. It is, by its very nature, cyclical — with waves and still waters, abundance and pause, expansion and retreat. Expecting it to be anything else only leads to more suffering.

We often chase the illusion of the "ever-upward" life — the perfect job, the lasting love, the absence of sadness, the ease with money. But if everything always went to plan, if we always had what we wanted, we would lose our ability to feel the beauty in it. There would be no contrast. No texture. No deep-rooted gratitude. Joy would become background noise.

Real freedom begins in acceptance — not just of the good days, but of the ones that stretch you, soften you, shape you. Accepting this doesn’t mean the hard times won’t feel hard. They will. They’re supposed to. Emotions like grief, envy, loneliness, fear — they’re not signs something’s gone wrong. They’re part of the human experience. And within them, seeds of growth, strength, and transformation are always being planted.

Your life won’t always feel like this. It shifts, just like the seasons do. With every low comes the possibility of a rise — even if it’s subtle. Even if it takes time. That contrast is what makes life so breathtaking.

And no — you’re not the only one. Even the ones who seem put-together have had nights curled on the floor, mornings where the mirror felt unkind, days where they showed up despite it all. You may not see it, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been lived.

So prepare for both — the highs and the lows. Be kind to yourself when it’s dark. Let yourself rest. Let yourself recalibrate. And when light returns, be ready to receive it.

This is the work of a well-curated life — not just making space for beauty, but also learning to hold yourself in the harder times. Sit with it. Breathe with it. Dance with it. Because, truly, it all counts. The peaks, the troughs, the joy, the ache — this is what makes the journey rich.

This is what makes it yours.