The Both/And of Living
- Linda Lovin
- May 1
- 2 min read
'"It is another of life’s great mysteries that sadness and joy can coexist so compatibly with one another. In fact, I wonder if, on this side of heaven, either one can be complete without the other.”— Alan Levi, Theo of Golden
One of the quiet assumptions many of us carry - often without realizing it - is that life should feel consistent. That once we’ve done the work, made the right choices, or arrived at a certain stage, things should settle into something smoother. Happier. More resolved.
And yet, life rarely cooperates with that expectation.
We can feel deep gratitude and aching sadness in the same week. Sometimes in the same day. We can love our lives and still feel restless. We can be proud of who we are becoming while grieving who we used to be. None of this is a failure of mindset or effort. It is simply the nature of being human.
Thousands of years ago, this truth was captured with striking clarity:
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”— Ecclesiastes 3:1–4
What’s remarkable about this passage is not just its poetry, but its permission. It does not rank the seasons. It does not suggest we should rush through the harder ones or cling desperately to the joyful ones. It simply acknowledges that all of them belong.
In my work with clients, I often hear concern when emotions don’t “match” expectations:
“I should be happier than this.”
“Nothing is wrong—so why do I feel heavy?”
“I don’t understand how I can feel both relieved and sad.”
But this coexistence—the joy alongside the sorrow, the hope alongside the fear—is not something to correct. It is something to normalize.
Life moves in rhythms. Ebbs and flows. Expands and contracts. Grows and releases. When we stop demanding emotional consistency from ourselves, something softens. We become less judgmental, more curious. We begin to meet our inner lives with compassion rather than critique.
Perhaps wisdom isn’t about choosing one emotion over another, but learning to make room for both. To trust that laughter doesn’t betray grief, and grief doesn’t erase joy. They inform one another. They deepen one another.
Where in your life right now are two seemingly opposite emotions coexisting, and what might change if you allowed both to be present without trying to resolve them?
What season do you sense you are in at this moment, and how might honoring it—rather than resisting it—offer you a bit more ease or compassion toward yourself?
In your corner,
Linda
