sadness that makes my heart grow
photo: Joanna Kniaź-Hawrot
I realise that for some of you, the title might come across as a bit off — maybe even a bad joke — especially if you're going through a time when sadness feels heavy and all-consuming. And if that’s where you are right now, I completely get it. This post might not be the right thing for you at this particular moment.
As for me, I’m generally a cheerful person. Not because I just wake up and choose joy every morning, but mostly thanks to a mix of biology, life context, and yes, some personal choices too.
One of the ways I tend to move through life is by keeping things light, playful, and often with humour. It’s not just a personality quirk — it’s a conscious way of dealing with reality, and honestly, it works well for me. The only catch? That pesky yin-yang balance. Playfulness and humour are great, but they can only carry us so far. Just like we need good laughs, we also need space for good, honest sadness.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the difference between the kind of sadness that helps us grow and the kind that leaves us stuck. I’m not trying to unpack sadness in full here — I’m definitely no expert — but I wanted to share something I experienced today.
The Polish poet Jan Twardowski once wrote: Let us hurry to love people, they depart so quickly. And this morning, as I stood by the water with the Moon’s reflection dancing on the surface and birds singing around me, I felt something shift. A voice inside me said: love life, because you will depart so quickly. It hit me in the heart. Nature was fully alive, fully open, and it brought with it the ache of all the love I haven’t fully lived or expressed. That quiet ache uncovered older layers of sadness I hadn’t touched in a while — and I just let it move through me.
In that moment, it felt like something beyond me. Not about me or even from me — just love flowing, both ways, without needing a name or direction.
So here’s the thing: I’ve had plenty of the fun, light bits. What I seem to need more of right now is this kind of tender, grounding sadness — the kind that opens up the heart (even if it left me feeling wiped out for the rest of the morning). I know I’ll feel deep sadness when someone close to me passes away. What I’m after is allowing myself to feel some of that sadness while they’re still here — so I don’t wait to appreciate them until it’s too late to say it out loud. That same logic applies not just to relationships, but to how we relate to ourselves, and to the world around us.
I’d love to hold onto the feeling I had this morning for a bit longer. But I also know how my mind works — it’ll do its thing and steer me back to a more neutral place. Still, this experience won’t just vanish. It’s left a mark.
This post flows with Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - Hawai'i '78 Introduction
