Life, I’ve come to understand, is both relentless and redemptive.

Robert Frost once said, “In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.” Such a simple truth that feels obvious—until you’re in the thick of it, standing still while the world refuses to wait for you.

I’ve felt that pause—the moments where time seemed suspended, caught between heartbreak and the faint hope of healing. Losing my father at eleven taught me early how quickly life moves forward, even when grief feels like it’s begging for everything to stop. The clocks don’t pause; the seasons don’t wait. And somehow, neither did I.

There’s a cruel beauty in life’s persistence. It doesn’t ask if you’re ready to move on; it just nudges you forward—day by day, minute by minute. And somewhere in the process of being carried along, I began to find my footing again. I started to see that resilience isn’t about charging ahead or forcing yourself to forget; it’s about letting life’s rhythm pull you back into its flow.

For me, “going on” wasn’t passive. It required choices. It meant embracing who I was rather than letting others define me. It meant defying manipulation and control, even when doing so made me feel untethered and alone. It meant believing that my inner compass—flawed and uncertain as it sometimes felt—was strong enough to guide me through the chaos.

And here’s what I learned: Life doesn’t just go on—it shapes us as it does. It chisels away at the parts of us we don’t need and reveals strengths we didn’t know we had. Moving forward, I discovered that growth and healing are not destinations—they’re ongoing, just like life.

So now, when I face the unexpected when loss or struggle threatens to anchor me in place, I return to Frost’s words: It goes on. It is not a dismissal of pain but a reminder of the inevitability of change—and, with it, the possibility of renewal. Life will move forward, and so will I.