Everything Beautiful is Not Ruined. Just Keep Walking
A reflective exploration of Danielle Younge-Ullman’s message
Have you ever found yourself in a place where you had to confront your deepest fears, far from the comfort of your everyday life?
What happens when the image you’ve crafted for yourself starts to unravel—who are you beneath it all?
What role does nature play in your life—do you see it as a refuge or a battleground for self-discovery?
Is it possible to find beauty in chaos, or do you believe that real beauty must be nicely polished?
In Everything Beautiful is Not Ruined by Danielle Younge-Ullman, the story’s raw and vivid exploration of self-discovery challenges conventional notions of beauty, resilience, and the pressures of perfection. The novel starts with a jarring contradiction—a “vacation” that’s anything but leisurely.
Chapter One’s opening—“Dear Mom”—establishes a complex relationship that unfolds against a rugged, demanding backdrop. Ingrid, the protagonist, embarks on an emotionally and physically intense journey, one that parallels the messiness of human growth. Through every letter, observation, and wound, Younge-Ullman illuminates the truth that what seems to be “broken” can still be beautiful, and what is challenging can ultimately lead to self-acceptance.
The Letters Unsent
Ingrid’s letters, initially addressed to her mother, are an attempt to reconcile the conflicting images of a glamorous, cultured past with the raw reality she faces in the wilderness. Her words drip with sarcasm and a biting wit that masks deeper wounds:
“Thanks. Really. I can’t wait for this tiny excuse for an aeroplane to take off into the sky, and then deliver me into the dismal middle of nowhere.”
This line encapsulates the resentment and frustration Ingrid feels—forced into a confrontation with herself, far from the comforts of urban sophistication. Yet, the letters serve another purpose: they are her way of processing pain, a pain she isn’t ready to share with anyone else, least of all — her mother.
The act of writing letters without the intention of sending them suggests a need to express without the burden of response or judgment. It is her quiet rebellion and an intimate form of self-healing. It shows the importance of acknowledging emotions, even if the process feels like a lonely and unglamorous trek.
Beyond the Surface
As Ingrid reflects on the past, her mind often strays to moments of physical pain—symbolised by her stitched shin, a scar she can’t seem to forget. She admits,
“It doesn’t hurt anymore…except sometimes, when I start thinking about things I shouldn’t, and then it throbs or aches, and occasionally sends hot, stabbing pain up my legs.”
This scar is a metaphor for emotional wounds that may have seemingly healed but still throbbing. Her journey forces her to confront these old hurts in a space where there is no escape, where nature—wild, unpredictable, and at times unforgiving—mirrors her inner turmoil.
Ingrid’s pain is both a source of vulnerability and strength. In acknowledging the aches that remain, she learns that pretending not to hurt doesn’t erase the wound. It is in facing the ache that she begins to heal, showing readers that beauty and strength are not synonymous with flawlessness.
Nature Girl
Ingrid’s disdain for the wilderness gives way to moments of connection with the natural world, where she learns to survive amidst swarming mosquitoes and the exhaustion of a relentless hike. Her sarcastic reference to herself as “Nature Girl” is a turning point. She mocks the role even as she assumes it, counting the mosquitoes she kills to stave off Zika, and realising the far-reaching impact of each act:
“Each mosquito you kill now means, like, potentially millions of mosquitoes that won’t be born later on.”
The wilderness tests her limits but also teaches her about the delicate balance of ecosystems, where every action has consequences—an idea that resonates with her personal journey.
This transition from cynicism to reluctant acceptance shows that embracing the messy parts of life is a form of resilience. Nature becomes a powerful teacher, offering hard lessons about endurance, mutual support, understanding, unpredictability, and finding beauty in chaos. Ingrid’s disdain turns into a grudging respect, and eventually into an understanding that imperfection—both in the wilderness and in herself—is part of what makes life genuine.
The Burden of Perfection
The story’s central tension is Ingrid’s struggle with the expectations imposed by her mother, a former opera singer who clung to ideals of beauty, art, and refinement. Ingrid’s rebellion against these expectations manifests in her journey through a grueling wilderness camp, a place devoid of the glamorous veneer that defined her upbringing. Her mother’s seemingly flawless exterior contrasts sharply with the raw and unfiltered reality Ingrid faces, underscoring the idea that perfection can be suffocating and, ultimately, unattainable.
This conflict is not just with her mother but with herself—her image of who she thought she needed to be, shaped by a past filled with privileges and performances. The physical challenges of the wilderness force her to confront the uncomfortable truth that failure, pain, and messiness are inherent parts of life. The novel argues that beauty lies not in the polished facade but in the struggle itself, in the determination to keep moving forward, scarred yet hopeful.
Acceptance and Healing
Ingrid’s journey is ultimately about letting go of the need to control every narrative, every imperfection, and every wound and recognising that beauty is not a state to be achieved but an ongoing process of growth. By the end of her story, Ingrid learns to accept both the wildness around her and within her—acknowledging that everything beautiful is not ruined, even if it’s flawed or scarred.
Her experiences echo the book’s broader message: that healing is not linear and that often the most profound growth comes from discomfort (could be “funded” by others). Once grateful for our experiences we might embrace the chaos we try so hard to avoid. As Melody Beattie once noticed:
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.
— Melody Beattie
Danielle Younge-Ullman’s novel invites young readers to see beauty in the jagged, the painful, and the imperfect. It highlights the importance of authenticity and the courage to face one’s fears, even when they come in the form of mosquito-ridden swamps or the ghosts of the past.
We don’t need to be perfect; true beauty lies in resilience
Ingrid’s reluctant letter-writing and her grudging transformation into “Nature Girl” illustrate a powerful truth: that the messiest journeys lead to the most profound and beautiful revelations.
As we reflect on Ingrid’s journey in Everything Beautiful is Not Ruined, the questions raised at the beginning of this exploration take on new weight. Perhaps you, like Ingrid, have felt the pressure of living up to someone else’s expectations, struggling to define who you truly are beneath the polished exterior. Maybe you bear scars—some visible, some hidden—that ache when old memories resurface, reminding you that pain doesn’t vanish simply because time has passed.
This story reminds us that true beauty is linked to resilience, the strength to move forward—a beauty that is more authentic and lasting than any flawless facade. Ingrid’s journey shows us that confronting our deepest fears, stepping outside our comfort zones, and facing the wilderness—both literal and metaphorical—can be transformative.
So, when you think about your own experiences—those times you’ve felt trapped, lost, or forced to navigate a path you didn’t choose—consider the possibility that everything beautiful is not ruined. Instead, it’s evolving, revealing layers of strength and grace in every scar, every stumble, and every step forward. The answers to the opening questions may not be simple or clear, but they are part of your story—the story that makes you beautifully, unapologetically human.
