Sadness arrives the way weather arrives. It does not wait for a verdict. It does not ask whether the day had earned it.
The plea underneath is often simpler than the story we tell about it: to be free of the performance. Free of the need to be interesting while hurting. Free of converting the feeling into a lesson before it has finished being a feeling.
The sadness can be present without becoming the whole account of the day. Work may continue without requiring the mood to improve in return.
That is not optimism. It is refusing to treat the inner climate as a verdict on the work, or on the life. Weather is not a character flaw. It is not a cosmology. It is a condition you can walk in.
Continuing does not contradict the feeling; it lets the feeling remain part of the day without naming the whole day.