Life doesn't care about adjectives. At best, a handful of adjectives in some permutation manage to closely describe one narrative of life as it has already taken place. But strictly only the past. Because the present is unfathomable - we being too busy trying to live it or survive it to even try understanding it. And the future, well, the future is the tricky mistress. It tempts you to dream, to paint a picture, to sandbox and call it a variety of adjectives - how things will be. But life carelessly, nonchalantly but almost deliberately brushes them aside and paints its own version of the future. By the time you finish grappling with it and are able to begin comprehending it, comparing it to your imagination, you realise how shallow it was compared to the depth of reality. You also realize how brutal reality is, and how life couldn't care less about the adjectives it was supposed to conform to. Maybe it throws a moment or two here and there to humor you, but the palate of life's art is too complex for us to label with mere names of colours.
Adjectives, you're more or less useless.