I remember that night. It was my lowest point. The kind of moment that makes or breaks a person. Life had not been kind to me, but I couldn’t blame anyone. I had carried too much, more than I should have, shouldering burdens that were never mine. Betrayal had followed me like a shadow, and I had let it. I had trusted the wrong people. I had given too much of myself away.
I was driving, hours passing like seconds, the road stretching endlessly before me. I thought if I just kept going, maybe I’d outrun the weight of it all. But no matter how far I went, it was still there. The pain, the regret, the memories—they were in every turn, every highway sign, every tree silhouetted against the night sky. There was no escaping them.
Then I saw it. The tunnel. A long, dark stretch with a pinpoint of light at the end.
I pulled over, the engine still running. The tunnel wasn’t just a road. It was a metaphor, wasn’t it? A choice. A way out. A way through.
I sat there, staring into it, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. My chest was tight. My hands gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I wasn’t afraid. Maybe that was the problem.
I had once thought I had a good life. A decent job. A relationship I believed in. Kids that I tried to be there for. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. Then, little by little, it unraveled. Lies. Broken promises. People I had given my heart to turning their backs on me. And I let it happen. Maybe I even helped it along.
I could have stayed in that tunnel. Could have let go. But something stopped me. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the way the night air felt, crisp and clean, reminding me I was still alive.
Or maybe it was the thought that if I left this world, I’d never know what came next.
That was five years ago.
Now, I sit here, writing this, and I wonder why I ever thought about giving up. Life didn’t get easier. It didn’t magically fix itself. But I did. I learned.
I learned that peace is the most valuable thing in this world, and that to have it, you have to let go of what keeps you from it. People who bring drama. People who only take and never give. Memories that no longer serve you. The past.
I’ve learned to be grateful, and that has changed everything. No, this isn’t some motivational speech meant to lift your spirits for a moment before you go back to the same habits, the same cycles. It’s just the truth.
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A few days ago, I was in a car with some friends. We were talking about life, about loyalty, about cutting out the people who don’t respect you. Someone turned to me and said, John, you’re a good guy. A real friend. I’m lucky to know you.
I didn’t say anything at first. I just drove, listening. Then Marie, my partner, spoke up.
"John doesn’t keep people in his life unless he wants them there."
She was right.
Because when you’ve stood at the edge, when you’ve looked into the tunnel and wondered if there’s any reason to keep going, you learn to value the people who matter. You learn to hold on to what’s real and let go of everything else.
That night at the tunnel, I was looking for peace. I thought I could find it in an ending. But I was wrong.
Peace doesn’t come from giving up. It comes from choosing yourself. From deciding that you are worth more than the pain you’ve been carrying.
I don’t want more than what I have now. I’m grateful for everything—every failure, every heartbreak, every mistake. Because they brought me here.
And here is good.
So, if you’re reading this and you’re at your own tunnel, thinking there’s no way forward—there is.
There’s always another chance. Another opportunity. Another day.
You just have to decide to take it.
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Reason for This Story.
This story is about survival, self-worth, and the power of perspective. It’s not just about hitting rock bottom—it’s about climbing out of it.
I wrote this to show that even when life feels unbearable, even when you think you’ve lost everything, there’s still a way forward. Pain convinces you that there’s no escape, that you’re trapped in a cycle of regret, loss, and loneliness. But that’s a lie. The truth is, life keeps moving, and so can you.
The tunnel in the story represents that moment of decision—when everything seems too heavy to carry, and the easiest option feels like letting go. But it also symbolizes transition. A tunnel has two ends. It can be a dead end, or it can be a path to something better.
For me, the moment at the tunnel was about realizing that peace doesn’t come from surrendering to the darkness—it comes from choosing to walk toward the light. That choice isn’t always easy. It means letting go of the people who drag you down, the memories that haunt you, the bitterness that poisons your spirit. It means understanding that no matter how much you’ve lost, you can still rebuild.
I want this story to serve as a reminder that gratitude is the foundation of happiness. When you learn to appreciate what you have, instead of mourning what you lost, life becomes lighter. You stop chasing illusions. You stop trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve your time. You focus on what really matters—peace, real friendships, and the chance to keep going.
If this story reaches even one person standing at their own tunnel, unsure of what to do next, I hope they choose to move forward. Because there’s always another chance. There’s always something worth living for.
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Your hope reminds me of Mary Oliver, John. "Someone once gave me darkness and it took me years to understand that it too was a gift". Beautiful writing, John.