Every Light Turns Green: A Story About Waiting for Better Days

“Think positive.”

I have heard it so many times lately. From kind people, from people who love me, from people who really want to help. You have everything you need to be happy, they say. So be happy.

Does it help? No. I don’t think it does. Sometimes it makes things worse. Because now I am not only sad. I am also sad that I can’t manage to be happy, when apparently I have every reason to be.

And still, if you ask me quietly, I will tell you that I believe really good things are waiting for me somewhere ahead. I have to believe it. There must be some sense in this road I’m on.

Maybe the best way I can explain it is with my morning drive.

The drive

Every morning I leave earlier than I need to.

Not because I have to be anywhere early. Because I want those few minutes before the city wakes up. I get into my car, and the streets are almost empty. No horns, no hurry, no one cutting in. Just me, the road and the soft early light. I can drive freely, the way driving is supposed to feel. For a few minutes, nothing is pressing on me. The road is simply mine.

It is one of the best parts of my day.

The red light

And then, on a completely empty street, the light turns red.

There is nobody coming. Nobody crossing. The road ahead is wide open and clear, and all I want is to keep going, keep that easy feeling. But I can’t. I have to stop and sit there, with my hands on the wheel, looking at an empty road I’m not allowed to drive on yet.

It’s a small irritation. But it’s real.

And here is what I noticed one morning: nobody suffers at a red light. Nobody sits there thinking it will never change. We know it will turn green soon. We tap our fingers, maybe sigh, maybe change the song. And then it turns green, and we go on, and we enjoy the rest of the drive. The red light doesn’t ruin the morning. It’s just part of the road.

The jam that doesn’t end

But life doesn’t only have red lights. Sometimes it has traffic jams.

And some of them don’t feel like they will ever end.

I know that jam very well. The engine is running, but you are standing still. You have been standing still for so long that you have stopped looking at the clock. Ahead of you, a wall of cars, all the way to where the road disappears. You can’t see what’s causing it. Nobody tells you how long it will be. There is no sign, no announcement, no one to ask.

And the worst part is the lane beside you. It moves. Not fast, but it moves. People slide past you, one after another, and you sit and watch them go. You start to wonder what is wrong with your lane. What is wrong with you, that you are the one still stuck.

You think about turning around. About giving up and going home. About getting out of the car and walking, just to be moving. But you can’t. There is nowhere to turn. You are boxed in on every side.

And inside the car, it is so quiet. Too quiet. All the thoughts you managed to outrun on the open road catch up with you here. They climb in through every gap. They sit beside you in the passenger seat and talk and talk.

At some point, it stops feeling like minutes. It feels like months. Like years. Like this is simply where you live now, in a car that doesn’t move, on a road that leads nowhere, waiting for a green that never comes.

And people walk between the cars and tap on your window and say: think positive. Look, the sky is lovely today.

I know the sky is lovely. I can see it. I am still stuck.

I won’t pretend that part is easy. It isn’t. If you are in that jam right now, I’m not going to tell you to enjoy the view. I’m just going to say: I know. I’m in it too. And it’s real, and it’s long, and it’s allowed to feel unbearable.

What helps to wait

What I have found is not a way out. Only small things that make the waiting a little more bearable.

A song that I love, turned up a little louder than usual. The light on the windows of the buildings at the side of the road. A coffee in the cup holder, still warm. Rolling the window down an inch just to feel the air move on my face. Not much. Not a solution. But enough to remind me that I’m still here, still alive inside the car, even when the car isn’t going anywhere.

When it dissolves

And then one day, it happens.

You don’t notice the exact moment. The car in front of you rolls forward a little. Then a little more. And then the whole line begins to move, slowly at first, then faster, and suddenly there is space around you, and road ahead of you, and you are moving again.

It isn’t because you did something clever. It isn’t because you finally thought positive enough. It’s simply because nothing stays still forever. Not the cars, not the road, not the jam.

Not even this.

The road again

When you finally drive on, the road looks almost the same as before. The same lines, the same buildings, the same early light.

But you are not quite the same driver. You know now that jams end, even the long ones. You drive a little more gently. You don’t take the open road for granted anymore. And when the next red light comes, you smile at it a little, because you know how much worse it could be.

Every light turns green. Sometimes later than we wished. Sometimes much later.

But they do. They always do.

Are you at a red light right now, or in a longer jam? You don’t have to tell me where you are going. Only that you are still on the road.

Would you like to share your answer?

I read every answer myself. It stays private unless you say otherwise.

If you are in crisis or thinking about harming yourself, please reach out to local emergency services or a crisis line in your country right now. You deserve immediate support.

With love, from HerWay

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