On nights like these, the rain poured relentlessly, drowning out the world in a curtain of sound. The darkness stretched on endlessly, enveloping everything in its path. No internet, no television, no distractions—just the stark silence of isolation. The faint rustling of leaves, the distant hum of insects, the occasional crack of thunder. Even the smallest sound seemed magnified in the stillness, each noise carving through the quiet like a sharp blade.
And there I sat, alone.
There was once a time when almost always people surrounded me. Friends, family, colleagues—they were all there, physically present, all the time, filling the space with their voices, their laughter, their concerns. But with time, as is inevitable in life, many drifted away. Some were lost to time, others to distance, and some by choice. Yet, amidst the ebb and flow of these connections, there were always a vital few who remained steadfast. Their prayers, blessings, love and unwavering support provided a source of strength, and encouragement, even when they couldn’t be physically present.
When many familiar faces faded, I realized who had always been there, who would always be there. One, that No matter how dark the path became, no matter how the winds shifted, I had stayed by my own side. This realization is surely a testament to the importance of self-reliance and inner strength, but is also a realisation of the importance of true connections, to the invaluable support from those who uplift us in our moments of need.
Loneliness isn’t just an absence of people. It’s a space, a vast hollow that expands when the noise of the world fades away, and you’re left with the echoes of your own thoughts. It’s the feeling that grips you when you reach for a familiar hand and find only air. The kind of emptiness that words can’t quite touch, the fear that sits heavy in your chest like a weight.
I was reminded of that scene from “Life of Pi”, the one where Irfan Khan’s older Pi tells the story of his younger self stranded in the middle of the ocean. The vast, endless sea stretching in every direction, with no land in sight, just a small lifeboat and a tiger for company. His struggle against the elements, against fear, against the crushing isolation, became a tale that people watched in awe, a story of survival. But as they marveled at the film’s beauty and power, few could truly comprehend what it felt like to be that boy, Pi, in the middle of nowhere—battling every second just to stay alive.
It’s easy to marvel at survival from a distance. But to live it? To endure the endless minutes, the long hours where fear claws at your throat and loneliness gnaws at your bones—that’s something no one can see. Survival becomes a quiet act, one that doesn’t seek applause, but only the next breath. And when you finally make it through, who really asks how it changed you, what it left behind in the deepest corners of your soul? They care about the story, not the scars.
It’s in moments like these, with the rain pounding on the roof, the darkness creeping closer, that I remember: “the one I’ve always had is me”. Every battle I’ve fought, every sleepless night, every moment of doubt—I’ve been there. I’ve seen it all. And though it has shaped me, tested me, it has also shown me that I can endure. The support from those few steadfast close ones has been a crucial part of this journey, reinforcing my strength and resilience.
Then comes the question—what is the most important thing in life when you feel like you have no one? It’s realizing that the one person you’ve had all along is “you” and the support and love of vital few. You have endured the storms, have walked through the shadows and survived every turn life threw your way. You keep going, not because it’s always a conscious choice, but because it’s in you to endure. The choice to not give up might not even feel like a choice at all—it’s a role you’ve been given to perform. And just like in the movies, the actor does the best they can, living as close to reality as possible.
I think back to “Life of Pi” again. Pi survived an unimaginable ordeal, but in the end, his story became entertainment for others. The audience marveled at his strength, but how many truly cared about the man who lived through it? How many wondered about the toll it took on him, or the life he led afterward? People watched, absorbed the story, then moved on. That’s life. We, too, will all be stories someday—some remembered, some forgotten, some judged by ruthless audiences, and a few loved by kind ones. But in the end, we are just stories, playing our roles as best we can.
So what’s the most important thing in life? It’s knowing “you”. Knowing that no matter what happens—the storms, the downfalls, the terrors, the emotions, the fake smiles around you, the cruelty, the injustice, the disrespect—you still have “you” and the vital few. The jealousy, the hate, the betrayal, the outcasts, the backstabbers—they will all fade away in time. If it’s meant to be, it will be. You don’t even always know if it’s your choice to not give up, or if life has simply handed you the role of a survivor.
Someday, like all actors, we’ll be gone. The stage will clear, the lights will dim, and we will be nothing more than a story—a “little pie” of life. Some will remember us, others won’t. But what remains, through all of it, is that we endured. And that is enough.
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At Morgan and McCoy, we understand that personal resilience and self-discovery are crucial for effective leadership and business transformation. The journey of enduring and growing through challenges is not just about survival but about evolving into a stronger, more insightful leader. This story serves as a reminder of the quiet strength and inner resources that guide us through life’s trials and how these qualities translate into professional excellence.
We hope this reflection inspires you to embrace your own journey of growth and transformation, both personally and professionally.
