slip-sliding away…..

10 years ago, when we got back from Hajj, I remember walks across the plaza section outside the Civic Centre, near my office. I’d recite the talbiyyah (the prayer recited during Hajj) as I walked – trying to hold onto the spirituality of what was one of the most intense experiences of my life.

I recited it to remind me of what had passed. Where I’d been. What I’d done.

I recited it to try to hold on to the feelings I knew would fade. I didn’t know when they would go…just that they would at some point. They couldn’t remain permanent. Feelings don’t stay – no matter how intense an experience is.

And as my walks would continue towards my office, I’d ruminate on my intentions to live better after Hajj. The better habits I wanted to inculcate. The better mindset. The better character.

I was still inspired, and I wanted to hold on as long as I could.

The unlikely ambassador

Back at work, I shared the experience with others – something which was out of character, given that I mostly kept to myself. I wanted to be an ambassador for this journey. I wanted to teach people of other faiths what Hajj was about, while also inspiring Muslims to go themselves.

Soon after, disaster struck. The company – which had largely been dependent on work from one major client – was dealt the hammer blow of losing a lot of business. It meant that many of the employees would be retrenched.

I emailed some of them with words of encouragement. Again, it was totally out of character, but I felt brave enough to send this unsolicited message of support to them all, hoping it would help to cushion the blow in some way…be a ray of light amidst the darkness engulfing us all.

I kept my job, but many others didn’t. It was probably for the better. Maybe we all knew it wasn’t really a place for growth. Staff turnover was high, and it felt – at times – like there wasn’t much scope for significant career advancement. Maybe, for some, it was simply a steady income until they could find something more ambitious.

Many of them later ended up in similar companies – churning out the same type of output, but hopefully finding greater fulfilment. More creativity, and a bigger scope for advancement.

Around six months later, I applied for a job at my alma mater. In the years I was at this company, the role which had been vacant a few times, but I’d never applied. I just wasn’t interested. Or – more likely – I didn’t want to leave what had become a comfort zone. But that comfort zone was now a sinking ship. Or an unstable one, at the very least.

And so, I applied. And I told the company I applied. They had to be supportive. They understood that all of us were entitled to seek more stable opportunities.

I got the job, and returned to that university. A place that, at that point, had been a second home for half my adult life (both as a student and then an employee). I’ve been there for 9 more years now, meaning that it’s been my second home for 15 of my 40 years on this planet.

Time brings change

The Hajj was still strong in my heart and mind. But my ambitions for change…or rather, my standards…would fade in the years that followed as life unfolded.

Our daughter (the only one at the time) started school, issues emerged, and we were forced onto an unwanted rollercoaster which has dominated our lives for most of the years since. Our second daughter was born. We went on holidays. I wrote a book. We renovated our home. A pandemic struck.

Life rolled on. It always does.

But how have I changed? I know I’ve fallen immensely short of my post-Hajj ambitions. I had grand intentions of being so much more pious. So much more conscious. So much more vigorous and consistent in applying good practices and habits to my life.

But I didn’t. I just didn’t.

The pressures and traumas of life overwhelmed me – at times, I believe, to the point of what may even have been depression. And it was heavy to carry because I live inside my own head. I don’t talk about it to others. I write through it. I pray through it. But nobody else is involved. I’m still a lone wolf, for the most part.

But I digress…

After Hajj, I didn’t transform into the person I hoped I would be.

Aside from the factors already mentioned, this failure is probably also due to the natural loss of ability to change. Change was so much easier in my early 20s, when I underwent a spiritual metamorphosis. After that, I realised that as you get older, it gets harder to change.

That’s why it’s so important to make the changes when you are malleable. Once you ‘harden’, chances are, you won’t change dramatically – for the better – after that. Unless hit by some extreme life event.

What now?

So here I sit – exactly 10 years after the biggest day of my life (on Arafah) – wondering who I’ve become, and who I will become as the years keep rolling on.

Rightly or wrongly, I don’t put much pressure on myself about it.

What’s dawned upon me lately is that I cannot be too set in my own thinking about how things should be, or what I should do. A sense of intuition, or instinct, seems to have grown much stronger in me since I turned 40, and I’m more open to listening to that…heeding that, and letting things play out.

I hope it’s maturity. The maturity that supposedly comes at this age.

I hope I can now be far more relaxed and calm…take life as it comes, and not get bogged down in self-imposed expectations of how life should be. Of who I should be.

With that approach, though, there’s the risk of not planning at all. Not trying. Lazily just letting life happen. And it’d be very easy to fall into that.

But I simply need a balance. Plan, but know that God’s plan is greater, so be open to what comes and where it takes you. Listen to the signs that life is giving you, and be fluid enough to adapt.

For someone who’s been very set in his ways for most of life, that’s difficult. But it’s getting easier, I believe.

In terms of my (perceived) flailing spirituality, what I know is that I shouldn’t complicate things. At my core, I need to have a desire to please my Maker. To be more conscious. Then, following that, I just need to do a little more – in all aspects of life and spirituality.

Try.

Just a little bit. Small and consistent.

That’s all. And then see where it takes me.