L u II a b y

Here’s another thought I’ve been sitting with, especially after the conversation with Syeda Tabinda Bukhari last week. And I know others have discussed this topic before. I’ve been thinking about those hours between Fajr and the official start of our day. The three hours that stretch quietly between prayer and school drop-offs, between a spiritual rise and a societal delay. By 2 pm, we could be done! Free to rest, to spend time with family, and to create. What are we doing with that time? In the Muslim world, we’re expected to rise before dawn. We’re already up. We’re already awake. We’ve already started. But then… we wait for the rest of the world to catch up, and for schools to open and for offices to unlock. For life to begin at 6:30, 7:30, or 8 am. That is, if we stay up. Some do. Maybe they head to the gym. Go out for a run. Get a head start on house chores (the laundry, last night’s dishes, that cupboard you’ve been avoiding all week). Others just crawl back into bed… and wake ...

This was what my friend Dali Ata asked me, during her visit last weekend. The answer was, "One bite at a time". Or "one toe at a time". Whatever the actual saying is. Either way, the point is that you chip away slowly at the big, impossible thing until it stops feeling so impossible. That’s kind of where I’m at right now. Overwhelmed. Tired. A little bit lost in the middle of the chaos. The to-do list has become a wall. The deadlines are breathing down my neck. The decisions I need to make are all waiting impatiently, waving their arms like toddlers who skipped nap time. And life threw in something extra: my son had surgery recently, so I’ve been working from home to care for him. The days have been long, the nights even longer, but slowly, I am starting to find a rhythm. Not a perfect one, just enough to get going again. I’ve been knocking things off my list one by one. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m not there yet, but I can see it. And honestly, wha...