Ramadan 2023 Reflections #2: a life in compartments

In the name of God, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate.

May you find these words in a state of peace.

A dear friend shared a piece of writing where she unpacks the misery that arises from living a life in compartments; partially realised, invulnerable and disjointed. As I read - it is worthwhile doing so yourself - I’m reminded of the filing cabinet I’ve created of my own world; like split personalities operating in silo.

I’ve found myself reluctant to make definitive claims about aspects of my identity. There’s a sense of claustrophobia. I query; what mental box would this label place me in the mind of others? How accurately would these associations reflect how I see myself? I question if I have done enough to make claim to this title. Have I put in the time, attended the institutions or gathered the accolades to place myself amongst its ranks?

Yet even with awards won, sales made or words published, wearing the title of an entrepreneur or a creative remains an uncomfortable fit. I’m still pressing against the fabric, making it mould to my frame. I still feel a mild anxiety creep in when asked “what do you do?” or a limp pulse of terror erupt as different identities messily spill over from their neatly filed compartments.

A healthy humility in light of my distance from true greatness, or glimpses of hidden insecurities? It’s not always easy to distinguish at which point the spirit of one overpowers the other, but a mixture of both has prompted me to wear identities loosely, and often in isolation; casting shadows on aspects of myself.

integration

Nearly a week into Ramadan, the idea of integration has been heavy on my mind. This is a time where my faith emerges from the margins of my life and temporarily takes centre-stage. I’m not proud of that fact, but it is the norm - the separation of church and state playing out in the individual.

In reality, on a warm day in June 2019, sat in an Imam’s office in Regent’s Park Mosque, this separation was exposing itself as an illusion. In front of a few friends, I made the boldest identity claim of my life:

أَشْهَدُ أَنْ لَا إِلَٰهَ إِلَّا ٱللَّٰهُ وَأَشْهَدُ أَنَّ مُحَمَّدًا رَسُولُ ٱللَّٰهِ

"I bear witness that there is no deity but God, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of God.”

Reflecting 4 years into my journey as a muslim, I appreciate now that this proclamation of faith, my shahada, was the unifying thread I needed to weave my disparate identities into a cohesive whole.

An uncharitable reading of religion emphasises the outward displays of ritual observance and in-group/out-group tribalism, but in truth, it is a continuous returning and reorientation of our selves towards what is Divine.

In its linguistic and primordial essence, Islam calls for you to surrender [to God]. Not in part, but in whole. But how can you be whole if you don’t integrate the unique intricacies that make you you? The weird and wonderful peculiarities that by God's will your innate nature, environment and genetics made of you - talents, temperament, allurements - all must be brought forth towards the highest ideal.

This is embodied in the Islamic principle of Ihsan, loosely translated as the act of beautification, perfection or excellence. It’s the lofty state described in the Hadith of Jibreel. The Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings upon him, states:

“[Ihsan is] to worship God as though you see Him, and if you cannot see Him, then indeed He sees you”

This is the ultimate challenge of mankind - to make all acts, both inwards and outwards, divinely inspired. What fills my heart with awe is the all encompassing remit of acts worship can fall into. In a world where spiritual identity is relegated to a checkbox on a form, or your family life is confined to the slither of space carved outside of your career, it is decreed that anything done with beauty and for the sake of God is in fact a spiritual deed.

How much more consciously does this encourage you to engage with the world, when the act of smiling at a stranger on the street is a form of charity or striving for excellence in your work carries reward beyond its translation to your bank balance? Sincerity in intention is what transforms the mundane into the sacred and turns everyday acts into worship.

embracing the tyranny of labels

I came across an essay I wrote in 2018 about disdain for labels and the stifling nature of, figuratively, being placed in a box. There’s a firey kernel in sentiment that rings true to me years on, but tempered with nuance.

I’m glad to have softened my stance on the puritanical function of labels, giving less weight to the claims that they make on us. Not because I now see them as frivolous, but because who we claim to be - the labels we choose to stake our core identities on - are always aspirational. As such, we wear them with humility and audacity in equal measure. We are always in a state of proving who we are to ourselves, and to God, and in that pursuit there’s breathing room to do, and to be, until we can’t. There’s a freedom in owning that. I’m a father, a husband, a writer, an entrepreneur, a seeker, and I am all of these things not outside of (or despite of) being a muslim, but because I am a muslim. Alhamdulillah.

I’m no longer interested in chopping and choosing which hat to wear, or which identity to lean into on a given occasion. Failure to honour our full selves, as pragmatic as we may claim to be, can quietly slip into ingratitude; a stifling; and later, a haunting feeling of loss.

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