One afternoon, I looked up to see
only gray stretched out ahead of me.
The routine, the grind, a ceaseless race,
time itself had lost its grace.
Wake, work, sleep, and repeat,
monotony made life bittersweet.
Seeking answers, I turned to friends,
but advice felt hollow, it made no amends.
I followed the path laid out for me,
from school to work, for stability.
But passion drowned beneath the weight,
of choices made to secure my fate.
Self reflection brought a spark of light,
a quiet truth in the endless night.
Life was gray because I’d lost
the creativity that color brought.
I read, I traveled, I built with my hands,
found joy again in distant lands.
New friends, new sights, new sounds each day,
slowly began to chase the gray.
Now I seek a more vibrant hue,
to break monotony and start anew.
Life is a journey, not just a goal,
why not make it colorful for my soul?
***
Have you ever looked up from your work on a random Tuesday afternoon and seen nothing but gray? Not just the absence of color, but a deep sense of monotony and routine, a heaviness that oozes into every crack and crevice of your life. Time becomes a blur, a mere formality to endure, as each day blends into the next. You wake up, go to work, fulfill your responsibilities, come home, eat, sleep, and then do it all over again. It’s a cycle that feels endless, stretching out before you with no sign of change, until one day you find yourself unable to muster up the will to keep going.
In desperation, you reach out to friends, mentors, elders, and even imams hoping for answers, for wisdom that might help you escape this numbing existence. You explain your restlessness, the dull ache in your soul, and the way life feels like it’s slipping away. Yet, their advice, often rooted in practicality or tradition, somehow misses the mark. It feels like a bandage on a wound too deep, leaving you still searching for something more, something that can truly break through the gray and reignite a sense of purpose and vitality.
They say, “Go to the masjid, pray, turn to the Almighty.” Sage advice, no doubt, and deeply meaningful in its own right. But you’re already doing these things. Worship is not just an obligation for you; it’s part of the rhythm of your days. You pray regularly, rising before dawn to whisper your hopes and fears into the silence of the early morning. You fast voluntarily, seeking both discipline and connection. You give your time and resources to your community whenever you can, extending a helping hand where it’s needed. Yet, for all these acts of devotion, everything still feels like it’s painted in muted tones, part of the same gray expanse that seems to stretch endlessly before you.
In your quiet moments, you begin to search for answers elsewhere. You find yourself typing terms like “depression” and “burnout” into search engines, reading articles and watching videos that describe symptoms that feel tangentially familiar. These concepts resonate. They are valid, real struggles, but deep down, you know this isn’t the whole issue. It’s not just about exhaustion or sadness; it’s something more subtle and pervasive, an ache for something brighter, something that feels alive, something that shakes you from the routine and brings the world into focus again.
So what is it? What’s missing from life when even worship feels mundane, routine, and… gray?
Growing up, I did what I was told. No questions, no hesitation, just follow the plan: go to school, then college, then get a job, then grad school, then marriage, and so on. Life was laid out like a checklist, each box meant to be ticked in a specific order. Majors were chosen not for passion or dreams but for their likelihood of “success.” Careers were chosen not out of passion, but out of practicality. As I entered my thirties, I began to feel the weight of it all. The world turned gray. Boredom seeped into everything, and my mind, untethered, started comparing my life to others.
It was at this point that I realized… I was frustrated…
I was angry at the system, at myself, at everyone else around me, at this endless grind I’d been told was the path to a fulfilling life.
To combat that anger, I threw myself into work. I doubled down, determined to excel, to prove that maybe if I could be the best, an expert, the person everyone relied on to fix the unfixable, only then it would all make sense. But that only led to more stress, and resentment simmered, growing hotter every day. I felt trapped in a cycle I couldn’t escape, a treadmill I couldn’t step off.
I found myself asking questions, like when had all the color drained from my life? Was this some kind of divine test, a punishment for not being grateful enough, or the effects of the evil eye? Or was it something even worse, a sign that this was all life had to offer? I tried everything. I followed all of the advice I was given, doing everything I was “supposed” to do to fix the problem. And yet, nothing worked.
Then COVID happened, and six months of isolation forced me to sit with my anger and frustration. There were no distractions, no excuses, no running away from the truth. As suffocating as it was, it also gave me clarity. For the first time, I started to see the cracks in the narrative I’d been following and began to ask myself not just what had gone wrong, but what I really wanted my life to look like.
Life had turned gray because I had lost my connection to creativity. That spark, the very thing that could give my life vibrancy and meaning, was gone. Without the creativity or passion, everything became dull, lifeless, a checklist of responsibilities rather than a series of moments to savor. Somewhere along the way, I had unknowingly traded passion for practicality, falling into the trap of doing what I thought I “should” or “have to” do instead of what I felt called to do. I wasn’t living; I was merely existing, moving through the motions of a life that no longer felt like my own.
Recognizing this was only the first step. I forced myself to begin exploring personal interests again, even though it felt awkward and unfamiliar at first. It wasn’t easy to push past the deeply ingrained belief that anything enjoyable was indulgent or unproductive. Growing up, I had internalized the idea that the only path to righteousness and absolution was through constant trial and sacrifice, that joy was a luxury and not a necessity. But I knew that if I didn’t challenge this mindset, I was heading toward an emotional and spiritual dead end. Slowly, I began to see that reconnecting with creativity wasn’t selfish, it was essential. It was a way to honor the gifts I had been given and to find meaning beyond mere survival.
So, I began to figure out what color I wanted in my life. I started reading again – stories that transported me to different worlds, ideas that challenged my thinking, and words that rekindled my imagination. I began striking up conversations with strangers, finding unexpected warmth and connection in simple exchanges. My wife, always my anchor and encourager, convinced me to try traveling. We explored new places, tasted unfamiliar cuisines, and wandered streets rich with history and culture, all of which slowly began to awaken my senses and broaden my perspective.
I picked up tools and worked with my hands, building, fixing, and creating. There was a quiet satisfaction in shaping something tangible, in seeing the immediate results of effort and care. And then, I reconnected with a hobby I had loved since I was a teenager: horology and watch collecting. The intricate dance of art, engineering, and the ever-moving measure of time has always fascinated me. Each watch told a story, not just of design and mechanics but also of the moments it had witnessed.
As I dove deeper into this passion, I discovered a vibrant community of collectors and enthusiasts who shared my love for these tiny marvels. Together, we exchanged knowledge, shared stories, and bonded over our mutual admiration for the craft. This new network brought not only friendships but also unique experiences. I attended watch fairs, meetups, and even casual chats over coffee with like-minded individuals. It all began to add richness and warmth to a life that had once felt monochrome, painting it in hues I hadn’t known I needed.
Still, the feelings of guilt would creep in. Sometimes, as I immersed myself in new pursuits and passions, a nagging voice in the back of my mind would whisper doubts. Was I wasting time? Had I strayed too far from the disciplined path I was meant to walk? Rationally, I knew my life had taken a turn for the better. I was more productive, more engaged, and more present in the moment, but my subconscious had a way of dragging me back into the depths of self-doubt.
These feelings were heavy, and they lingered until an unexpected discovery gave me clarity.
I happened across a Hadith that gave me pause. Growing up in a conservative Muslim and Desi environment, I had been shaped by an ethos that held quiet composure as the hallmark of a proper Muslim. Children were expected to be reserved and well-mannered, especially around adults or in formal settings. Horseplay and noise were discouraged, often considered disrespectful or unbecoming. Roughhousing, especially physical play like wrestling, was an absolute no-no. It was seen as too wild, too chaotic, too indulgent of the self.
As I reflected on these memories, I began to see how deeply these values had shaped my approach to life. The emphasis on restraint and order had instilled discipline, but it had also left little room for spontaneity or self-expression. I had learned to measure my worth by how composed and controlled I appeared on the outside, often at the expense of the joy and freedom that come with simply being.
The Hadith painted a different picture, one that challenged my assumptions. While not directly about wrestling, it mentions it and alludes to competition amongst the Sahaba involving it. This image was striking: that the Sahaba, the best generation, paragons of wisdom and dignity, embracing playfulness and joy in such an authentic, human way. It made me realize that balance was not only permissible but necessary. There was room in faith for laughter, connection, and the kind of unguarded moments that bring people closer to each other and to themselves.
This revelation shifted something deep within me. It reminded me that living fully, exploring, creating, and connecting, is not a departure from the path but an essential part of it. Those moments of joy and play are not wasted; they are sacred, too. With this new understanding, the guilt began to loosen its grip, replaced by a sense of acceptance and a renewed commitment to living a life that embraced both discipline and delight.
History is full of examples of Islamic figures who transcended societal norms to maximize the fullness of life. Across centuries, Muslim cultures have produced extraordinary artists, poets, and scholars whose work not only enriched their own societies but also left a mark on the world. The Ottomans, for instance, cultivated a legacy of artistry, craftsmanship, and cultural innovation. From the grandeur of their architecture to the delicate intricacy of their arts, their achievements reflect a deep embrace of beauty and creativity.
These individuals most certainly did not neglect their commitment to the divine in their pursuits. Instead, they wove their faith into every brushstroke, every verse and every crafted masterpiece. Their example should serve to remind us that embracing all aspects of human experience (faith, art, learning, and community) can lead to timeless contributions.
Yet, as these examples show, such pursuits flourished within the appropriate parameters. Balance was key. While these figures explored art, science, and culture, they were guided by discipline and a clear sense of purpose. Boundaries and self-awareness kept them from falling into idleness or indulgence that might stray from the path. Deen gave their creativity and passion meaning, ensuring their work uplifted rather than distracted. It is this delicate interplay of freedom and discipline that allowed their legacies to endure.
For me, the grayness that once consumed my life taught a similar lesson: balance is not merely the key to existing, but to thriving. It required confronting the deeply ingrained belief that every moment had to be a struggle toward productivity or an exercise in discipline. I began to see that life, at its core, is also meant to be lived with joy, creativity, and passion. My journey out of monotony was not just about picking up hobbies or making external changes, it was about reconnecting with myself on a profound level.
I learned that true fulfillment comes from an amalgamation of duty and delight. It comes not only from meeting responsibilities but also from nourishing my soul’s need for creativity, curiosity, and connection. Life was never meant to be a narrow path of unrelenting seriousness; it is a journey where moments of joy and play complement moments of discipline and purpose. Like the artists, poets, and visionaries of the past, I found that embracing life in its entirety is not a distraction from faith but a testament to it.
In the end, it wasn’t about choosing between duty and joy. It was about weaving them together, creating a life that honors both our responsibilities and the richness of our humanity. The examples from the life of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and his companions offer a powerful reminder that even the most righteous and disciplined individuals embraced life in its full spectrum. These pursuits weren’t distractions from their faith; they were an integral part of it, reflecting the holistic approach to life that Islam encourages.
I’ve come to realize that seeking out moments of color and joy is not just permissible, it’s essential. It’s in these moments, whether through creativity, connection, or simple pleasures, that our souls find renewal and balance. Engaging in activities that refresh the spirit is not an indulgence; it’s a way of cultivating gratitude and fostering a deeper connection to life itself. Life is a journey, one filled with both challenges and blessings, so why not make the journey a colorful one?
