The Art of Being

In the constant rush of life, it’s easy to lose touch with ourselves.
But life has a way of making us pause—often in the most unexpected ways.

This past month brought a whirlwind of change: moving into a new home, starting a new job, sending my daughter to daycare for the first time, finishing my first year of grad school, and turning 30. I was moving at full speed—running on little sleep, no time to pause or reflect. Everything felt chaotic.

And then, my daughter got sick.

In that moment, everything came to a halt. Or at least, it did for me.

I thought I had it all figured out: a daycare just minutes from my new job, a home I could slowly make my own. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

But life reminded me, yet again, that I don’t get to control everything.

I’ve always been a planner. It’s how I’ve coped with instability since childhood. My therapist once explained that, as a child of war who moved from country to country and had to start over multiple times, planning became my way of creating security. It gave me a sense of control when everything around me felt unpredictable.

So, I became that person, the one who organizes trips, schedules outings, thinks five steps ahead. At 21, I had a five-year plan. I believed I knew exactly where I was headed. “Live in the moment” was a foreign concept to me. I couldn’t understand how people, like my husband, actually did it.

But every time life feels like it’s moving too fast, something happens to slow me down. It’s as if the universe is gently reminding me: you’re not the planner. Trust in Allah, for He is the best of planners.

When my daughter became ill on her second day of daycare, nothing else mattered. My only focus was her well-being, her tiny smile, her comfort, her recovery. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and scared. My plans unraveled. I had to miss work, and I felt like I was falling short before I’d even started. Productivity faded into the background, and guilt took its place.

Eventually, my own body gave in, I got sick too. That’s when I stopped completely. I asked myself, Is anything more important than my child’s health, or my own?

In that stillness, I chose to surrender. I allowed myself to rest, to heal, and to slow down. I realized that I won’t miss out on what’s meant for me. What’s written for me will find me, and what isn’t, won’t.

So why not breathe? Why not be present?

If there’s anything I hope you take from this reflection, it’s this: be in nature. Watch it. Study it. Notice how everything in nature moves at its own pace, not rushed, not bothered, without an apology. We’re not meant to be constantly producing, performing, or planning. Sometimes, our only job is to be still. To exist. To be.