When I left home in January to travel across Pakistan, the temporality of life hit me the moment I said goodbye to my 93-year-old grandfather in Toronto. He had just returned home from the hospital, and I looked into his eyes as he put his hand on my shoulder. I think in that moment we both knew this was it – we would not see each other again in this world. A few weeks later when I had settled in Islamabad, my family laid him to rest on my birthday, perhaps the only one I remember ever spending alone, observing a funeral online.

Grief. Loss. That'll do it.

There's nothing like wading through to the other side of grief to remind you there is no escaping life's uncertainty.

But, after a global pandemic and a prior history of living in high-risk regions, I don't think it was the macro scale of life and death that was a sudden revelation to me (much to the discomfort of my friends and family, I prepared my first written will almost a decade ago). What struck me about this particular experience was the number of unknowns I was working with:

1. I left my steady job and income to start a creative business known for its traditionally high rates of failure.

2. I left my rent-controlled apartment, family, and all semblance of security by venturing into new territory alone.

3. I left myself no backup plan, and I did so deliberately. I did not want the reassurance of a safety net to give me an exit strategy when things got tough.

So, what was I thinking by self-inflicting every pain known to a Type A personality? I wasn't thinking, I was trusting, which is how all of the most meaningful turning points of my life have appeared before me. It was instinct and years of divine preparation screaming inside me to believe that the answers I sought lay somewhere before me. And what I sought was simple: I wanted to be brave. 

Now, I write this next part with recognition of my immense privilege in being able to do so (and with no recommendation for anyone else to follow in my footsteps). Over the last couple of years, it occurred to me that, by God's grace, I had already achieved everything that I thought was once impossible. I am now on my bonus life, you know, the one where we are compelled to ask ourselves the questions we do when we are kids, "If I could do ANYTHING in this world, what would it be?" 

Then, we must become either bold or dumb enough to do it. And remember, I said I wanted to be brave. I don't mean brave like ziplining off a cliff (although that was liberating). I mean brave like being okay with not having every day of every year planned out meticulously, only to have constant anxiety when reality couldn't keep up with my list of ever-moving goal posts.

In my bonus life, I got to experience a double earthquake, go days without hot water, electricity and Internet, teach in remote villages where my Canadian down jacket wasn't warm enough in June, drive on the edge of a mountain without guard rails, and most importantly, witness the bravery that most people on this planet exhibit each day as they brace themselves for circumstances well beyond their control. 

And yet, they have greater conviction than I've ever had in my privileged upbringing; they know that life will go on as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow. You see, the irony of living in a developed country (for many but not all) is that we begin to subscribe to an illusion of control – control over time, over money, over health, over security, perhaps so much so that anything out of the ordinary is a sure sign of an apocalypse (remember that one-day telecom outage last year?).

Some days on my journey I was stuck on the highway in the middle of a protest fueled by the flames of burning tires, other days I was lost in enlightened conversation with the descendants of a Sufi saint, but on all days I knew I was protected and prayed for by more well-wishers than I'll ever realize. I was surrounded by community. I was loved. When people just show up out of nowhere on your path, you know you are exactly where you are supposed to be, and you watch your fear of uncertainty gradually transform into welcomed surrender, fleeting as it may be.

9 months, 19 hours and two flights later, I returned home to present my work for Islamic Heritage Month. Yes, I availed the option not many have to escape once again into what I can only describe as a breeding ground for everyday miracles in contrast to some of the unbearably tragic images from both my travels and what we see unfolding on the news in many parts of the world today. 

What I also realize is that I have achieved very little of any real significance in my life, but I hope that more bonus rounds await you and I as we a take another turn around the sun in search of new meaning and humility to understand our place in this world and its ensuing balance of uncertainty with conviction. I'd like to think my journey is far from over, but there is a renewed sense of peace in not knowing where tomorrow will lead me.

Happy New Year to all of the brave ones enduring times of hardship and to those, who like me, continue to pray for the courage to lean into life's uncertainty.

"The gifts of your Lord reach everyone. 

The gifts of your Lord will not be denied to anyone." 

(The Holy Quran)