On Inshallah

and releasing the outcome

Growing up in a muslim or Arab family, inshallah was possibly the most annoying thing an adult could say to you. Mom, can you drive me to the mall later? Inshallah. Dad, can I go to soccer camp this summer? Inshallah. Are we going to see our cousins soon? Inshallah. Do you think I’m gonna make the varsity basketball team? Inshallah.

Inshallah means “God willing.” And growing up, it seemed like a phrase adults used to divert the responsibility of committing to anything up to God. It often felt synonymous with “probably not, but I don’t wanna deal with saying no so I’m just gonna say inshallah instead.”

But now, I understand that there is profound wisdom in inshallah. As humans, we cling to illusions of control. We hang on for dear life to the idea that if we can just control every single thing, person, animal, situation, and natural resource, then we will be safe. We develop this incessant need to control during childhoods wrought with uncertainty, unreliable or unequipped caretakers, social injustice and oppression, isolation, bullying, our fundamental needs going unmet, and love that feels evasive and conditional.

For 20-some years (from 5 or 6 until my late-20s), I thought I had it all under control. I thought I’d mastered the art of not letting anything slip by me. Of pursuing goals that were just hard enough they’d seem impressive, but never so hard that I might fail. Of bottling up all my emotions and storing them in my body - that is, until I discovered alcohol which would, from time to time, unleash the beast of 1000 suppressed cries or screams from deep within me. I thought I’d mastered the art of holding my entire family system together as the tiny diplomat and peacekeeper in our household.

But at some point, your arms get tired from carrying all that weight, and the whole thing collapses in on you. That’s what happened when, at 27, I left my job and launched my company. It created a vacuum for everything to come erupting out from where I’d buried in. In the months and couple years that followed, I discovered one of my parent’s alcoholism, checked them into rehab, got married, got divorced, ran out of money, lost friends, isolated myself, and sank into a deep depression.

This is where trying to control everything had landed me. Broke, miserable, lonely, estranged from my parents, my business in disarray, no idea what to do or where or who to turn to next. And it was from the depths of this sadness and confusion that I realized I had to let go of the delusion that I was in control of this ship. I was not, nor did I want to be anymore.

In some of my most distraught sessions, my therapist expressed that it might benefit me to ask for help from something beyond my own human mind and body - God, or some higher power. I resisted at first, but eventually I eased my way into connecting with something bigger than me, something unseen but trustworthy. I’d only refer to this force as “the universe” for a while, which seemed acceptable to my anti-religious mind. And I’ve evolved and deepened my beliefs and practice from there.

Now, when I’m not sure how to navigate a situation, or the outcome feels sickeningly uncertain, I can just say inshallah. Will we raise the money we need for the company to survive? Inshallah. Am I going to have the money to cover my bills this month? Inshallah. Is my crush going to ask me out? Inshallah.

It’s not a deflection. It’s a recognition that we don’t know what is going to happen next. We actually don’t know anything beyond the present moment. Even our ideas of the past are clouded by our biases and perceptions, and both our fears and dreams of the future are just that - fears and dreams. Nothing real about them.

And in recognizing that we can’t know anything beyond this exact present moment, we also move out of attempts to control and into acceptance. We can accept God’s (or the universe’s) will. We can accept whatever happens next. We accept if what we hope for doesn’t happen because it is God’s will. We accept if our path takes an unexpected turn. Because it’s part of a larger plan for us.

Our lives will play out as they are meant to. We will be safe. Everything will happen in divine timing. Our lives have a purpose and we will connect with that purpose when and how we are meant to. Inshallah.

Disclaimer: I know nothing, don’t listen to me.