Annie Dillard, in “Write Till You Drop,” The New York Times said:
“Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying patient who would not be enraged by its triviality?”
This quote speaks to me for many reasons.
As a Muslim mom, learning how to live with big questions, I feel the speeding up of time. Today is Day 13 of Ramadan. There’s so little time for triviality.
I don’t write about toys, make-up, fashion, or share photos of myself or my family. I have no products to sell. I am terrible at small talk. At the office, I used to dread talking about movies or reality TV. But I’d pretend. I’d buy the stuff everyone else recommended or read or watch the stuff that was recommended. I am sad that my environment unconsciously led me to “perform” womanhood in a particular way, to dress and look a particular way. A lot of it was unconscious conformity.
Then I just stopped after I became a mother. I felt like I had a countdown clock, and every moment needed to “count.” Every failure became a teaching moment. I relearned how to emotionally regulate. Along with Daniel Tiger, I had to learn that when you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four. Before my own kids, I found other peoples’ children mostly annoying. But my own kids, I found tolerable. I told myself that “kids are not really my thing” and I have more important things to do with my education and time. It’s taken me so much time to accept that parenthood is not a guarantee and the job requires training, preparation, and mental strength and endurance.
What would I do if I was writing to a dying patient?
In the Muslim tradition, thinking about death is a normal habit. When someone dies in the community, believers must attend the funeral prayer. There is no need to “know” the deceased to attend the funeral. There are rights owed to the deceased. There is zero social capital gained by observing these etiquettes in this world. Yet in this larger calculus of life, the intention weighs more than the outcome; the dead are owed respect over the celebrity. Many rules in the Muslim tradition seem counter to convention. Writing about death and contemplating how I’d want to die is a normal thing I’ve already thought about. The first class I took after I left corporate work was trying to understand the soul’s journey after death. I can probably go deeper here, so this is just a teaser for another time.
Dillard’s quote is a reminder to ponder this.
A Question For You
Do you find yourself mired in triviality? How do you make sense of what’s important from what’s trivial? Would you try to sell chicken wings or coffee to a dying person? Would you insist they watch your video about how to make lasagna and how to organize their pantry? Probably not.
I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I enjoy writing this (somewhat) daily series and how much I appreciate the thoughtful community here.
I also want to take a moment to give a shout-out to the first couple that supports my work as a couple—Salman and Aqsa. I’ll share that Aqsa’s kids also seem to be fans. I never considered having an intergenerational audience of readers for substack. If a young person compliments my writing, that is a big deal, especially as an aspiring YA author. Thank you for supporting the creative arts as a founder and a monthly sustainer!
Welcome to the Ramadan Learning Series, which offers micro-lessons I’m learning for a joyful Ramadan. Here’s what I have so far:
Pre-Read: Ramadan: A Guest That Stays a Month.
Lesson 1: A Small Intention
Lesson 2: 3 Levels of Fasting
Lesson 3: Sleep is a Gift
Lesson 4: Do Less, Not More
Lesson 5: More Gifts
Lesson 6: Five-Minute Phone Calls
Lesson 7: Who’s Your Pharaoh
Lesson 8: A Pause
Lesson 9: Thank your Mother
I recently picked up a book by Helene Cixous and she talked about the practice of writing as the practice of dying 💛