I've been sitting with two thoughts lately. Both feel connected, and both feel like things I needed to hear years ago. I'm going to talk about them through the lens of my faith because that's where they live for me, but I think the core of both applies to anyone who's ever caught themselves shrinking their own hope.
The Subtle Sin of "Protecting" Yourself¶
Here's something I've done for years: whenever I start wanting something badly, a role, an opportunity, a future I can almost taste, I pull back. I tell myself, don't get too excited. Don't get attached. If it doesn't work out, you'll only hurt more.
It feels like wisdom. It feels like emotional intelligence. It feels like you're being a responsible adult who manages expectations.
But I've started to realize it might be something else entirely. It might be a limiting belief about Allah.
Think about it. When we dampen our own hope, when we refuse to let ourselves feel the full weight of optimism, what are we really saying? We're saying, Allah probably won't come through on this one. We're making an assumption about His plan before He's revealed it. We're drawing a circle around what He's capable of and deciding the boundaries for Him.
And I say this as someone who has practiced this "self-protection" religiously. Right now, I'm in the thick of pursuing something I've wanted for a long time. I've done the work. I've tied my camel as tightly as I know how, which is an expression in Islam that basically means: do everything in your power first, then trust God with the rest. And now I'm in the in-between. That stretch of time where there's less for me to do and more for me to trust. And my reflex, every single day, is to whisper to myself: don't get your hopes up too much.
But why not?
Why not be hopeful? Why assume that Allah would bring something into our lives designed to break us? We're told He is the best of planners. We're told there is khair, goodness, in every outcome. Even if we don't get the thing, He will take care of us. I believe that.
But I'm not even talking about the aftermath right now. I'm talking about the waiting. The period between effort and outcome. The space where tawakkul, deep trust in God, is supposed to live. And what I've noticed, in myself and in so many people around me, is that we fill that space with small, quiet acts of doubt. We try to be "realistic." But in that realism, we are subtly saying Allah wouldn't do this for me or this is too big to actually happen.
Yes, we tie our camel. Yes, there's a reality to how things tend to unfold. But why do we assume miracles aren't on the table?
I'm trying to dream bigger. Not recklessly, but with genuine trust. I want to be someone who expands what could happen to the ends of the horizon, not someone who shrinks it down to what feels safe. Allah's capacity to bless us is not bound by what we think is probable. His love for us is not limited by our fear of disappointment.
So I'm practicing something new: letting myself hope fully. Letting the excitement exist without immediately reaching for the emergency brake.
It's harder than it sounds.
The Other Thing: Reach Out¶
The second thought is simpler but no less important.
We don't reach out to people enough. We just don't.
When you see someone cross your mind, a friend, a colleague, someone you haven't spoken to in months, pray for them. In my tradition we call it dua, but the form doesn't matter. Think of them, wish good for them, and then tell them you did.
It sounds small. But the downstream effects are real. They feel seen. They feel enabled. They're reminded that someone out there is thinking about them and asking God to bless them. And maybe, you don't do it for this reason, but maybe, they pray for you too.
Arthur Brooks talks often about how our deepest fulfillment doesn't come from achievement or status. It comes from the people we know and keep close. The relationships we invest in. That's the stuff that builds contentment, purpose, meaning. The things no career milestone can substitute for.
So be prolific in reaching out. It's not cringe. It's not weird. It's one of the most human things you can do.
And I'm saying this as someone with a genuinely terrible habit of not getting back to people. Of ghosting. Of letting conversations die because I got busy or distracted or told myself I'd reply later. I'm preaching to myself before anyone else.
But I'm trying. On both fronts. Trusting Allah with the full breadth of what He can do, and trusting the people in my life with the full breadth of what I feel for them.
Both require the same thing, really: stop holding back.