As-salaamu alaikum,
In tonight’s video I told you about a young woman who died in an ICU far from anyone who loved her, saying: I would give everything to go back and do it all over differently.
I’ve been thinking about her ever since the night I met her. And tonight, I want to tell you something I didn’t have time for in the video — about a moment in my own life when I almost took the same road she did.
The fork in the road
As someone like you, who grew up here, I have been exposed to everything; and exposed to things my parents never could relate to. Growing up far from any masjid, far from any Muslim friends, my brother and I were thrown into the deep end and had to swim. We had to figure it out.
I found an outlet in sports, joining the swim and lacrosse teams at my high school. I loved lacrosse so much and had the blessing of having a professional lacrosse forward as my coach who helped me level up my skills as a goalie. I became the starter in my junior year and we went to the state championships in my senior year.
Being in that environment, an environment devoid of Islam, I initially thought that I wanted that life. My friends all seemed to be having fun and living it up. I wanted to join them, but even though I was successful in many areas, I was still “different” and despite being born and raised here, the other kids still thought of me as “foreign”. So, by the mercy of Allah, I was locked out of doing a lot of haram—but I didn’t really think it was a mercy at that time. I hated it actually.
I wish I could tell you something inspiring here about how I overcame things, but in all honesty, if it wasn’t for Allah protecting me, I wouldn’t have had the strength to avoid the haram. And watching everyone from the outside, I did eventually see the superficiality of it all. The clothing label prejudice, the economic prejudice, and the total fakeness of so many people.
I hated it so much that I left that town and even the state, and, surprisingly, I never went back all these years. And when I went to Florida, I quite literally bumped into a Muslim while going to class one day and he invited me to visit him later. That was how Allah brought me to the deen and saved me from wandering aimlessly in life.
In the many years since those days, I did get to observe and learn. I saw all those “friends” from high school go nowhere. Still in the same town, still with the same prejudices. They never grew, they never made a difference. I saw a few of them get really sick with addiction. One of the people who I really liked on my team, he contacted me years later and surprised me.
He told me, “I never told you, but I always respected you. You never let anyone push you down, and you had a determination that I still remember and admire.” He was going through a lot of turmoil in his life and I was surprised that he reached out to me for help and for validation of his life. He ended up dying at the age of 40 from alcohol.
His girlfriend in high school ended up with liver failure, also due to alcohol, when she was in her 30’s and was waiting for a liver transplant last time I heard.
Failed lives, shattered dreams, broken hopes. This is what I saw from so many of them.
At the same time, as I came to meet more Muslims, I saw the opposite. I saw them grow older with happiness, contentment and gratitude. They were surrounded by families that loved them, proud of achievements they had worked for all their lives, and appreciated by many around them. I have been with some of these beautiful people when they died, seeing the light on their faces as their souls departed to the mercy of their Lord.
This is the science of husn al-khaatimah that we have in Islam—the study of the good end to one’s life, which is a sign of how they lived that life. Living in obedience to their Lord, service to their community and loving their families. How different it is from soo’ al-khaatimah—the evil end to one’s life, which is an end characterized by darkness, bitterness, fear and doubt. An end weighed down by regrets and failed hopes.
What desire actually does to the brain — and the soul
In the video I mentioned the panting dog — the Quranic image from Bal’am’s story. I want to go deeper on why that image is so precise.
Desire — particularly the kind that comes from haram — operates on a principle of diminishing returns. The first time you experience something forbidden, the dopamine surge is significant. The brain registers it as intensely pleasurable and files it as something to seek again.
But here is what happens next: the brain, in its attempt to maintain equilibrium, downregulates its dopamine receptors. It becomes less sensitive. The same stimulus produces less effect. So, you need more — more intensity, more frequency, more novelty — to get back to baseline.
This is not a moral observation. This is neuroscience. And it explains exactly what the Quran described fourteen centuries ago with the image of the dog that pants whether you chase it or leave it alone. The desire is never satisfied. It never rests. Giving it what it wants does not quiet it — it makes it louder.
The scholars called this ittiba' al-hawa — following the desires. And they understood, long before neuroimaging, that it leads not to freedom, but to a specific kind of slavery — one where the master is inside you and cannot be reasoned with.
Meanwhile — and this is the part that deserves equal attention — the soul that disciplines itself, that chooses obedience over desire, develops something the panting dog never has: qana'ah. Contentment. The capacity to be genuinely satisfied. The ability to enjoy what Allah has permitted without the restless hunger for more.
This is not deprivation. This is the actual good life.
The Rib’ee ibn ‘Aamir insight — going deeper
In the video I quoted Rib’ee’s words to Rustum: “Allah sent us to take people from the servitude to others, to the servitude of the True Lord.”
I want to sit with that for a moment longer, because there is something in it that most people miss.
Rib’ee walked into one of the most powerful palaces in the known world — decorated with every luxury, every symbol of worldly success — wearing a patched robe, riding an old horse. And Rustum laughed at him.
But who was actually free in that room?
Rustum, for all his power and wealth, was enslaved — to the maintenance of that power, to the fear of losing it, to the endless work of keeping the empire running. He could not simply stop. The desires of power and status had their hooks in him as surely as any addiction.
Rib’ee had almost nothing. And he was completely free. Because the only Master he served had already given him everything he needed — purpose, identity, direction, and the promise of something that no Persian palace could offer.
That is what Islam actually is. Not a list of restrictions. A declaration of freedom from every lesser master.
The hayatan tayyibah — what it actually looks like
Allah promises hayatan tayyibah — a good life — to the believing man or woman who does good. [16:97]
I want to tell you what that looks like in practice, because I have seen it up close.
I have sat with people at the end of their lives — in the ER, in the clinic, in homes — who lived for Allah. Not perfectly. Not without struggle. But sincerely, with their face turned toward Him through the years.
And they die differently.
There is a peace in them that I cannot fully explain medically. A settledness. They look back at their lives and they are — genuinely, not performatively — satisfied. Not because everything went well. Many of them went through tremendous difficulty. But because they lived for something real, something that held its value all the way to the end.
And I have sat with people who chased everything they wanted and got most of it. And some of them — not all, but enough — are the most frightened people I have encountered at the end. The panting never stopped. And now there is no time left.
Hayatan tayyibah is not a reward you wait for. It accumulates. It begins the moment you choose obedience over desire. And it compounds — quietly, steadily, in ways you cannot always see — across a lifetime.
Tonight’s journaling prompts
Prompt 1: The desire audit. What is the thing that feels most like a burden when Islam says no to it? Name it honestly. Then ask: what do I actually expect it to give me? What need is it pointing at?
Prompt 2: The fork in the road. Can you think of a moment — past or present — where you stood at a fork between what your desires wanted and what Allah wanted? What did you choose? What did that choice cost or give you?
Prompt 3: Find the person. Who is the Muslim in your life — or someone you know of — whose contentment you genuinely admire? Not their wealth or status. Their peace. Their relationship with Allah. What can you learn from watching how they live?
Prompt 4: The declaration. After your next salah, say:
اللَّهُمَّ إِنِّي أَسْأَلُكَ الْهُدَى وَالتُّقَى وَالْعَفَافَ وَالْغِنَى
Allahumma inni as'aluka al-huda wat-tuqa wal-'afafa wal-ghina.
“O Allah, I ask You for guidance, Your obedience, chastity, and contentment.” This is an authentic du’a of the Prophet ﷺ (Muslim). Four things that together describe the good life. Make it yours tonight.
Resources
Surat al-A’raf 7:175-176 — read the full story of Bal’am with tafsir. Ibn Kathir’s commentary on this passage is particularly rich
Surah an-Nahl 16:97 — read the full context of the hayatan tayyibah promise and sit with what it means
Purification of the Soul compiled by Ahmad Farid — classical Islamic treatment of ittiba’ al-hawa and its effects on the heart
The Story of Rib’ee ibn ‘Aamir — search for the full account of the Persian encounter. It deserves to be read in full
One more thing
Don’t take the road that leads to an ICU far from everyone who ever loved you.
My inbox is open. Just reply.
May Allah give you the good life He promised — in this world and the next. Ameen.
— Dr. Ali