Maturity in the Midst of Grief: Searching for the Creek
Maturity emerges in the space where humility meets thoughtful action, turning setbacks into stepping stones to success.
A common trend I am increasingly noticing is that those asking about marriage are getting younger and younger—and I am here for it. I love seeing young people marry early, and somehow, the topic frequently comes up in conversation. It has even reached the point where someone jokingly called me “The Rishta Uncle,” with some assuming it is all I care about. As someone who married young, I am admittedly biased and firmly believe that early marriage can be a positive thing. However, the challenge lies in distinguishing between marrying early and marrying too early. What determines when someone is mature enough for marriage?
This question came up in a conversation with one of my little homies, who also wanted to marry early.1 He told me his parents fully supported his decision despite his lack of a job. In fact, they even offered to let him and his future bride live in the basement while financially supporting them until they were stable. Unfortunately, what we did not realize at the time was that there had been a misunderstanding—a costly one.
I connected him with a sister in our community, and they immediately hit it off. By their third meeting, he was ready to take things to the next level and approached his parents more seriously. This is when everything started to unravel. “Don’t you think this is a bit premature? You do not even have a job yet. We love you, but are you sure you are mature enough for marriage right now?” they questioned.
Ironically, before learning about his parents’ concerns, the sister had prayed Istikhara (the prayer for guidance) and felt an overwhelming intuition to call things off.
At first, my little homie handled it gracefully, but a few days later, he called me. From his voice, despite his best efforts to hide it, I could tell he was hurting. “What changed?!” he asked. “Why would they question my level of maturity? How do you even define ‘maturity’?” His words broke my heart, and I had to admit that I had not previously considered this question.
I learned so much from his response to his unfortunate situation. His resilience and introspection inspired me to reflect more deeply on the underlying sentiment behind his question, which I am attempting to explore and answer in this paper.
“If man should see himself at all, if he should see that his wound is deadly and gangrenous.
Then from such looking within, pain would arise, and pain would bring him out from behind the veil.”
–Rumi2
Privilege’s Grief
We see the pictures and videos coming out of Gaza and Sudan, but it sometimes feels like watching a post-apocalyptic science fiction movie. People are struggling to survive with basic necessities—things we have in abundance. We do not have to worry about how we will acquire food—whether we will have to hunt, skin, butcher, and pack the meat—but rather if we have enough funds to purchase the specific type of food we prefer. Yet this abundance is not limited to food; it extends to every aspect of our lives.
For the vast majority of us living in America, we are objectively privileged. Amazon’s “Buy Now” button delivers virtually whatever our hearts desire to our doorstep in just two days—and for same-day deliveries, there is Postmates. The “blessing” (depending on who you ask) of global supply chains has lulled us into expecting the status quo to persist indefinitely. It is hard to imagine life any other way. Everyone wants to be “successful,” but unfortunately, success is a constantly moving goalpost that people chase at younger ages. The “American Dream”—a secure job, a big house with a white picket fence, and a picturesque family (a spouse and two to four kids)—that we were sold our entire lives has become more of a fairytale than a dream. Yet, we still feel entitled to it. This reality particularly impacts young men.
Men are typically action-oriented. We find meaning in working toward a goal, even when it feels unclear. Our desire to be qawwam (a loving servant-leader), to care for a family, and to be productively beneficial in the world seems hardwired into our being. For ambitious people, the need for forward momentum is even more pronounced. When we are unable to progress, life can feel meaningless. For our shabab (youth), this sentiment is even more acute. They carry the same ambition, coupled with the insidious entitlement bred by our culture, yet are limited by the circumstantial constraints of their youthfulness.
Our shabab are grieving.
“Coal”
As a visual learner, art is a wonderful way to express my feelings. Recently, while doing some menial work, I had a country playlist playing in the background—yes, country! It typically has wholesome lyrics, and I find the guitar soothing. Do not judge me!—and a song caught my attention. It was stripped down: just a man singing and playing the guitar. When I doubled back to listen again, I was utterly taken aback. The song resonated with the friends I shared it with, and many of us had it on repeat for most of the day.
The song “Coal,” by 25-year-old Dylan Gossett, is about seeking moral guidance while grappling with the weight of life’s challenges.
During difficult times, the natural response is to look for a resolution—the quicker, the better. Sometimes, all we want is something to numb the pain. Dylan captures this sentiment when he sings:
“Well, I remember what you told me /
Said drinking was unholy /
So, Lord, can You point me to the creek?”
In essence, he is singing about grief.
Grief is a challenging emotion for me. Despite being a natural empath, my ability to process grief feels stunted. I can recognize it in others, but I must work hard to identify it in myself. It feels like part of me is broken. This not only makes offering condolences awkward, but it also leaves me uncomfortable and disconnected from my own emotions.
I need to understand grief—not just for myself but also for those I serve. Over the past year, I have spent significant time trying to better comprehend this emotion. My conclusion is that grief is complicated. It is a combination of frustration and sadness, with elements of anger and depression sprinkled on top.
Dylan’s song beautifully captures a specific type of grief: heartbreak.
“And through unfavored weather /
And holes in the leather /
These boots still covered in tar /
Well, I’m still praying to the heavens /
And hoping for them seven’s /
But hope only gets a man so far.”
The desire to be loved is a fundamental part of existence for most living beings. For unmarried observant Muslims (who do not engage in extramarital romantic relationships), the challenge is compounded. Before shabab can even consider marriage, they must fulfill the burdens of their parent’s expectations and society’s demands to be “successful.” While they watch seemingly everyone else “enjoy life” without any of their sociocultural constraints, they remain alone and lonely. On top of that, initiating and navigating relationships is complex and requires effort. Add heartbreak into the mix, and the loneliness grows exponentially.
“This game of life plays heavy on my heart /
And love is tough, but loneliness is twice as hard /
And I’ll carry that ’bout everywhere I go /
They say pressure makes diamonds /
How the hell am I still coal?”
The challenge in navigating the grief of loneliness and heartbreak lies in finding “the creek.” Despite the pain, how do we remember that the actual creek—the source of life itself—is Allah! There is no god ˹worthy of worship˺ except Him, the Ever-Living, All-Sustaining?
The work lies in remembering that outcomes—whether we perceive ourselves as diamonds or coal—are not our ultimate objective. Instead, our focus should be on finding Allah’s pleasure through the excellence of our sincerity.
Maturity
I learned so much from my little homie. Despite being physically and mentally prepared, his specific goal of marriage is not attainable right now. This realization was initially disappointing for everyone involved—he and his parents thought they were on the same page—and it caused him grief. Yet, he responded maturely and thoughtfully. They both came to me for support, and he adjusted his plans to focus on something more realistic and beneficial for everyone in the long run, InshaAllah (God willing).
From his response, I developed my current working definition of maturity: the ability to think about the future, plan accordingly, and act appropriately despite the challenges one encounters or will inevitably face.
Let me break that down practically:
From a Dunyawi (worldly) perspective:
Introspection: Who are we, what are we good at, and where are we trying to go?
This is an important step that is often overlooked. We cannot plan our lives effectively if we do not consider what we are passionate about and what we can accomplish based on our personal skills and the necessary support. For example, I am not passionate about playing basketball. While it is fun, I would much rather work on many other things. So, I definitely should not set a goal in that area.
But let us say I did: I am not even 5’11” and am a bigger guy. I simply do not have the physique to compete at a high level in basketball. Aspirations of playing in the NFL would be far more realistic than those of the NBA, and I need to be honest about that.
Seek shura (consultation):
Although not explicitly spelled out in the definition, seeking shura is a sign of maturity. We are limited by the scope of our imagination, which is often biased. To avoid missteps caused by our blind spots, we should seek shura and nasiha (advice) from wise, trusted individuals who have experience in the domain we are exploring. Allah instructed the Prophet ﷺ, “… consult with them in ˹conducting˺ matters.”3 This requires vulnerability and humility. As I mentioned in a previous paper, I recommend taking a layered approach to consultation—starting with those closest to you and expanding to others with relevant expertise.
In the case of the little homie mentioned earlier, he consulted me, reassessed, and pivoted once he realized there was a misunderstanding.
Planning:
Planning is a core pillar of maturity. While many people are dreamers, maturity lies in creating a plan to achieve those dreams. More importantly, are our goals SMART (specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, and time-bound)?
There is nothing wrong with having lofty ambitions, but we need to break them into manageable micro-goals that help us focus and steadily build toward the larger objective. Life is a long journey, and smaller goals allow us to progress while experiencing the gratification of achieving milestones.
Additionally, if we ever need to pivot, the effort and resources we invested in our smaller goals will not have been wasted. Instead, they become foundational steps that support us in navigating our new direction.
Acting:
There is such a thing as overplanning. At some point, we actually have to put in the work. However, starting is only figuratively half the battle; maintaining discipline and remaining consistent is the other half.
A fact of life is that nothing is consistent except Allah. There will always be peaks and valleys, so we must build a support system to prepare us for less favorable conditions.
Discipline, unfortunately, is not something that can be turned on like flipping a light switch. It is not a God-given talent that some people are born with, and others are not. Instead, it is more like a muscle that must be developed. In the beginning, exercising that muscle can feel dreadful; often, all we can do is drudge through. Over time, it becomes something we grow accustomed to and may even begin to enjoy. Once we establish a regular rhythm, we start prioritizing our lives around that habit, creatively finding ways to “fit it in” to our schedule.
This same process applies to anything in which we are trying to build discipline. Furthermore, it becomes a transferable skill once we are accustomed to discipline. We simply apply the same process to other areas of our lives. While this does not mean we can skip steps in the process, our familiarity with it lets us know what to expect and how to persevere.
Another critical aspect of maturity is building a support network—a community to accompany you on your journey. The Prophet ﷺ said, “Verily, Satan is a wolf among humanity, like the wolf who seizes the sheep wandering and straying from the flock. Beware of the winding mountain paths. You must stay with the wider community.”4
Ideally, your support network should include people with specific skills and dispositions that complement your needs. For example, one person might be a subject matter expert, another might be a great listener, and another might provide physical support to help accomplish tasks.
This network does not have to be formal or even official. They do not necessarily need to know their role (though it helps), and the network may grow and change over time. What matters most is that we are not alone as we strive to achieve our goals.
From a Spiritual Perspective:
Our privilege gives us a false sense of control, but we must remember that, ultimately, La Howla wa La Quwata IllaBillah (there’s no might or power except with Allah). As we strive on our path, we must exhaust the means within our control, but we must never forget the existential reality of things.
Ibn Ataillah al-Iskandari (d. 709/1310) said, “Rest yourself from self-direction, for what Someone Else has carried out on your behalf do not yourself undertake it.”5 Explaining this, Sh. Abdullah Gangohi (d. 1329/1911) said, “When the responsibility of something is undertaken by a stronger, more experienced, and kinder person than oneself, it is logical to feel relieved and to rely on him. Do not assume the responsibility. Leave it to the plan of your Master and set your mind at rest.”6 This does not mean that we don’t exhaust our means, rather we have Zuhd (ascetisim).
When asked about Zuhd, Al-Junaid al-Baghdadi (d. 297/910) said, “Belittling and removing the remnants of the Dunya from one’s heart.”7 Our ultimate goal is to earn Allah’s pleasure. Everything else is a means to achieve that goal. Because of this seriousness, we work with as much sincerity and excellence as possible, but we cannot forget about the ultimate goal. Our hope and Tawakkul (reliance) is in Allah and Him alone, regardless of the outcomes.
Achieving this spiritual station is like discipline, something we must work towards. Also, like discipline, it is more a metaphorical station than a physical one. We can constantly refine our Zuhd and Tawakkul, but from spiritual maturity, we recognize that it is something we need to work towards.
Conclusion
Maturity, in its truest form, is not about arriving at a destination but about embracing the journey with intention and accountability—even when it is marked by grief. Grief, whether over unfulfilled dreams, heartbreak, or life’s disappointments, challenges us to confront our limitations and recalibrate our paths. In these moments of loss and frustration, maturity emerges, not as an avoidance of pain but as a willingness to grow through it. It is the capacity to endure life’s uncertainties with thoughtfulness, make plans without arrogance, and act with courage and humility.
For my little homie, who sought to marry but found himself unprepared, his maturity lay not in reaching his goal but in reassessing his path and responding gracefully. It was in recognizing that growth does not come from rushing outcomes but from aligning intentions with thoughtful action and trust in Allah’s wisdom.
Life will continue to test us, pushing us to question our readiness, strength, and sense of self. But maturity is found not in perfection but in perseverance—the ability to stand firm in who we are and what we seek while always leaving space for Allah’s decree. May we all strive to cultivate this balance, walking our paths with sincerity, resilience, and an unwavering trust that our ultimate worth is in Allah’s hands, whether coal or diamonds.
And, with Him, is all success!
Although the protagonist is de-identified, he read this paper and gave his approval before its publication.
Chittick, William C. The Sufi Path of Love: The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983, 241.
Quran 3:159.
Al-Iskandari, Ibn Ata’illah. The Book of Wisdoms: Kitab Al-Hikam, a Collection of Sufi Aphorisms. Translated by Victor Danner. London, UK: White Thread Press, 2014. 47.
Ibn ‘Ata’illah al-Iskandari. The Book of Wisdoms: Kitab al-Hikam, a Collection of Sufi Aphorisms. Commentary by Shaykh ’Abdullah Gangohi. Translated by Victor Danner. London: White Thread Press, 2014. 184.
IbnQayim Al-Jowzi, Shamsudeen. Madarij Al-Salikeen. Cairo, Egypt: Ibda’ Publications, 2012. Vol. 1, 429.
the entire article felt like looking into a mirror. guess its time for some self evaluation. loved the last bit. i think i’ll come back to this post every now and then to recalibrate myself. JazakAllah khair for such an amazing read.
I loved this. Very insightful. Had me reassess my life. But one thing: I’m a dreamer. So the word realistic hit me in the gut a little. I don’t really like that word. I think Allah wants us to put in the work but it’s never really about what’s realistic….what do you think?