It’s Time to Turn a New Leaf and Root for the Little Things

Ask anyone to define the word, and they’ll pause.
Ask them in another timeline, and perhaps it’ll be different.

It’s used in questions we’d often hear asked at school as a child.
It’s the shock in a distant relative’s eyes at a family reunion.
It’s the two-centimeter mark penciled on a kitchen doorframe. 
It’s the sudden tightness of an old T-shirt.
It’s the extra numbers logged in the hospital’s records.
It’s the upward spikes on a spreadsheet.
It’s the realization that someone’s no longer a good fit.

As children, most of us had our life plans clearly laid out. The picture was clear: Get into kindergarten, primary, secondary, high school, get a degree, or maybe another. But as we step outside the bubble, only then do we learn there are many layers to life. Slowly, our concerns were no longer measured in letters on a report card; a prestigious degree doesn’t guarantee an adequate job, nor does a certificate in parenting class fully prepare you for motherhood.

Allāh has not written the same path for everyone. Some are blessed with the ability to memorize the Quran quickly, others with more patience for homeschooling their children, others with building businesses, and others with climbing the career ladder. It may seem like something everyone is aware of, yet we tend to forget about it. We see people who are given these blessings and can’t help but feel behind, even just a little, overlooking the fact that no one starts from the same line.

Babies cry when they’re teething.
Muscles ache after a hard workout.
Bones hurt as they stretch taller.

Growth is uncomfortable.
But somehow, it’s easier to accept when it’s seen. 

That 3-star review we left at a restaurant? Perhaps someone spent years developing the menu, scraping recipes that weren’t good enough, selecting the right ingredients and plate to offer the best experience. That cashier who didn’t return a smile? Perhaps they’re running on barely any sleep and on their third shift to provide for the family. That co-worker who snapped in the meeting? Perhaps they spent the night comforting their children to make up for the time lost to overworking.

Oftentimes, the most notable growth is not labelled with a fancy badge or announced at a town hall. It’s the first step on a run after years of being a couch potato, the pause before an angsty response, the happiness behind seeing someone else’s story instead of feeling a tight chest, the will to take out that glass that’s been sitting for days in the cold room, or the decision on what to do with the pile of clothes that are too clean for the laundry but too dirty to be in the drawer.

As the Cherry Tomato weathers through the cycle of planting, blooming, and fruiting, we’ve been there and done that: We fear not knowing how things might end, learn how to go through it, do it, make inevitable mistakes along the way, learn from mistakes, try again until it becomes comfortable, and share the experience with the world for others to benefit from. As life is designed to be a place of trials, another discomfort will arise, and the cycle repeats. Yet within every cycle, it somehow still feels just as terrifying.

We tend to judge what’s apparent, even when it may seem half-cooked, forgetting that it is often the best effort given the unseen tests and blessings.

Instead of rushing to measure our worth against others, remember that it is not a grand performance for an audience. It’s found in the patience to forgive our unpolished moments, the willingness to try again, and the humility to remember that just as we keep some stories to ourselves, everyone we meet carries journeys we don’t always see.

Growth is about having the courage to take that small step, trusting Allāh ﷻ, and believing that only by His will, will the rest fall into place.