For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by one question: Why are we on this earth? Even as a child, I would spend hours in the garden watching ants. I know it may sound unusual, but I would even talk to them, trying to understand their nature. I wasn't just watching insects—I was observing behavior. I noticed how they greeted each other as they crossed paths, how they walked in orderly lines, how they worked together, and how they overcame obstacles without giving up. I remember one particular moment when I saw a single ant move ahead, almost as if it was checking whether the path was safe. It returned, and only then did the others follow. That simple observation stayed with me because it reminded me that even the smallest creatures seem to understand cooperation, responsibility, and purpose.
As I grew older, I realized that these tiny creatures were teaching me something much bigger about life. Allah created every living being with a purpose. The ants fulfill theirs instinctively, without seeking recognition or reward. Human beings, however, have been given something unique: intellect, free will, and the ability to choose. Yet despite all these gifts, many of us lose sight of why we are here. We become so consumed by this temporary world that we forget our true destination. Everything we do—our work, our relationships, our successes, and our hardships—should ultimately prepare us for the Hereafter. This life is not our permanent home; it is our opportunity to worship Allah, serve His creation, and earn His pleasure.
One of the greatest reasons we lose our way is because of the nafs, our lower self. The nafs constantly whispers that life is about status, recognition, wealth, and power. It encourages comparison, competition, and pride. It tells us to protect our position, to seek validation from people, and to believe that our achievements belong solely to us. When we listen to the nafs, our ego grows. We begin to think, "This is my knowledge," "These are my clients," or "I worked hard for this, so I should keep it to myself." But the reality is that everything we have is a trust from Allah. Our intelligence, talents, opportunities, and experiences are blessings entrusted to us, not possessions that we own.
Knowledge is one of those trusts. If Allah has blessed us with knowledge that can benefit others, then sharing it is an act of worship. Holding back knowledge because we fear competition or want to maintain an advantage is often the ego speaking. The ego fears losing significance, but true significance comes from benefiting others for the sake of Allah. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ taught us that beneficial knowledge continues to reward a person even after they have passed away. When we share what we know sincerely, we are investing not only in other people's lives but also in our own Hereafter.
This understanding has also shaped how I view my work as a coach and trainer. I do not believe that clients belong to me. Every client who walks through my door has been sent by Allah. No one can take away what Allah has already written for me, and I cannot receive what has not been decreed. This removes the fear of competition and allows me to focus on what truly matters: serving people with sincerity. Money is important because we need it to live, but it is not the purpose. It is a by-product of serving well. When service becomes the intention and excellence becomes the habit, Allah places barakah in what we do. The purpose is never simply to earn an income; the purpose is to make a positive difference in the lives of others while seeking the pleasure of Allah.
The human mind is incredibly powerful. It can solve complex problems, create remarkable innovations, and transform lives. Yet the same mind can also become trapped by worldly desires. We begin chasing titles, possessions, followers, and recognition, believing they will bring lasting happiness. But the world is designed to be temporary, and anything temporary can never completely satisfy a soul that was created for eternity. That is why so many people achieve everything they thought they wanted yet still feel empty. They have fed the ego but neglected the soul.
When I think back to those ants in the garden, I am reminded that they never compete over status or recognition. They simply do their part. They help one another, overcome obstacles together, and continue moving toward their destination. Imagine how different our communities would be if we adopted the same mindset. Instead of comparing ourselves to others, we would celebrate each other's success. Instead of withholding knowledge, we would share it. Instead of asking, "How can I get ahead?" we would ask, "How can I serve?" When we shift from self-centeredness to service, we begin to rediscover our true purpose.
Perhaps the reason so many people lose themselves is because they spend their lives asking, "What do I want from this world?" rather than asking, "What does Allah want from me?" The first question feeds the ego; the second nourishes the soul. At the end of our lives, our wealth, titles, and achievements will remain behind. What will accompany us are our intentions, our actions, and the lives we touched. That, I believe, is why we are truly here: not to accumulate for ourselves, but to serve, to grow, to share, and to prepare for the life that never ends
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