A night under the stars

I spent a night lying under the stars in the clothes I’ll be buried in.

Lying down next to millions of strangers, all wearing white sheets signifying their burial shrouds, under the open sky, I wondered how long I could hold off on going to the bathroom. I expected to have profound thoughts about the universe and my insignificance, about how everyone looked the same, all of us disheveled and laid bare on the ground as if it was judgment day. But all I could think about was how uncomfortable it all was, about the itch I had and the fact that what mattered most in that moment was to be patient in the heat and under the stars.

I was away on Hajj, the pilgrimage millions make each year. It was strange to see people from all over the world, knowing that for many it might be the only time they stand like this before God.

We were lying on the hard earth, a thin mat between us and the rock, a sleeping bag, a few water bottles, no air conditioning, nothing. And I realized how little a person actually needs to be at peace. We forget how much we have until we have nothing, and only then are we grateful for what we really have. It pained me to think that, for many, this is not a few hours; it is every night.

I was reminded that what matters is warmth, water, clothing, and a roof. If we lose sight of that, we lose sight of everything. I did not come back wanting to make more things. I came back wanting to make fewer things, and better ones.