Introduction

Looking back, I suppose it was inevitable that I would become a designer. As an art-loving kid in the 80s and 90s, discovering computers at a time of major technological change, it’s easy to connect the dots backwards and see how I would build a career leading design teams around the world.

It was maybe less obvious that I would embrace Islam in my early 20s and step out onto a spiritual journey full of wonders that I could only have dreamed of. It was a path I could never have plotted or expected, but we plan and God plans, and surely God is the best of planners. 

Something else I didn’t truly foresee was the challenge of aligning those two paths. As a young entrepreneur trying to make my way in the world of design, my spiritual journey seemed somewhat separate – perhaps even incompatible – with that of my career. The ambitions, strategies and mindsets I was taught to hold dear as a creative professional often felt at odds with the spiritual aspirations I held dear.

The more I wanted to succeed in my design career, the less I felt I could exercise my faith through my work. And the more I tried to bring my spiritual aspirations into my work, the harder it felt to build a sustainable, successful business.

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I quickly learned that this dichotomy wasn’t unique to me – so many of us struggle with this challenge, and more often than not good advice, guidance and mentorship on this topic is difficult to find.

So I set out with determination to sit with people who could help me find answers: scholars, seekers, design leaders, business gurus – I met with anybody who might be able to give at least a few words of nasiha (sincere advice, or good counsel).

My travels, connections, lessons and experiences taught me a lot, and I will be eternally grateful for being given the opportunity to visit distant lands and meet such a wonderful mix of people. Through their advice, encouragement, friendship and example, I came to understand how those two paths of career and spirituality can come together in beautiful ways. I’ve also seen with my own eyes the wonderful ways other people around the world are bringing their faith into their work, and I take immense inspiration from them.

Over time, I collated these lessons, learning and examples and used them to develop an approach that helped me align my work with my spiritual aspirations. I called it Heart-Centered Design – taking proven and effective tools and methodologies and infusing them with a spiritual dimension or angle. I introduced like-hearted habits, started to use heart-centered words or phrases much more frequently, and reframed not only the questions I was asking, but also notions of success, purpose, service, and blessings.

On the theme of purpose, I once heard a story about the great Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan. 

Known for designing and building the iconic mosques of the Istanbul skyline, his marvels still attract millions of visitors, hundreds of years after they were built.  But his legacy is not just the beautiful buildings and spaces that he helped create. 

During construction of a great mosque one day, a group of excited school children ran to him with great urgency – they had noticed one of the minarets was leaning on an angle!  

Mimar immediately noticed too, and with a sense of great concern asked for their help to fix it. The children agreed and were enlisted right away to attach a large rope around the minaret, ready to pull it into place.

On Mimar’s command, they heaved the rope and pulled as hard as they could.  Again, said Mimar! The children pulled as hard as they could.  A little bit more! They pulled as hard as their little bodies could heave, doing their part to repair the mosque properly.  Mimar was thrilled with the result, and thanked the group for their help in fixing the minaret, which towered above them. The kids ran off, delighted and forever with the memory of contributing.  

Once they were out of sight, one of the engineers told the great Mimar Sinan, “Sir, the minaret didn’t move an inch, it’s made of solid brick!”  Mimar replied, “Yes of course, but if you think we are only building a mosque, you are mistaken, for am I building the next generation”.

I am in no way attempting to compare myself to Mimar, of course, but I really love the message here. The true purpose of our work isn’t necessarily the work itself, but the people we can help, encourage, inspire or energise along the way. 

Having been given these beautiful opportunities to receive benefit from others, and seeing the results of Heart-Centered Design in my own life and work, I made it my intention to treat my blessings as an Amanah (sacred trust), and pass on what I have learned. 

I launched an online course – The Heart of Design – in 2020, which has so far welcomed more than 300 students from a wide variety of backgrounds, experiences and seasons of life. Insha’Allah will welcome many, many more in the years ahead. Many of the students have gone on to launch their own businesses, develop their ideas, or transform their existing teams or workplaces, and their feedback has been overwhelmingly positive, alhamdulillah. 

My intention is to grow and foster a like-hearted movement that will encourage creatively confident, talented Muslims to embrace a designer mindset and develop their own ideas, start-ups and empowered organisations. And this book is the next step on that journey, insha’Allah.

Counting blessings

One of the habits I’ve developed in recent years is to literally count my blessings. If I’m struggling with a situation, or feeling downhearted for some reason, I will force myself to stop, take a breath, and list 100 things that I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for my lungs, for fast WiFi, karak chai, my cat, that plant, my education, my mother’s smile, cherry blossoms, Surah Ikhlas, learning Arabic, good eyesight, tennis, Oud, that time I went to Madinah, the safety of this room… 

By the time I get to 20 things, life already looks much better. 

When you really stop and broaden your thinking to encompass your entire life, however, you are left in awe about the blessings you have been given over the years. It can be a humbling experience. You can also start to see and understand things that you couldn’t see or understand at the time – how people, events and circumstances have worked together to help bring you to where you are today. When you do that, immense gratitude is surely the only appropriate response.

For me, taking a look back shows me how important other people have been to my journey – especially in giving me the environment to explore and develop my interests.

When I was quite young, two of my favourite things to do was to draw, and play video games on the family Commodore 64.  The C64 was a clunky early home computer by today’s standards, but it unlocked an incredible world of digital possibility for my young mind. 

Often these analogue and digital worlds would intersect. I would draw pictures of powerful imaginary computers, with huge monitors and write detailed graphical specs for running awesome future games. Somehow I’ve still got a bunch of advertisements I designed for these, completed with cliched brand names and cheesy logos.  

Reciprocally, I would use the C64, and later early DOS-based personal computers to make primitive, pixelated digital art. Although limited, so much can be expressed with 16 colours (see page X for Digital Adventures).   

Both interests progressed in parallel, though not always directly related.  My parents were very supportive of my art, and sent me to various painting classes, and even a memorable term at a cartooning school. Incidentally, I bumped into my cartoon teacher, Yahya, at a wedding years later and discovered he was Muslim! I just remember him as a kind-hearted, creative and friendly teacher. Perhaps he was the first Muslim that I interacted with regularly, though I never knew it at the time. It seems so unlikely, and yet it was so.

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TO BE CONTINUED...