Target the Light: Wisdom and Values

My father’s success was often mistaken for a love of money, but in truth, it was a love for the values and security he believed money could provide. Growing up in a country under siege and arriving in America in his early twenties with the American Dream in his heart, his ambitions were both enthusiastic and challenging. The road to stability was never straightforward—trial and error shaped much of his journey, forcing him to repeatedly start from square one, retracing his steps back to the basics.

As we seek and pursue happiness, we are always led by the heart’s innermost need. For him, that need was fulfilled through financial security—not for greed, but for the stability and dignity it offered. He wasn’t greedy, but careful. He wasn’t depriving, but reasonable. He wasn’t boring, but simple. He never misled because he was straightforward, believing that even a white lie was still a lie. Indirect dealings didn’t sit well with him, and he never liked borrowing money or using credit cards—he believed cash was king.

Yet, his sense of security was never just for himself; he extended it to his loved ones. He wasn’t selfish; his happiness was rooted in the happiness of those around him. Mistrust never sat well with him, and he always hearkened to the truth. Like many Arab fathers of his generation, he carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, navigating the constant stress that led so many to battle high blood pressure and walking diabetes. Let’s be real—they weren’t just struggling with financial burdens but also with an identity crisis, trying to balance life’s relentless ups and downs while holding onto who they were.

His resilience was forged in hardship. He grew up in a one-bedroom flat at the top of a winding stone staircase, sharing the small space with my grandmother and six siblings, while his father worked in Saudi Arabia, only visiting occasionally. Despite his own struggles, my father always ensured his family felt the grace Allah had given him. A true foodie at heart, he loved gathering us around the table, taking us out to eat, and planning vacations. He never rushed or cut corners—if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right.

The simplicity of his retirement was proof of his true nature—his needs were never excessive, only rooted in the basics that brought him peace. He found contentment in the little things, never chasing extravagance but instead cherishing what was essential. Yet, despite his reserved nature, he always extended the grace of what he called happiness to those under his care or hospitality. Whether through a warm meal, a thoughtful gesture, or simply providing a sense of security, his generosity never wavered. His idea of happiness wasn’t loud or boastful—it was steady, consistent, and always shared with those around him.

He was a man who remained firmly within his own boundaries. He valued his space and respected that of others, never overstepping or entangling himself in matters that didn’t concern him. He knew when to engage and when to withdraw, understanding that not everything required his presence or input. His sense of self-discipline and restraint wasn’t out of detachment but rather a quiet confidence in his own way of navigating life. He had nothing to prove, no need to be anywhere he didn’t belong, and no interest in anything that didn’t align with his principles.

As his daughter, and eventually his right hand, I carried a sense of duty that felt inherited.  Since I was twelve, I had the privilege of experiencing the calm version of my father, the version that had already run his race, made his mark, and reached the finish line he had set for himself. By then, the weight he had  carried—of building, providing, and securing—had settled into a more reflective stage, where he had the time and patience to extend his knowledge to me. The extra care he gave wasn’t out of obligation; it was intentional, purposeful. He passed down a legacy that wasn’t just about material success, but about the kind of quiet strength that stands the test of time.

Above all, his target was always the light, and he left behind a wisdom that continues to shine. To seek security through the values we uphold is to accelerate the process of truly attaining it. Through his journey, he showed us that real success isn’t just about financial means—it’s about the principles that define how we use them.

Before my father’s passing, I carried a deep sense of responsibility, knowing he intended to leave me an inheritance. In his final year, my prayers for him were that Allah would only take him when He was fully accepting of him and that he would be granted the honor of being buried on the most blessed day—Friday. Without realizing it, my heart had already made a promise: that whatever he left me, I would use it in a way that served as a source of comfort and admission for his soul—an act of gratitude and duty in acknowledgment of all that he had given me.