The call to prayer begins at 5am—not loud but definitely audible enough to nudge me out
of my incredibly light sleep (an unfortunate result of being exceptionally bad at sleeping). I crawl out of bed and head downstairs in our new Dubai home. As the Arabic singing continues (though Muslims do not refer to it as “singing”), I stretch out on the carpet in child’s pose. I don’t understand the words, but that’s not really the point for me. As the sounds echo across the dawn, I mentally wish what I've been taught to think of as "sweet medicine" for various people and places, some which I hold dear and others I struggle not to despise. A decade ago, my reaction to the call to prayer, depending on my mood, would have been annoyance with being woken up and possibly judgement in some form. Now it’s gratitude. It occurs to me how much has happened in the last ten-years, how much has changed, how different my perspective of the world is now. Everyplace on the planet is infected with incredible suffering and cruelty. Dubai is no exception. Everyplace on the planet is rich with love and kindness. Dubai is no exception. Though it's a daily challenge, I choose to chase the latter, and I certainly do not have the hubris to assume that I have “the right way” to live all figured out.