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According to the World Happiness Report, the United States is growing less happy. These lessons from the Muslim tradition can help.
My young daughter often asks me at bedtime about my favorite childhood memories. As I share them with her, I have come to realize they often involve other people. Playing outside in nature with the neighborhood children until the darkness, immersing myself in the imaginary worlds of other characters through books, visiting families and friends for tea or meals, and attending regular spiritual gatherings in the community to share joy and process life’s challenges. To be sure, I had my share of tragedies—most recently the death of my youngest daughter—but I still feel deeply grateful for my life.
I grew up as a Muslim immigrant child in a simple family with five siblings and a single income. My parents, who never had the privilege of formal education, prioritized learning and enrolled us in the local library. My father worked long shifts at a glass factory, yet despite the early mornings and the demands of the workday, he would invite families and neighbors over in the evenings. No one cared that it was a school night—people made time for each other. Everyone felt nourished, strengthened, and left happier.
In public, my parents exemplified the art of engaging with strangers. They took regular walks through the neighborhood, invited others to join us for meals at parks, and were active in serving the local community. They embodied most of what the science of Positive Psychology suggests: Spending time in nature, talking to strangers, creating meaningful social connections, practicing gratitude, and engaging in community service all contribute to increased happiness. Thanks to their example, I have learned that humans thrive and find greater happiness when we commit to each other, whether in times of joy or pain.
I was not surprised to see many of these simple ingredients for a fulfilling life reflected in the World Happiness Report 2025, which was published recently. In the United States, however, we find a worrying trend of increasing unhappiness. The World Happiness Report highlights how Americans are experiencing a drop in happiness levels, particularly marked by disconnection, loneliness, and a lack of community, despite the connectedness promised by technology. This has profound implications for our mental and emotional well-being.
In my parents’ case, their motivation was deeply rooted in their Muslim faith and culture. Islam teaches that it is a sacred obligation to build trust and respect by nurturing human relationships. As Muslim scholar Bediüzzaman Said Nursi put it, while solitude can be healthy, we are social creatures who fundamentally need each other. The oneness of God calls for the oneness of humanity, urging us to refrain from division and work towards unity. The Qur’an reminds us we are here to know one another: “O humankind, We created you all from a single man and a single woman, and made you into races and tribes so that you should know one another. In God’s eyes, the most honoured of you are the ones most mindful of Him: God is All-Knowing, All-Aware.”
Catholic traditions similarly emphasize the need for human connection and the sacredness of communal life. In fact, in both Islam and Catholicism, as well as many other world religions, we find shared values around hospitality, communal meals, spiritual gatherings, and service to others. These are not just cultural customs; they are pathways to joy and healing in an increasingly disconnected world.
In these challenging times, the teachings of Prophet Muhammad offer valuable lessons on nurturing community and joy in daily life that transcend religious boundaries. He offers a powerful model for cultivating trust, engaging with others, and creating a sense of belonging. His teachings on connection, compassion, and community can resonate with people of all faiths—Catholics included—because so many traditions share this sacred impulse toward togetherness.
Prophet Muhammad’s presence in the lives of others was not just a matter of proximity but of engagement and attentiveness. He spent most of his time with the community, always accessible and deeply engaged with people from all walks of life. This approach, known as “Prophetic Presence,” can point to practices that nurture deeper relationships and create stronger communities. Despite his leadership role, he practiced what we might call “relational diversity”—meaning he connected with everyone without exclusion. This earned him the title “The Most Trustworthy” (al-Amin).
When we first moved to our neighborhood during the pandemic, we dropped little invitations at our neighbors’ doors to join us by the bonfire for some snacks. They came, and we had a chance to bond. I plan to organize a weekly cell-phone free neighborhood time in which children have unstructured play and all adults can spend quality time together. Such multi-generational gatherings were common in my childhood but rare these days.
At work, I am fortunate to have colleagues who prioritize to meet over lunch and good conversation, make time for a walk or initiate social events to spend quality time together. During these times I offer my full presence, putting away my phone (avoiding AirPods or headsets during a walk) and focus entirely on the moment, surroundings, sounds, and person in front of me. It is a way to honor the timeless prophetic trait to be fully attentive and mindful to people and the creation.
Showing up regularly in your social circle is a simple way to build trust and connection. Whether it’s a quick chat with a neighbor, a friendly smile, or a wave to a stranger, these small interactions are vital to fostering the sense of belonging that is increasingly rare in modern life.
This mirrors the timeless prophetic trait of attentiveness. In the Catholic tradition, we see a similar ethic in the concept of being present to others—as modeled in the ministry of Jesus, who healed through his nearness and attention to the marginalized. Both traditions remind us that simply showing up for one another can be an act of love and transformation.
Prophet Muhammad instituted regular spiritual gatherings where people could openly discuss life’s joys and struggles, finding meaning and solace in community. Inspired by his example, I host small spiritual gatherings in my home, creating spaces where people can be open about their challenges and experiences.
A mid-week check-in with friends provides an invaluable opportunity to slow down and reflect in the midst of our fast-paced lives. I also host a monthly tea time for my neighbors, offering a simple, welcoming environment where we can share stories and build deeper connections. These gatherings—though small—serve as powerful antidotes to the loneliness and disconnection that so many of us experience today.
These gatherings echo a parallel in Catholic life—the tradition of small faith-sharing groups or Bible study circles, which provide communal spaces to reflect, support one another, and pray together. Just as Muslims gather to share spiritual insights and life stories, Catholics find strength in similar forms of communal reflection. These weekly touchpoints become anchors of connection and meaning.
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Eating alone or mindlessly behind a screen has become increasingly common, contributing to feelings of dissatisfaction and disconnection. Prophet Muhammad emphasized the importance of eating together, saying, “Eat together and mention the name of God over your food. It will be blessed for you.” Sharing meals is a way to bring people together in meaningful ways. In our home, we make it a priority to share meals with neighbors and friends, continuing the tradition my parents instilled in me. Food becomes not just nourishment, but a means to deepen human connection.
For Catholics, this theme resonates powerfully with the tradition of the Eucharist, in which communal eating becomes an act of sacred remembrance and unity. Jesus’ own ministry centered around meals—feeding the hungry, welcoming the outcast, and eating with friends and strangers alike. In both Catholic and Muslim traditions, the table is not merely functional—it is spiritual. It is where bonds are formed, gratitude is expressed, and community is built.
My young daughter often asks me at bedtime about my favorite childhood memories. As I share them with her, I have come to realize they often involve other people. Playing outside in nature with the neighborhood children until the darkness, immersing myself in the imaginary worlds of other characters through books, visiting families and friends for tea or meals, and attending regular spiritual gatherings in the community to share joy and process life’s challenges. To be sure, I had my share of tragedies—most recently the death of my youngest daughter—but I still feel deeply grateful for my life.
I grew up as a Muslim immigrant child in a simple family with five siblings and a single income. My parents, who never had the privilege of formal education, prioritized learning and enrolled us in the local library. My father worked long shifts at a glass factory, yet despite the early mornings and the demands of the workday, he would invite families and neighbors over in the evenings. No one cared that it was a school night—people made time for each other. Everyone felt nourished, strengthened, and left happier.
In public, my parents exemplified the art of engaging with strangers. They took regular walks through the neighborhood, invited others to join us for meals at parks, and were active in serving the local community. They embodied most of what the science of Positive Psychology suggests: Spending time in nature, talking to strangers, creating meaningful social connections, practicing gratitude, and engaging in community service all contribute to increased happiness. Thanks to their example, I have learned that humans thrive and find greater happiness when we commit to each other, whether in times of joy or pain.
I was not surprised to see many of these simple ingredients for a fulfilling life reflected in the World Happiness Report 2025, which was published recently. In the United States, however, we find a worrying trend of increasing unhappiness. The World Happiness Report highlights how Americans are experiencing a drop in happiness levels, particularly marked by disconnection, loneliness, and a lack of community, despite the connectedness promised by technology. This has profound implications for our mental and emotional well-being.
In my parents’ case, their motivation was deeply rooted in their Muslim faith and culture. Islam teaches that it is a sacred obligation to build trust and respect by nurturing human relationships. As Muslim scholar Bediüzzaman Said Nursi put it, while solitude can be healthy, we are social creatures who fundamentally need each other. The oneness of God calls for the oneness of humanity, urging us to refrain from division and work towards unity. The Qur’an reminds us we are here to know one another: “O humankind, We created you all from a single man and a single woman, and made you into races and tribes so that you should know one another. In God’s eyes, the most honoured of you are the ones most mindful of Him: God is All-Knowing, All-Aware.”
Catholic traditions similarly emphasize the need for human connection and the sacredness of communal life. In fact, in both Islam and Catholicism, as well as many other world religions, we find shared values around hospitality, communal meals, spiritual gatherings, and service to others. These are not just cultural customs; they are pathways to joy and healing in an increasingly disconnected world.
In these challenging times, the teachings of Prophet Muhammad offer valuable lessons on nurturing community and joy in daily life that transcend religious boundaries. He offers a powerful model for cultivating trust, engaging with others, and creating a sense of belonging. His teachings on connection, compassion, and community can resonate with people of all faiths—Catholics included—because so many traditions share this sacred impulse toward togetherness.
The Islamic idea of “
Prophet Muhammad’s presence in the lives of others was not just a matter of proximity but of engagement and attentiveness. He spent most of his time with the community, always accessible and deeply engaged with people from all walks of life. This approach, known as “Prophetic Presence,” can point to practices that nurture deeper relationships and create stronger communities. Despite his leadership role, he practiced what we might call “relational diversity”—meaning he connected with everyone without exclusion. This earned him the title “The Most Trustworthy” (al-Amin).
When we first moved to our neighborhood during the pandemic, we dropped little invitations at our neighbors’ doors to join us by the bonfire for some snacks. They came, and we had a chance to bond. I plan to organize a weekly cell-phone free neighborhood time in which children have unstructured play and all adults can spend quality time together. Such multi-generational gatherings were common in my childhood but rare these days.
At work, I am fortunate to have colleagues who prioritize to meet over lunch and good conversation, make time for a walk or initiate social events to spend quality time together. During these times I offer my full presence, putting away my phone (avoiding AirPods or headsets during a walk) and focus entirely on the moment, surroundings, sounds, and person in front of me. It is a way to honor the timeless prophetic trait to be fully attentive and mindful to people and the creation.
Showing up regularly in your social circle is a simple way to build trust and connection. Whether it’s a quick chat with a neighbor, a friendly smile, or a wave to a stranger, these small interactions are vital to fostering the sense of belonging that is increasingly rare in modern life.
This mirrors the timeless prophetic trait of attentiveness. In the Catholic tradition, we see a similar ethic in the concept of being present to others—as modeled in the ministry of Jesus, who healed through his nearness and attention to the marginalized. Both traditions remind us that simply showing up for one another can be an act of love and transformation.
Weekly gatherings
Prophet Muhammad instituted regular spiritual gatherings where people could openly discuss life’s joys and struggles, finding meaning and solace in community. Inspired by his example, I host small spiritual gatherings in my home, creating spaces where people can be open about their challenges and experiences.
A mid-week check-in with friends provides an invaluable opportunity to slow down and reflect in the midst of our fast-paced lives. I also host a monthly tea time for my neighbors, offering a simple, welcoming environment where we can share stories and build deeper connections. These gatherings—though small—serve as powerful antidotes to the loneliness and disconnection that so many of us experience today.
These gatherings echo a parallel in Catholic life—the tradition of small faith-sharing groups or Bible study circles, which provide communal spaces to reflect, support one another, and pray together. Just as Muslims gather to share spiritual insights and life stories, Catholics find strength in similar forms of communal reflection. These weekly touchpoints become anchors of connection and meaning.
Advertisement
Sharing meals
Eating alone or mindlessly behind a screen has become increasingly common, contributing to feelings of dissatisfaction and disconnection. Prophet Muhammad emphasized the importance of eating together, saying, “Eat together and mention the name of God over your food. It will be blessed for you.” Sharing meals is a way to bring people together in meaningful ways. In our home, we make it a priority to share meals with neighbors and friends, continuing the tradition my parents instilled in me. Food becomes not just nourishment, but a means to deepen human connection.
For Catholics, this theme resonates powerfully with the tradition of the Eucharist, in which communal eating becomes an act of sacred remembrance and unity. Jesus’ own ministry centered around meals—feeding the hungry, welcoming the outcast, and eating with friends and strangers alike. In both Catholic and Muslim traditions, the table is not merely functional—it is spiritual. It is where bonds are formed, gratitude is expressed, and community is built.
