A rut hole is a deep, narrow depression or pit carved into the earth, typically forged by the repeated passage of heavy tires or hooves over soft, yielding terrain.
In a philosophical sense, the rut hole serves as a visceral metaphor for stagnation and the erosion of agency. While a physical rut is merely a groove in the mud, a philosophical one is a mental or spiritual indentation that has deepened into a trap. I am writing about these hollows today because, at 2 a.m. last night, I lay awake reflecting on the nadir of my health. Before the immunoglobulin infusions began, and following that pivotal diagnosis in Singapore last December, I had made a solemn vow: I would put myself first, followed by my family.
I decided then that work was merely a component of my life, requiring strict compartmentalization. On the six-hour flight back to Delhi, I meticulously drafted a plan defined by iron-clad boundaries and clear priorities.
Life, in its irony, met me at the gate. The moment I switched on my phone after landing, the first message informed me a colleague was taking a long leave starting the very next day. I told myself, This is a solitary hurdle. We will manage.
For a few months, I was disciplined: minimal work stress, consistent workouts, and a rigorous focus on my mental health. This was perhaps easier because my body had effectively surrendered; I had no choice but to skip late nights and forgo the exhaustion of bending backward for others. Yet, as the treatment took hold over four months and I began to feel better, the old ghosts of habit returned. Pushing too hard, going the extra mile, and sacrificing my own stillness to maintain the peace of others—it is all resurfacing. Humans possess a curious trait: they are indeed genuinely concerned about you, but as your needs begin to infringe upon their comfort, their capacity for accommodation begins to fray.
There is a profound, debilitating loneliness inherent in chronic illness. Your social circle shrinks until you can count the remaining few on one hand. Usually, it is only family that remains. Others grow weary of your absence or your inability to inhabit your former, high-functioning self. I find myself declining invitations to give academic lectures left, right, and center because I recognize them as another rut hole. Do I risk being labeled unambitious? Without a doubt. For the rest of the things , last night , I realised that Im almost back to my old ways .
I realized I was sliding into the familiar comfort of old patterns, donning the superhero cape almost reflexively. The impact on my health and fatigue levels is already evident .
The only difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions. — Ellen Glasgow.
This quote woke me up today. A rut is a loop of predictable behavior, and to break it, one must introduce an unexpected variable. For me, that variable is the refusal to fix everything.
My dear paternal uncle often says, Kul mila kar sab thik hai—which means – overall, everything is fine. There is a deep wisdom in that. It is the choice to zoom out. It is a sign to understand that not everything will be just as you want , but so long as most of it is, life is good.
While small fires may burn around me, I must resist the urge to interfere in every minor detail just to ensure a perfect order. I must let things be. My energy is both precious and finite; I must channel it with intention.
Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves. (Surah Ar-Ra’d, 13:11)
I found myself slipping back into the hollow without even noticing. Today, I ask God for the strength to climb out—and this time, to stay out for good.
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