I’ve always prided myself on being good at reading people—whether through facial cues, exaggerated gestures, or subtle shifts in tone. Whether this is a natural gift or a skill I’ve fine-tuned over the years, I’m honestly not sure. But I’m confident in my ability to sense how others are feeling. It might also be true that the people I am surrounded with are not good at reading others, which makes me believe that I am.

Until eighth grade, I attended a small school in a small town—the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. My brother and I were consistently at the top of our classes, and I’d grown comfortable in that position. In ninth grade, that bubble burst for me, when I moved to a bigger city, to a more populated school. I didn’t feel stupid, but I knew that I needed to put in the work to be recognized, unlike previously when I assumed I was naturally smart.

This is true for every skill in the world. Being good at something is always relative. There will always be individuals better than you, more experienced than you, and more trained to do the job. Alternately, there will also always be individuals on the other end of the spectrum. And this is why we spend our years figuring out what natural talents we have and which ones we can hone with ease, to succeed at life.

Our deen operates on this same principle, yet with a crucial difference. While everything is relative, the standard of measurement shifts entirely. The companions of the prophet are considered the best generation to walk this earth. They had a level of love and respect for Allah and His messenger that we may never be able to emulate. The generation after was taught by this wondrous group and have their own lofty status. While it would benefit us to always look at previous generations and aspire to be like them, Allah does not judge us that way.

Our deen is unique and beautiful precisely because of how it measures us. While judgment is relative, it’s not worldly-relative—it’s self-relative. Allah doesn’t compare you to others; He measures you against your own potential and progress. The idea is constant improvement. The idea is never to become satisfied with where we are today.

In Surah Al-Waqi’ah (56:10), Allah states that “the foremost (in faith) will be the foremost (in Paradise).” Verses 13-14 explain that among the foremost, more will be from previous generations and fewer from later ones. This initially worried the Companions; there was no guarantee they would be of the foremost in Paradise. Hence in verses 49 and 50, Allah says that both earlier and later generations are included among the foremost. This comforted the sahaba.

Yet while the Companions understood the importance of adhering to Allah’s book, they also internalized a deeper truth: the real measure of progress isn’t how you compare to others, but how you compare to your former self. If you are a better Muslim today than you were yesterday, you are headed in the right direction. This is the essence and beauty of Allah’s judgement.

On the Day of Judgment, Allah will not question the amount I gave in charity in comparison with what my friend gave. That ranking-based mentality is a construct of our education systems; courses with relative grading fail a student in order to assign another an A+, as if A+s were being charged to the teacher’s credit card. Divine Justice is beautiful.

He judges you based on your own performance, measured against your unique journey. Life is inherently a learning curve—none of us arrive with an instruction manual for our minds and hearts. We figure ourselves out as we grow, adapting and evolving over time. This continuous adaptation toward righteousness—this daily striving to be better—is precisely what Allah measures.

The foundation is non-negotiable: tawhid (not associating partners with Allah) and following the teachings of our Prophet ﷺ. From there, we develop furqan—the ability to distinguish between right and wrong. With every breath we take, we make decisions based on this criterion, building on yesterday’s foundation to create today’s growth.

As a young Muslim, this relative behaviour will measure a different set of parameters than at older ages. When I trained my children to pray, I only asked them to pray one every day. After they turned seven, they had to pray only Maghrib everyday for six months until a second prayer was added to the schedule. As an adult, my metrics shift: Am I more consistent with tahajjud this month than last? Do I understand the deeper meanings of Quranic verses I’ve been reciting for years? Am I more patient with my family today than I was yesterday?

The crux of the matter is this: we have each been created unique, with perspectives and circumstances unlike anyone else’s. Allah will judge us not by how we compare to others, but by our effort within our means to improve ourselves daily in light of His message.

And be wary of measuring yourself against others in worldly possessions or spiritual stations. That way lies only dissatisfaction—you will always find someone wealthier, more knowledgeable, more pious, more consistent. You will never find another you.

Just as I learned in ninth grade that being “smart” was relative to my surroundings, I’ve learned through my deen that being “good” is relative to my own journey.

So perhaps I am good at reading people, or perhaps the people around me are simply transparent. Either way, the skill that matters most isn’t reading others—it’s reading myself honestly enough to see where I need to grow.