He walked away from a Fortune 500 job to build a home for Muslim kids' stories

Amin Aaser had a secure corporate path laid out before him at General Mills. A single moment of clarity, however, set his life on a different course.

That moment arrived after the death of his mother.

“For all of the Jumu’ah khutbah that discuss death,” Amin says, “there’s nothing like tasting it. When I buried my mother, I realized with certainty that I, too, am going to die.”

For him, that moment of loss brought with it an undeniable clarity. A realization that stripped away the noise of worldly ambition and forced him to ask a single, life-altering question.

The answer would lead him to trade a predictable career for a purpose-driven calling: a legacy that would touch millions.

The seeds for that legacy had already been planted. The spark came from his older brother, Mohammed, then a student at Harvard Business School. As part of his curriculum, he was challenged to solve a problem he was deeply passionate about.

For the Aaser brothers in 2011, that problem was all around them.

The controversy over the "Ground Zero Masjid" in New York City was a national firestorm. They began to reflect on the quiet victims of that public anger.

“How difficult would it be to be a Muslim kid growing up in that environment?” Amin recalls thinking. “How difficult would it be for a little girl to make the decision to wear hijab?”

That became the problem they set out to solve, first as a passion project called Noor Kids, a way to create stories that affirmed the identity of young Muslims. But after his moment of clarity, the mission became too urgent to remain a side project.

This wasn’t an escape from a bad job. At the time, Amin had a corporate career built on remarkable success. He managed a $225 million innovation budget at General Mills, tasked with finding new ways for the company to grow.

But he saw Noor Kids as a bigger purpose he could not ignore. He left the security of his Fortune 500 career to pursue it full-time, a decision that traded comfort for a much harder, more meaningful path.

The early days were a constant grind to build support. He remembers traveling to New Jersey to present Noor Kids at a local masjid, but he couldn’t afford the $150 for a hotel.

“I slept in my car,” he says, “knowing I could have been at a Fortune 500 company with a 401(k) and a desk that looks over a window.”

The financial sacrifice was only part of the cost. Far from the structure of a team, he felt the true weight of the journey.

“I wish I had not done it alone,” Amin says. “When you experience victory, you celebrate by yourself, but when you experience loss, you also cry alone.”

This was a world away from his time in corporate America. There, his faith was a source of strength that his colleagues respected. He confidently booked conference rooms for salah, joined team lunches while fasting, and openly shared his Umrah trip experience. 

It was a confidence born from a deep spiritual clarity.

“If somebody likes me, I want them to like me for me,” Amin says. “I don't want them to like me for a fake version of me. It takes a lot of stress to be someone who you're not.”

This commitment to authenticity was rooted in a profound belief about the nature of success.

“We think that success comes from our own efforts,” Amin says. “But if you ask any person who has the wisdom of experience, what they will tell you is success doesn't come from how hard you work. Success comes from God.”

This belief, that true success is a blessing from Allah, became his professional anchor. And the true reward for that conviction comes in moments that change lives.

He shares an email from a 12-year-old girl named Lama. “On the Day of Judgment,” she wrote, “I will bear witness to God that you turned my faith from something that was dark into something that was colorful.”

This past Ramadan, a mother texted him to say that after 15 years of being married to a Muslim man and watching their Ramadan programs with her children, she had taken the Shahada and embraced Islam.

For Amin, these moments are the true measure of his work.

“I don’t think about our impact being on kids,” he says. “I see it as generational.”

That generational view fuels an expansive vision for the future. 

Amin is committed to providing parents with a helping hand through everything from a “Netflix-quality animated series,” which his team is now developing, to an “AI-powered parent assistant.” 

Over a decade, Amin has nurtured that passion project from a simple idea into an organization that now serves 1.7 million families.

When asked for his advice to Muslim professionals wrestling with their doubts or questioning their path, his answer comes back to the same principle that has guided him all along.

“The biggest mistake that we make on the road to success is believing that success is in our hands,” Amin says. “The sooner we give up control and remember that God is the one who provides success, it allows you to hit harder, dream bigger, and work more thoughtfully.”