These days, the world feels like it’s spinning apart. Democracy teeters. The United States now exhibits all 10 tactics of fascism. Fear and fatigue fill many of our days. That’s a serious bummer.
So today, I want to talk about something closer to home. My youngest child graduates from high school next month.
Something Ends, Something Begins
Some might call this the start of our “empty nest.” My wife prefers to call us “bird launchers.” We’ve spent years feeding, guiding, and loving these people in our house. And now, another one of them gets to fly.
We’ve started checking off “lasts.” Their last musical. Their last orchestra concert. Their last Coffee House performance.
That Coffee House concert surprised me. Our kid played guitar and sang with their friends, as they’ve done many times before. But that night, something shifted. I looked at the program and recognized the names. These students filled our lives with music and laughter, but I probably won’t hear many of them sing or play again. I may not run into their parents or teachers again in the hallway.
I graduated from the same high school. As the applause faded, it felt a bit like high school ended again. For me.
Change Happens
Many spiritual traditions offer suggestions to help us navigate change. Patanjali, the author of the Yoga Sutras, taught that suffering arises when we cling (abhinivesha). Insight meditation invites us to meet each moment with curiosity. In UU spaces, we practice love in the face of difference and difficulty.
None of these paths promise comfort. They help us face discomfort without turning away.
The great forest monk Ajahn Chah said, “You see, the glass is already broken.” He didn’t mean life lacks beauty. He meant that everything changes. When we understand that, we cherish the glass while it lasts.
This season of endings and beginnings with my children offers yet another chance to practice. To stay awake. To keep letting go.
The yamas and niyamas, yoga’s ethical principles, help me do that. I talk about using these a lot, so let’s explore how this works.
Yamas: Social Ethics
Ahimsa: Non-Harming
Thoughts of graduation stir up emotions. I’ve noticed the urge to complain. About time. About how fast it passes. About how much I’ll miss them.
But that doesn’t help anyone. Especially not my child.
So I try to meet this time with kindness. Fewer sighs. More celebration. Less nostalgia. More presence.
Ahimsa begins in speech. It continues in tone. It shows up in how I treat myself and the people around me.
And this isn’t just about parenting.
Ahimsa asks all of us to soften in the face of change. Whether you’re saying goodbye to a coworker, mourning a breakup, grieving a loss, or simply watching the seasons shift, non-harming invites you to pause before reacting. To notice the stories. To choose gentleness.
When change arrives, fear often follows. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of losing something dear. That fear can lead to irritation or blame, both at ourselves and others. But yoga asks a different question: Can you meet this moment without adding harm?
Maybe that means stepping back from judgment when someone close to you handles change differently. Maybe it means refusing to let your inner critic take over when emotions surface. Maybe it means listening deeply before speaking.
And maybe it means giving yourself a little grace when you don’t get it right.
If nothing else, ahimsa invites us to stop and ask: “Will this cause harm?”
If the answer feels uncertain, we can wait. We can breathe. And we can try again.
Satya: Truthfulness
Our time raising young children is winding down. That truth lands hard.
But another truth stands beside it: we still parent. We still guide, love, and support them. Our role shifts, but our presence continues.
Satya doesn’t mean sharing every thought. It means not hiding from what’s real.
Truthfulness asks us to honor what’s changing without pretending everything feels fine. At the same time, it calls us to avoid dramatizing or clinging to the past.
For others, satya might look like telling a friend, “This hurts, but I’m finding my way.” Or recognizing when a job, identity, or relationship no longer fits, and speaking from the heart with care.
Honest speech rests on honest seeing. It’s noticing, naming, and meeting what’s true with compassion.
Asteya: Non-Stealing
Graduation belongs to my child. Not to me.
I don’t need to turn their moment into a reflection on my parenting. I don’t need to insert my sadness into their celebration.
When I catch myself grabbing for attention, I pause. I breathe. I remember that letting them shine doesn’t dim my light.
Asteya is trusting that I have enough, and that others do too.
In times of change, it can feel tempting to seek reassurance through praise, recognition, or control. But non-stealing asks us to step back. To give space.
Maybe that means resisting the urge to speak when someone else needs to be heard. Maybe it means not taking credit for someone else’s growth. Maybe it means allowing joy to unfold without needing it to reflect us.
True generosity of time, attention, or celebration only happens when we stop reaching for what isn’t ours to hold.
Brahmacharya: Moderation
When it comes to my kids, lately I’m tempted to say yes to almost everything. Ice cream? Sure. New clothes? Of course. Slow phone? Let’s replace it.
It feels good to give. But sometimes, the giving covers up harder feelings.
My kids don’t demand much. They don’t need me to overdo it. And I don’t need to eat a box of chocolate chip cookies just because the house feels too quiet.
Brahmacharya asks us to notice excess. And then to choose balance.
Aparigraha: Non-Grasping
I love this life. My family. The dinners. The concerts. The inside jokes.
And I don’t want to let go.
But clinging doesn’t keep anything from changing. It just makes the change harder.
So I ask: What am I grasping? What if I loosen the grip?
Aparigraha doesn’t mean detaching from love. It means not trying to possess what can’t be held. It invites gratitude without ownership, presence without attachment.
When we hold too tightly to roles, routines, or identities we often miss what’s here now. We brace against loss and call it love. But love breathes. Love allows.
For some, this practice may show up as clearing out clutter, releasing old stories, or forgiving someone who no longer plays a part in their life. For others, it may look like trusting that life continues to offer beauty, even when it changes shape.
Loosening the grip doesn’t mean we stop caring. It means we let life move.
Niyamas: Personal Observances
Saucha: Cleanliness
Saucha goes beyond clean hands. It speaks to the clarity of thought and the purity of intention.
Graduation invites emotion. That’s fine. But I try not to let fog settle in my mind.
I work on speaking with care and listening with attention. I try to keep my inner world steady with meditation, so I don’t cloud the celebration with unnecessary sorrow.
The practice of deep listening can help me honor the moment without taking over the room.
Saucha doesn’t demand perfection. It asks for presence. When our minds feel crowded by regret, planning, or old stories, we can’t fully meet the people in front of us. Just a few quiet breaths, a moment of silence, or a return to the body can all clear the space.
Whether you’re attending a milestone or just moving through an ordinary day, purity of heart helps you show up with kindness instead of chaos.
Santosha: Contentment
Frequently when I’m in front of a yoga class, I like to say that this moment contains everything we need. “What keeps us from thinking this moment is perfect, whole, and complete?”
Tears. Music. Gratitude. Long hugs. Short conversations.
I don’t need to chase a better version. I don’t need to make it perfect.
More often than not, yoga is the practice of noticing discontent. Santosha reminds us that enough already exists.
Tapas: Self-Discipline
When my emotions rise, I try to stay. On my best days, I sit with the grief and notice the stories. I watch the waves.
Tapas can help keep us from checking out. It holds me to the fire long enough to burn through some confusion and emerge with more clarity.
Every morning, I make time for yoga and meditation. I have to make space before email, before news, before anyone else needs something from me. Giving myself that time can help me stay present with my family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers.
This is almost never easy. Some mornings I want to skip it. But discipline becomes a kind of devotion, a steady rhythm that supports me through the swirl of change.
For others, tapas might look different. Maybe you walk each day, journal, or set boundaries with technology. What matters isn’t the form, but the commitment to keep showing up. To stay awake in the middle of life’s intensity, rather than numbing or running away.
Tapas doesn’t offer ease. It promises transformation.
Svadhyaya: Self-Study
This moment in time keeps teaching me. As my kids step into their roles as college and graduate students, I do my best to stay a student, too. I study life, love, and letting go.
I notice where I tighten. I watch how I react. I recognize my strong desire for my kids to find happiness and success. I ask questions.
Why does this hit so hard? What old story wants attention?
“Moment after moment,” advised Shunryu Suzuki, “completely devote yourself to listening to your inner voice.”
That’s svadhyaya.
Ishvara Pranidhana: Surrender
Graduation arrives. Boxes get packed. Summer jobs begin. Dorm rooms wait.
None of that stops change. We can’t hold back the tide.
Ishvara pranidhana reminds us to release. To trust. To bow.
Not in defeat. In reverence.
Practicing Through the Letting Go
Yoga doesn’t protect us from heartache. It teaches us how to meet it.
These ethical principles in the form of yamas and niyamas offer us a framework. The yamas focus on our relationships with the world and the niyamas offer guidance for our inner life. They help us show up with love. They help us feel the joy under the sadness, the gratitude beneath the fear.
Soon both of my children will be walking across a stage. I’m expecting to hear a lot of clichés. And if all goes as planned, the house will soon be filled with energy for one last full summer together as a family. The quiet begins in August. The house will be emptier. My role will shift again.
And practicing the yamas and niyamas continues.
This path doesn’t end with a certificate or a celebration. It asks us to keep showing up with honesty, compassion, and humility as life changes shape again and again.
Whether you’re navigating a milestone or an ordinary Tuesday, these teachings meet you where you are. They don’t fix everything. They help us stay present with what’s real.
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