“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”
—Mahatma Gandhi
On Saturday morning, I rode my bike with no particular destination. No meetings waited. No errands loomed. I pedaled to breathe, to listen, to notice.
On a busy road in Chaska, I saw a man and his son scrambling in traffic. A toolbox had spilled from their pickup truck. Tools scattered across the asphalt. Cars swerved around them. So I stopped to help.
He kept saying, “You didn’t have to do that.” And he was right.
I didn’t.
I wanted to.
Not because I follow a checklist of yamas (social ethics). Not for spiritual credit. I stopped because I had the time, and because others have done that for me.
That kind of space doesn’t happen automatically. My calendar can easily fill up with parenting duties, teaching yoga, leading social justice work, and working full-time. I can have a schedule filled with noble intentions. In the rush to live meaningfully, I can miss the moment to act with care.
What Keith Taught Me
Years ago, my wife and I faced a hard situation. We needed help. I called my friend Keith. With no hesitation, he dropped what he was doing and said, “I live for moments like this.”
That line stuck with me.
Keith didn’t ask, “Do I have time?” He didn’t wonder whether we deserved help. He just showed up.
I don’t know if Keith practices yoga, but he lives the spirit of karma yoga: selfless service, with no expectation of return. That moment has shaped how I try to live.
My Saturday ride gave me space to practice asteya (non-stealing), not as a rule about taking, but as an invitation to give.
Generosity as Non-Stealing
The Sanskrit word for generosity is dāna. In Buddhism, it marks the foundation of spiritual life. It’s the practice of giving freely, without strings. Asteya often translates as “non-stealing,” but it also points toward a similar spacious generosity.
Patanjali offers guidance in Yoga Sutra 2.34 for moments when unhelpful thoughts take over: “cultivate the opposite” (pratipaksha bhavana). When the mind clings or resists, practice giving instead. Practice letting go.
Living in alignment with yoga’s ethical values is rarely easy. It requires both abhyasa (steady practice) and vairagya (non-attachment). And time.
I could help on Saturday because I wasn’t rushing between commitments. When my calendar loosens, generosity becomes possible. Spaciousness leads to kindness.
The Science of Kindness
The famous Good Samaritan study at Princeton in the 1970s showed that people running late often ignore someone in need — even when they’ve just heard a lecture on compassion. The study didn’t measure values. It measured availability.
Generosity doesn’t come from guilt or obligation. It comes from room to notice and respond. My friend Keith had that space. Saturday, on my bike, I did too.
Later in my ride, I pulled over by a lake to take in the beauty. No one needed help right then. I just stopped. I paused my racing thoughts and allowed myself to offer true presence. Not for productivity. For practice.
A Path Without Applause
This path is not easy. Consistently stopping to help people takes work. Usually, there’s no applause. No awards. Just a quiet moment between people.
Sometimes, it feels thankless. But that’s the heart of seva (selfless service). It’s service without keeping score. In Unitarian Universalism, we call this Love. It’s our central shared value, the thread that ties together all the rest.
Love shows up through asteya. We honor our interdependence. We respect others’ time and needs. It’s there when generosity isn’t a performance, but a way of being. Even when it’s hard. Especially then.
My Daughter, the Helper
This past weekend, my daughter graduated from college. She wore medals and honors, achievements earned through persistence and heart. After the ceremony, people lined up for photos with her. She had built community. She helped her classmates. She listened and showed up. She was generous with her time during college, and people noticed.
Many of her college friends have impressed me with their generosity. One of her friends is the type of person who goes out of his way to help. The guy with a car who makes two trips to the party because not everyone could fit the first time.
He notices what’s needed and responds. That kind of dedication inspires me.
It reminds me of Keith.
It reminds me of asteya.
It reminds me that this practice can ripple forward. I like to think my daughter learned generosity not through lectures, but by seeing it lived at home, at school, and in community.
Small Pauses, Big Impact
The yoga path doesn’t demand dramatic gestures. Asteya doesn’t ask us to give away everything. It asks us not to steal time, attention, or energy that could serve others. Sometimes, that means leaving space to act. Other times, it means pausing for ourselves.
Near the end of my ride on Saturday, I stopped again — this time for a photo of a crabapple tree in bloom (see above). I backed up to get the right frame and nearly bumped a biker off the path. “Whoops, sorry about that!” I said, following my training as a Minnesotan.
I had time. But I still needed awareness.
This work continues to humble me.
Make Space to Be Generous
When I load my schedule with good intentions, I miss opportunities to live them. But when I slow down even briefly, I find these moments everywhere. A stranger who needs help. A daughter who needs presence. A chance to let go of my agenda and remember who I want to be.
When we pause, we create space to practice what Deepak Chopra suggests: shift from asking “What’s in it for me?” to “How can I help?” I’ve been trying that lately, and I’ve found it genuinely useful.
Generosity doesn’t start with doing more. It starts with doing less, and with creating enough space to respond with care.
That’s how we live asteya. That’s how we pass it on.
Not with a plan.
With space.
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