During the summers in Minnesota, just about everyone I know gets busy. We have a few glorious months to go outside in shorts and sandals, and we use them. For my family, with both kids in town from college, that means more weekends at the cabin, swimming, boat rides, saunas, and sitting by the beach.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world keeps bringing more, and it rarely supports living at ease. More information, more causes, more grief, more war, more AI scariness, more evidence of climate collapse, more threats to democracy, and on and on and on. Uffda. Many of us want to help, but that wanting can just twist into guilt and paralysis. Unless you’re living a blissful existence all the time, the TODO list of ethical living never really ends. And without careful attention, “doing good” can become yet another form of striving.
When we get pulled in opposing directions, our good friend Patañjali offers two words instead of a list: abhyāsa, steady practice, and vairāgya, letting go (YS 1.12). Much simpler: do what you can, then release your grip.
Abhyāsa is the stuff you can put on a calendar, if you’re into that kind of thing. My daily practice starts with yoga and meditation before anyone else wakes up. During the week I sit with an afternoon meditation group, teach on Wednesdays and Sundays, walk and bike outside, and pause in my office during the workday. It doesn’t feel like much on any given day. Sixteen years of walking to a bus stop didn’t feel like much either.
Vairāgya offers the antidote to the feeling of overwhelm. It does not mean giving up, checking out, or detaching in the cold, clinical sense. This is about showing up fully and not clinging to the results. It’s letting go of the idea that your worth is determined by productivity, performance, or always being right. And it ain’t easy.
Practice without letting go turns into striving. Letting go without practice turns into drifting.
When I remember vairāgya, I’m less likely to get all caught up in a spiral because I couldn’t solve something, fix someone, or implement my new best idea (I have so many ideas). Rather, I pause, breathe, and trust that the effort I put in was enough. Vairāgya sounds so easy, but it’s not, especially for those big things that tense up the whole body. So sometimes it’s just doing the stupidly simple small things, like taking the time to put away the dishes while I’m making coffee in the morning, regardless of whether anyone notices.
I like these two words, abhyāsa and vairāgya, because they keep things simple. Practice gives you something to do in your body, and letting go keeps it from becoming one more thing to win at. I can recall them in a difficult conversation, or while playing “roller smashers” with my little nephews on the Lily Pad at the cabin (I made it up, and they seemed to love it). That kind of joy doesn’t have winners or losers.
So when your life feels full, whether on a beautiful summer morning or a bitterly cold afternoon in February, ask what practices might support you and what you might set down this week.
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