As we arrive at the close of another year, I find myself reflecting on how tenderness helps soften our grip on what we have been carrying. December invites this kind of surrender especially in the Northern Hemisphere where nature turns inward, things slow down and there is a collective invitation to rest. It's a time for me to remember that stillness is part of the cycle of creation.

Earlier this month, our Transformative Educational Leadership (TEL) Board gathered, and it was a true dance of soul and strategy. Since returning from sabbatical, TEL feels like what Thich Nhat Hanh describes as an organism rather than an organization. It has a pulse, a spirit, a way of moving that feels alive and relational. It took eight years from the moment of co-founding to reach this stability and vitality, eight years of learning, growth, individual and collective evolution. With our fifth cohort beginning soon, the whole ecosystem feels open, yet steady and deeply grounded.

At the same time, I am volunteering as a founding board member for the new School of Interbeing (check out our new website and share!). The contrast is striking. TEL has the wisdom and roots of a maturing ecosystem, while the school is full of entrepreneurial spark and early-stage energy. I find myself moving between these two worlds and drawing from both experiences. One teaches me how beautiful things can become over time, and the other invites me to bring everything I have learned into something still taking shape.

There is a meditation I return to often. It is not my favorite, but it always works. In it, I board the Shatabdi Express, the train I took countless times from Delhi to Haridwar on my pilgrimages to the Ganges. I feel the rhythm of the tracks beneath me and the gentle movement through the plains of North India. On my back is a heavy backpack. In the meditation, I slowly lift it off and place it on the luggage rack above me. Each time, the relief surprises me. The lightness is instant. The breath comes more easily.

Recently, a friend from my twenties that I met in the foothills of the Himalayas came to visit. Being with her opened a window into how long I have carried responsibilities that did not belong to me alone. I grew up with the immigrant work ethic my mother modeled so fiercely. Duty. Devotion. Persistence. If you know me well, you know how fully I show up.

Yet over the past twenty-five years, the heart of my spiritual journey has been learning to put the luggage up. To stop confusing effort with identity. To trust that I am part of a larger dance and that I do not have to move every piece myself.

There is a paradox here. On one hand, there is no separate self, only interbeing, the vast web of life moving through each of us. On the other hand, there is Shakti, the creative energy that expresses itself through our unique actions and gifts. My role matters. Your role matters. Yet neither of us carries the whole story. The invitation is to participate fully with a spirit of lightness.

Living adjacent to Deer Park Monastery makes this paradox even more vivid. Some days, freedom feels very close and momentarily, I touch it deeply. The sound of the bell, the presence of the monastics, the mountains breathing around us, all of it reminds me what is possible. And at the same time, real life continues. There are deadlines, school drop-offs, aging parents, moments of heartbreak, and all that comes with this season. The dance of daily life continues, even in a place designed for spaciousness.

What I am learning in my new chapter here is that freedom is not the absence of responsibility. It is the ability to walk with responsibility in a different way. It is knowing when to put the luggage up, even if only for a moment. It is choosing small pauses. One mindful breath. A hand on the heart. A moment where we exhale and remember we are part of something larger so it feels like a dance.

Last spring, I asked my mother if any women in our family had ever been truly free. She thought for a long time and said, “No.” Her honesty clarified something inside me. My practice is not only for me. It is for the women who came before me and the ones who will come after. It is for all the ancestors who carried what they had to carry so that we might carry less. I practice so that future generations can experience freedom not as a distant dream but as a lived reality.

Wherever you are in your own season of life, I invite you to notice one burden you can gently set down. One pattern you can soften with tenderness. One small moment where you can breathe more freely. You deserve that. We all do.

Below, I am also sharing a podcast conversation with Sharon Salzberg, whom I first met in India nearly two decades ago. Her new children’s book, Kind Karl, is such a treasure for the holidays. Alongside that is my recent interview with Rare Beauty on how I stay connected to what matters most so the intensity of life can be met with compassion rather than burnout.

With tenderness and great aspiration for freedom,

PS: Chihiro and I have seen Peter Gabriel in concert a few times and his music has become a touchstone for us. There is a song of his called Live and Let Live that speaks beautifully to the possibility of laying our burdens down. The song has both a dark side mix and a bright side mix. Listen to the one that calls to you. We need both in life, dark and bright.