This Too Shall Pass
On Raising Kids, Losing Time, and Letting Go
Right after we landed in Kauai for our honeymoon, my wife looked around the Lihue airport, sighed, and said, "I'm sad this is going to be over."
We had just arrived, and already she was mourning the end. At the time, I didn't understand it. We were newlyweds, childless, still blissfully unaware of how time speeds up once you become a parent.
Now? I get it.
Parenthood is a blur of fleeting moments and shifting phases. We cherish the "firsts"—the first steps, the first giggles, the first days of school—even as we grit our teeth through the sleepless nights, tantrums, and messes. And yet, whether we're enjoying the moment or just surviving it, one truth remains: it doesn't last.
An ancient story with roots in many cultures perfectly encapsulates this paradox. A king sought an unconditional truth to inscribe on his ring—something that could be true in his best and worst moments. After a long search, his advisors returned with four words: This too shall pass.
I try to remind myself of this often. No matter what my kids are doing, from the joy of learning to blow their first bubble to the struggle of keeping them from trying to drink the solution—it will all be over almost before it seems to begin.
So, how do we keep ourselves grounded in good and bad moments? Before offering my take, I should note that I'm not an expert on present-moment awareness. Sometimes, I find myself scrolling my phone or lost in work or home life stress when I should savor time with my family. And almost every time my kid throws himself on the floor in end-of-the-world agony over something as simple as a cookie before dinner, I catch myself dreaming of the day he starts to understand how he should—as my dad says—not "sweat the small stuff."
Another of my dad's mantras often helps me when I remember it. "Keep your eyes up." Imagine you're a batter standing at the plate against an erratic pitcher. If you lose focus for even a second, you may miss a chance to knock the ball out of the park. You also may miss a chance to jump out of the way of a wild pitch careening at more than highway speed toward your skull.
To me, especially in parenting, "keep your eyes up" doesn't just apply to the literal physical act but also a mental state of awareness and, maybe more importantly, acceptance. When we're with our kids, we need to remain aware of what's in front of us so we don't miss anything, from small moments of joy to miraculous milestones. But if we miss something (which is inevitable), we have to give ourselves grace and accept that we can't be present—physically or mentally—100 percent of the time.
Whenever I feel down about missing out on something or forgetting something my kids did, the words of the Stoic philosopher Epictetus help me stay centered: "It's not events that upset us, but our judgments about them."
This is also helpful when times are tough. Especially when kids are very young, we need the awareness to understand that they haven't learned emotional regulation, and it's our job to model it for them so they can. And if they throw a tantrum at a family gathering, wreck a display in the grocery store, or don't understand basic decorum during a wedding ceremony, we need to resist not their actions but our denial of their actions. We often default to panic in public, telling ourselves, "This can't be happening," and feeling the eyes of 100 strangers burning holes into our skin.
Instead, we need to accept that societal expectations of children are unfair and unrealistic. A public tantrum doesn't mean your kid is a bad kid. If you see a young kid at a gathering who remains quiet and composed, it's less likely that they're better than your kid than it is that they are afraid of what could happen to them if they aren't. Tantrums, both public and private, are part of a child's growth, and resistance to them can teach kids that "emotions are bad," making it harder for them to learn healthy self-regulation techniques they can carry into maturity.
We can't freeze time. We can't stop tantrums or force milestones. What we can do is shift how we see them. Whether it's a joyful moment we want to bottle up or a public meltdown that makes us want to disappear, we can return to a simple truth—this too shall pass.
And maybe that's the gift. When things are hard, we can breathe and remember they won't last forever. And when things are good, we can be fully in them, knowing how precious and short-lived they are.
So today, try to keep your eyes up. Be where your feet are. And meet each moment—good, bad, or bewildering—with grace.