Being a parent isn’t a part-time job. You can’t just show up for the dramatic moments and photo ops, or only select the opportunities that meet your terms. It’s not about being performative but rather about being there for all of the formative experiences that shape lives.

Parenting comes through in the everyday things that make a life work materially, socially, emotionally, logistically, even spiritually. It’s in the homework, the tidied-up rooms and folded clothes, the playdates, the sick days, the special events, the graduations and birthdays and holidays, the ‘bring your child to work day’, the hard talks, the running jokes, the expressions of love and family, the tears and fears and teenage years — and most importantly the commitment. You can’t get everything right and you can’t be everywhere at once, even under the best of conditions, but you can and must be available and engaged in the role all the time and across distances.

That’s a lot to ask in a busy life, but it’s the job we signed up for — and it’s not even a job: it’s a joy. Again, not every second is easy and joyous, of course; kids can be sassy and messy and stubborn and distracted and selfish and manipulative, like all humans can be but even more accentuated at times as they’re coming into themselves. But they’re also magical, clever, funny, sweet, exuberant, silly, hopeful, talented, and curious. They need us to show up as our best selves — not perfect ones — to help them grow and balance the dualistic nature of human experience over the course of their lives. Mostly, they need us to be there for and with them, to share the journey while also letting them go so they can find their own way.

Parenting is the epitome of my working mantra to hold on tight, and let go. On this impending Labor Day, I am uniquely reminded of the best and hardest job I’ve ever had — and the one that matters to me the most. Of course, my work in the world is also meaningful — doubly so, as I have the incredible privilege as an educator of being able to work with other people’s children every day. Indeed, on some level, we are all parents to all of the world’s children, biologically or otherwise. Our webs of care and compassion should extend as widely as possible including around the globe and across generations.

This is about the ongoing work and the bounty it yields, an outward-facing reminder of something emanating from deep within the interior chambers of the heart.

Still, like I tell my own kids, my special responsibility and obligation is to them. They are the ones that need me most directly, the ones I can most support and impact with my time and resources. They’re the ones where the bonds are shaped by our shared histories and familiarities (literally), the ones chosen by fate or chance or something even more sublime to walk part of the path together. The ones for whom love shifts from a generalized agape to something more tangible and active.

I was blessed to be able to directly attend the births of all three of my children. Each of those moments is indelible for me, and the impact each one had right from the start still ripples after all these years. Look, I’m not going to lapse into anything “cringe” here (you’re welcome, kids!) and this isn’t really about me and my wistful memories at the end of the day. This is about the ongoing work and the bounty it yields, an outward-facing reminder of something emanating from deep within the interior chambers of the heart. It’s about recalling why we’re here, how much we’ve done, and how much still remains to do in the days ahead.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the centrality of getting back to work, how it can help ground us and offer spaces for creative growth and much-needed solace. It can seem antithetical to take work and jobs and labors as things to covet, yet it also makes sense in terms of how we might strive to counterbalance our inherent consumptiveness with our capacity to make a positive contribution that helps prop up and perpetuate the human experiment. Labor is our legacy project.

For me, being a parent is the ultimate expression of this. Whether it’s yours or not, I want to honor the work you do in whatever form and manner that makes it possible for my (and everyone’s) children to have a world to grow up in and a future to experience. Each of us plays a role in that, often invisibly and without fanfare — which is where the missive started, in the observation that it’s in that small everyday realm where we can mostly show up as parents, as people, as our best selves. Thank you for your labors, sincerely, as we forge a world where all children can thrive.

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Recent events have got me thinking (shocker!) about life, the pluriverse, and everyday happenings on the journey of discovery that is being alive in this moment. As my son often observes, it’s fair to wonder how we wound up in this timeline out of all the infinite possibilities: fate? luck? punishment? sarcasm? simulation? Whatever the case may be, the love we feel along the way is definitely real — and I’m sticking to that claim no matter what the technocrats might try to pull next…