As this is a season of graduations, retirements, and the closing of another academic year, I’ve been thinking about how these milestones shift our perspective on life.
There’s something poetic about the way these transitions land in the middle of spring. The school year wraps up just as the trees are in bloom, gardens awaken, and daylight lingers a little longer. It’s that emotional crossroads where endings and beginnings co-exist. Whether you’re 18, 22, or 68, this season stirs something in all of us: What am I leaving behind? And what might I be stepping into?
This spring, I find myself reflecting on both retirement—and on the many graduations I’ve witnessed as a teacher. These moments may look different on the surface, but at their core, they are all about crossing thresholds, letting go, and beginning again.
Letting Go, Gently
Retirement, like graduation, is more than a calendar event. It’s a release of roles and rhythms that have shaped who we are. For graduates, it’s the shift from student to young adult. For retirees, it’s the shift from professional identity to something less defined—but no less important.
For me, retirement is a slow exhale. I’m stepping away from the classroom after decades of teaching, but the process isn’t abrupt. It’s a gentle unraveling—a time filled with gratitude, memory, and the surprising realization that my identity is larger than my job title. I think many graduates feel something similar. You finish school, and suddenly the scaffolding is gone. You’re proud—but also wondering: Now what?
Whether you’re 18 or 65, there’s courage in letting go.
A Season of Spiritual Renewal
Spring isn’t subtle. It arrives with green bursting from branches, flowers unfurling, and birdsong returning. It reminds us that life is always cycling forward—sometimes even before we feel ready.
This season invites spiritual renewal, whether you name it as such or not. For graduates, it may be the first taste of freedom or purpose beyond academics. For those of us retiring, it’s the opening of space we haven’t had in years—space for reflection, creativity, and reconnecting with parts of ourselves long placed on the back burner.
There’s a quiet invitation in all of this: slow down, listen inward, and allow what’s next to take shape.
Still Growing
A common myth—especially in Western culture—is that growth belongs to the young. But the truth is, we’re always growing. We just grow differently.
Graduates are expanding outward—testing ideas, chasing experiences, learning how to live on their own terms. Those of us retiring are growing inward—deepening wisdom, expanding our perspective, and becoming more comfortable with what we don’t know.
Both are equally vital. Both take time. Both require open hearts.
I no longer measure growth by achievement. I measure it by how present I am. How willing I am to stay curious. How open I am to seeing the world—myself included—through new eyes.
Beginning Again
For years, I taught students how to reframe: to see challenges from another angle, to shift perspective, to find meaning in the struggle. Now, I’m practicing what I preached.
Retirement, like graduation, is one of those reframing moments. It asks us to release the old story and begin a new one—one we haven’t written yet. It asks us to embrace not-knowing. To begin again, without all the answers.
And maybe that’s the gift of this season—whether you’re graduating from high school, college, or a lifelong career: it’s the invitation to bloom in a new way.
So here’s to the ending of one season—and the beginning of another. Here’s to the courage of walking into the unknown. Here’s to the spirit of spring, the shifting of perspective, and the reminder that every ending is also a beginning.
Let’s keep growing.
