When Life Comes Full Circle

Back when I was in college (which, sadly, feels like eons ago), my roommates and I were hooked on the TV show “Felicity.” For those of you who aren’t familiar, the title character throws away her college (and future) plans to attend medical school at Stanford University (she lives in Palo Alto, Calif.) to follow a guy—whom she’s loved from afar her entire high school career—to the University of New York. Now, to be fair, it’s clear from the beginning that Felicity’s “decision” to attend Stanford is much less about what she wants and more about her desire to pacify and please her annoyingly persistent father, a cardiac surgeon who believes there’s nothing more important than his sole progeny following in his footsteps. Of course, Felicity’s about-face completely baffles and angers her parents, but she sticks to her guns (and her crush) and moves to New York. From there, the show essentially follows Felicity through the ups and downs of her college years.

Now, you might be asking, “Why the heck is she writing about a show that’s 21 years old?” (Holy cow, “Felicity” is 21 years old!!!!) Well, I just recently started watching the show again. Yeah, I know, pathetic, but here’s my justification. My husband and I usually binge watch our TV shows together, but he’s been out of commission every night since January (you know, personal advancement stuff). Which means I’m on my own to watch whatever my little heart desires, and for some reason I just felt like going back to one of my faves. And once I started watching, something interesting and totally unexpected happened.

One of the reasons that I adore “Felicity” so much is because I relate to her in so many ways. I didn’t follow a guy to college, but I did follow one to New York five months after I graduated. That’s right, my 22-year-old self—who thought she had all the answers and knew everything there was to know about life—left her parents and family behind and moved to the Big Bad Scary Apple. At the time, my argument for this decision was that New York was the No. 1 place for a recent college graduate with a degree in journalism and mass communication. And I wasn’t wrong. Manhattan is the center, the pulse of all things news. But mostly I was following the guy.

Anyways, I don’t remember much about my parents’ reaction to my decision, but I do recall some vague arguments and them playing devil’s advocate about not putting all my eggs in one basket and what would happen if things didn’t work out with the guy and why do I want to leave my family. You know, all the things good, caring parents would say. And like all younguns, all of it went in one ear and out the other. And despite everything, I moved to New York and never looked back. Which brings me to the unexpected rush of emotion that hit me once I started watching “Felicity” again. Because this time, I’m not viewing it through the eyes of a young girl desperate for freedom and love and success and who’s searching for her place in this world. No. This time around, I’m the parent who’s watching her baby walk away without her. And all I can do is let it happen. My God, it’s heartbreaking and I’m not even at that point in my life as a parent yet.

But just like that my life came full circle.

As I sat watching episode after episode, all I could think was how hard it must have been for my parents to swallow that pill. To watch me leave and know there wasn’t a damn thing they could have done to make me stay. And how they must have worried for me, being all alone in a huge, scary, crowded city that no one in my family knew or understood. I honestly didn’t realize until now how hard that must have been. Because the thought of Bells doing what I did is unthinkable and devastating and insane. And yet, I still want that for her. I want her to be strong and brave and independent. I want her to do what she loves and be successful. I want her to travel and see the world. I want her to know that she can do anything she puts her mind to. I want her to spread her wings. I want her to fly. Even if it means she’s flying away from me.

This is one of those hard moments as a parent, knowing when to push back and when to let go. I think the key is to simply be there for our kids, to encourage them to fight for what they believe in, to teach them what it means to be successful and independent, to understand and appreciate that it’s their life and we have to let them live it. But mostly to love them unconditionally and show them that no matter how high they soar, they will always have a home to rest their wings.

That’s what my parents did for me. And when the time comes, I hope I’m strong enough to do the same.