letting go

letting go is a constant theme in life.

the spring of my second grade year was the first moment i can remember where it felt like i was letting go of something significant. my parents received a letter in the mail saying i'd passed the GATE (gifted and talented education) entrance exam "with flying colors," and would they be interested in sending their child to an entirely different school in the district for a GATE-only curriculum, or would they prefer to keep me at my current school for an integrated program with a mix of GATE and non-GATE classes?

logically, they handed the letter to me and asked me to decide. because of course, the second grader should be trusted with this decision!

luckily, though, i believe i ended up making the right one.

i thought about what it would mean, leaving all of my elementary school friends behind for an entirely new school where i'd know no one. i thought about starting over from scratch. i wondered if it would be hard, if i'd fit in.

i also thought about how incredibly unfulfilled i felt at my current school, and how i didn't feel stimulated or connected or engaged or happy. i thought about how it all felt meaningless.

a few minutes after finishing the letter, i took the leap. i told my parents i wanted to transfer. and i did.

easily one of the best decisions i've ever made.

my elementary school influenced my middle school trajectory— i went to the school expected for kids in the GATE program, not the same middle school as my sister. middle school influenced high school, but differently. i was able to take better classes at the middle school i chose, but ultimately broke from the rest of the GATE kids to pursue a different high school.

and this was the second time i let go.

there's a picture of me and a group of around 15 friends, somewhere in my camera roll, standing in front of my middle school on graduation day. of that group, i was the only one to attend the high school that i chose.

this time, it was much harder than elementary school. these were established friendships, some going strong since third grade. the friends i left behind were my world.

i knew there would be countless experiences i wouldn't share, countless inside jokes i wouldn't understand, and overall a low chance of staying in touch. i was right— as i write this, i talk to none of my friends from middle school on a regular basis, despite the fact that we still live in the same area and attend schools in the same district.

but after extensively researching matriculation, course catalogs, extracurriculars, and other metrics at 10+ local high schools (side note: there are some really funny emails from middle school me reaching out to admin at different high schools asking for matriculation lists), i chose the school i did because of its world-class model united nations program and its more expansive course selection. looking back, i can say with decent certainty that this was also the right decision, because i achieved my end goal— stanford was always my dream school.

letting go of relationships when it comes to things like this is hard, but in the past, it has usually turned out well for me.

but this piece was inspired by a different kind of "letting go of relationships"— the kind born out of differences and interpersonal conflict, rather than the type that arises from naturally occurring crossroads in life trajectory. in the latter, the loss is often amicable. in the former, there's an additional layer of hurt that comes from the fact that you aren't just parting ways with the person you're letting go of, you're also parting ways with who you thought that person was—the version of them you had in your mind that turned out not to be true. you're mourning the loss of the relationship, but more than that, the death of who you thought they were.

that means you're likely also questioning whether they were ever who you thought they were—or you're wondering what possibly could have changed.

how did this happen? was it something i said? something i did? is this my fault?

there's a lovely quote about this i came across recently from heidi priebe:

but what priebe doesn't mention is that sometimes, one of those funerals ends up being the last you attend— because the version of them that you used to know and love is gone, replaced by someone you no longer recognize, no longer align with, can no longer love like you used to.

to love someone is to walk with them as they change. to lose someone is to see them change so far beyond what you used to know that you have to part ways. it's not always possible to walk with someone in perpetuity— indeed, it's often not.

believe me, i wish it were.

learning to deal with the heartache of letting go is part of learning to be human.

it's okay to be sad for a while, it's okay to be hurt, it's okay to call your friend and sob on the phone for an hour. it's okay to give yourself grace. it's okay to mourn the act of letting go.

it's also, you'll find, okay to let go.

you'll be okay.

trust me.