Letting Go, One Step at a Time

This weekend, we drove our daughter Simran to Gainesville to begin her college journey at the University of Florida.

It was bittersweet.

On one hand, it’s deeply fulfilling to watch your child grow into a young lady—to see her step forward with confidence, curiosity, and independence. On the other hand, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of the moment. This is the first of our four children to leave home. Our first daughter. Our first real step into a quieter house and a new chapter of life.

We had a little more time than most parents get. She didn’t start in the fall—she started in the spring—and we intentionally didn’t rush her out of the nest. High school was demanding. She worked incredibly hard. We wanted her to breathe, to decompress, to explore life at her own pace. And she did exactly that—studying, enriching herself, resting when she needed to, growing in ways that weren’t always visible but were deeply important.

Still, we all knew this day was coming.

Driving north to Gainesville felt like coming full circle. These were once our own stomping grounds—medical school, fellowship, long nights, long days.. Go Gators. The campus has grown, changed, evolved. Seeing it now through the eyes of a parent, walking through student life, her dorm, imagining the friendships she’ll build and the life she’ll create—it hits differently.

Eighteen years went by in a blink.

I remember holding her when she was tiny, fitting perfectly in my hands. I remember how unprepared we were. No instruction manual. No roadmap. Just two young and dumb parents in training—busy, exhausted, intellectually capable but emotionally immature. We didn’t know then what we know now about emotional intelligence, communication, trauma, love languages, or intentional parenting.

We learned the hard way. And our first child bore the brunt of our inexperience. Discipline was harsher. Expectations were higher. Mistakes felt bigger. Over time, we learned—about ourselves, about each other, about how not to become our own parents. We learned to move from scarcity to abundance, from reaction to reflection. We learned (and are still learning) how to communicate better, love more intentionally, and show up more fully.

We weren’t perfect. We still aren’t.

But we grew.

I think about her childhood—those early years when we leaned too heavily on screens because we didn’t know better. The moves: Gainesville to Orlando. New schools. New friends. Daddy-daughter dances. Downtown living. Growing up alongside us while we were still growing up ourselves.

I think about what it meant to raise children as first-generation Americans—caught between cultures, identities, expectations. Too American for one world, too Indian for another. Trying to navigate emotions we were never taught how to manage, while raising daughters who deserved better tools than we had.

And somehow, through all of that, she grew into who she is today.

She found her footing. She thrived academically. She earned her way forward—into UF, into scholarships, into opportunity. I’m incredibly proud of her.

As parents, all we can really hope for is this: that our children become good adults.

That they make thoughtful choices when no one is watching. That they know we are always here—not to control, but to support. That they continue to grow academically, emotionally, spiritually, and personally. That they live with integrity. That they understand consequences, practice discernment, stay curious, and remain teachable.. open-minded.

We’ve told her the same things over and over—stay away from substances, be intentional, protect/honor your mind and body, choose your relationships wisely, live a life of purpose. Go to college not just to pass classes, but to become stronger, more independent, more grounded.

Do something meaningful. Create value. Serve others. Be excellent at whatever you choose.

And work at it—daily. Growth is intentional. Strength is built. Peace is practiced.

Before dropping her off, we spent two weeks in Europe as a family—Paris, Venice, Florence. A year earlier, we went to Japan, one of her dreams. These trips weren’t just vacations; they were markers. Moments of togetherness before life shifted again. Because now, everything is changing.

I started a new role at Advent Health. My wife is launching new 4EverYoung ventures. Our daughter is beginning her freshman year at the University of Florida. And for the first time in a long time, not all of our children live under one roof.

Standing in her dorm room, it all came rushing back—the first night I spent away from home, the fear, the excitement, the independence. Watching her step into that same moment was nostalgic, emotional, and humbling.

Life moves fast.

One moment you’re holding a baby. The next, you’re saying goodbye to an 18-year-old young woman heading off to college.

She will always be missed.

But more than anything, she is deeply loved. We believe in her. We are proud of her. And no matter how far she goes, she will always know that mom and dad are here—rooting for her, supporting her, and cheering her on as she continues to grow into the best version of herself.

This is life.

And this is just the beginning.

“At the end of the day, this second shift is about more than just work—it’s about building a life with purpose. I believe in the power of showing up fully across every spoke of life—career, family, health, finances, intellect, spirituality, and joy. This space is where I reflect, recalibrate, and keep striving for that delicate, worthwhile balance. I write not just to document the journey, but to remind myself—and maybe you too—that it’s okay to want more, to give more, and to grow through every season.” — st