I ended up going to NYU for film school - close to Pennsylvania -

When Adam F. Goldberg said, “I ended up going to NYU for film school – close to Pennsylvania – but we talked about what if I went to UCLA or USC, and my mom’s whole world was caving in,” he spoke not only of his own youth, but of a truth that echoes through the ages — the power of love and attachment between a mother and her child. Beneath his humor lies something tender and universal: the pain of parting, the fear of distance, and the unspoken bond that ties parent and child even as life calls them toward separate paths. His words, though drawn from a modern story, reflect one of the oldest emotional truths of humanity — that love clings, even when it must let go.

To the ancients, such a moment would not be trivial; it would be the turning point in the story of a young hero’s journey. The departure from home was always sacred — a symbol of growth, but also of sorrow. Just as Telemachus left his mother Penelope in search of his father Odysseus, Goldberg’s decision to attend film school marks the same crossing — from the shelter of childhood to the uncertainty of destiny. The mother’s heart, like Penelope’s, trembles at the thought of her child venturing into a world filled with unknown dangers. When Goldberg says his mother’s “whole world was caving in,” he speaks to the heartbreak of every parent who realizes that love must sometimes release what it most cherishes.

The origin of this quote rests in the real-life warmth and humor that inspired Goldberg’s work as a filmmaker and creator of The Goldbergs. His storytelling, infused with nostalgia, is built upon the memory of his family — especially his mother, Beverly Goldberg, whose love was as fierce as it was protective. His words capture that balance: a son yearning to spread his wings, and a mother whose heart breaks at the thought of distance. This moment — the choice between staying close and stepping out — is one that all families face in time, as youth grows restless and love must evolve. Through his reflection, Goldberg preserves this eternal dance between independence and devotion.

The ancients taught that love is both anchor and wind. Without love, the soul drifts; but too much of it, and the ship cannot sail. Goldberg’s mother feared the vastness of the ocean her son might cross — UCLA, USC, the far coasts that meant days and months apart. But it is in letting go that the mother’s love transforms: from protector to supporter, from shelter to memory that strengthens. In her fear, we see not weakness but the depth of human connection — the truth that love is not content to be distant, even when it must be.

This same story lives in every age. Consider Michelangelo, who left his home in Florence against his father’s wishes to study in the courts of Lorenzo de’ Medici. His father could not see the glory that awaited his son — only the loss of his presence, the silence in the home once filled with his voice. Yet had Michelangelo stayed, the world would have lost the Sistine Chapel. Love’s greatest test, then, is trust — the courage to let those we cherish follow their own paths, knowing that love will not vanish with distance. Beverly Goldberg’s fear, though wrapped in comedy, is the same timeless struggle: to love enough to let go.

Goldberg’s humor softens what is, in truth, a profound lesson about family and freedom. He did not mock his mother’s pain; he honored it. He recognized that her sorrow sprang not from control, but from love — from the sacred instinct to protect what she helped create. And in choosing to stay close, to study “near Pennsylvania,” he revealed not weakness, but gratitude. He understood that independence is not rebellion, but an evolution of love — the child carrying the mother’s spirit into the wider world.

So, dear listener, take this teaching to heart: cherish those who fear losing you, for their fear is born of love. When the time comes to leave — whether for study, work, or destiny — do so with compassion. Do not forget those who built your foundation, even as you build new walls of your own. Call them, thank them, remind them that distance cannot break the thread of affection that binds you. And if you are the one left behind — the parent, the guardian, the heart that watches another depart — remember this truth: what you have given is not gone; it travels with them, invisibly, eternally.

For in the words of Adam F. Goldberg, there lies the sacred truth of all generations: that a mother’s love is so vast, even the thought of separation can shake her world — and yet, it is that same love that gives her child the courage to go.