Letting Go of What You Help Create
Last night’s PhotoTalk305 at Yo Space was one of those quietly gratifying moments that remind me why I keep putting in the effort to nurture programming there without having a financial incentive. The featured photographer, resident artist Lex Barberio, led the conversation with such clarity and generosity. The energy in the room felt honest, people exchanging ideas, swapping stories, sparking possibilities.
I had helped set the whole thing in motion, connecting Lex with the organizers, offering the space, facilitating the collaboration; at one point, I overheard Lex talking about doing something else with the group organizer at another venue she’s connected to. I caught myself feeling that small, familiar pang. The one that whispers: Wait, what about me?
It’s subtle but recognizable, the shadow side of community building. You introduce people, connect dots, open doors. And if you’re doing it right, those people go on to build things that don’t include you. That’s the point. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t that subtle jealousy that can creep in.
For a moment, ego tries to make it personal. I helped start this. Shouldn’t I still be part of it? But then the other voice steps in, the one that’s learned, slowly, that real growth happens when you stop trying to own the outcomes.
It’s not that different from other kinds of relationships, honestly. Romantic, creative, even parental. You nurture something, you invest in it, you give it structure and love, and then, eventually, it becomes its own thing. It branches off, and the truest expression of what you built is that it no longer needs you. That’s the real work. Not just creating connections, but learning to release them.
In creative ecosystems, it’s easy to mistake involvement for importance. But I’ve come to believe that the most meaningful contributions are often invisible. The introductions, the small nudges, the moments of encouragement that ripple outward in ways you’ll never see.
If you need constant acknowledgment, you’ll exhaust yourself. If you can find fulfillment in simply knowing you helped a seed take root, even if it flowers elsewhere, you’ll never run out of meaning.
The irony is that the more freely you give, the more it all comes back around. Different people, different projects, but the same energy. Creation doesn’t move in circles, it spirals. What leaves your orbit eventually returns in another form.
So I’m practicing gratitude for the part I played, and acceptance for the parts I won’t. Building community means surrendering control. It’s a long lesson, but one worth relearning every time the universe reminds me: what’s real doesn’t need to be owned to be yours.