Not Everything Is Meant to Be Saved
On walking away, letting go, and planting what I actually want
I picked up tomato plants from a wagon marked “FREE.” There were dozens. Most people passed them by.
And honestly… maybe I should’ve, too.
If a nursery (literal professionals) gives up on a tomato plant, that might be a sign. But no. I had just brought a cilantro plant back from the brink of death. I was riding high. Thought maybe this was my thing now. Plant whisperer. Rescuer of the discounted and discarded.
I took five home.
All five are now gone.
That should’ve been the end of the story. But it’s never just about tomatoes. It’s about my entire approach to my work, and the types of people and projects I seem drawn to.
I’m going through the gardening phase of my life, literally and metaphorically. Dead plants, overgrowth that needs cutting back, and mint plants that won’t quit.
And it got me thinking about everything else I’ve been trying to cultivate.
Because in my work, it’s not that different.
I’ve spent years helping artists stabilize, get clear, and get seen. I’ve helped them grow in better conditions, even when their root systems were tangled or dry. And a lot of that has worked. Sometimes beautifully.
What I see now is that I kept thinking that if I helped others grow, someone would eventually help me. That if I proved my value by staying loyal, said yes, built the thing, cheered everyone on, then someone would show up and say, “Here. Let me take it from here.”
That’s the invisible contract I’ve been holding that needs to be torn up.
Because the truth is: I’m not waiting to be rescued. I’m growing myself.
And like these tomato plants, I’ve had projects and partnerships that showed promise. They ripened just enough to keep me hopeful. I stuck with them. Adjusted. Waited. Watered. But in the end, some things just aren’t meant to last long-term.
And that’s not failure. That’s information.
So here’s the real metaphor:
I gave those tomatoes a second chance.
I didn’t bail at the first sign of stress.
I showed up.
I stayed.
And when it was done, I let go.
Not with bitterness, but with clarity.
But maybe the real growth isn’t what’s still standing.
It’s who I became, tending to what couldn’t be saved.
And once I let go of what wasn’t working, I did what I always do.
I started building again.
Not out of panic. Not out of desperation. But from a place that’s less interested in proving I can rescue things, and more focused on what I’m here to create.
I’m working on growing what I actually want.
Not what I think I can save.
And maybe next time I see a wagon marked “FREE,”
I’ll remember to ask: “Why?”