The goal is absence

There's a seduction in being the core of something.

Being needed.

The name on the door.

The signature on the email.

The centre of gravity.

Or the cheesy grin plastered on cardboard, taking up 80% of the available space on a signboard that's meant to be selling a home.

...never quite understood that one.

But real legacy, real impact, is usually anonymous.

It’s the systems that hold up when you’re not there.

The process that gets corrected without your input.

And the people who thrive because you got out of their way, and because they've got each other's backs.

My mum built the foundations of River with her team before my time.

Years of hard work.

Uncertainty.

Stress.

And when I took the reins after years of working alongside her, there were many more years of the same ahead of me.

Not because she hadn't built foundations.

She had.

But because the world was changing so rapidly, even back then.

That those foundations needed to be rethought.

But these days, over a decade later, I feel like most of what I do is help maintain the structure.

Even then, I'm surrounded by wonderful humans who do a better job of that than I do.

That's not humility, either.

So I'd be lying if there wasn't a part of this that came as a hit to the ego at first.

That first trip away that I felt it, where I had no frantic phone calls or panicked texts during a few days off...

It was odd.

I thought my phone must have been down.

So I caved and sent a check-in text.

Then another.

Then I tried to make a call.

"Go enjoy your holiday! We've got it."

That's all I got back.

Anxiety, or maybe ego, spiked.

I started typing a response.

Then I deleted it.

Then I typed another.

And again.

"Are you sure? There's a..."

"Have you remembered..."

"Has anyone checked in with..."

But before I could send it, iOS "helpfully" showed me a real-time update:

"[name] has notifications silenced."

My first thought was… excuse me?

But the next one was pride.

Followed by relief.

They were in control.

They knew it.

Even I knew it, deep down.

It was just my ego that was still coming to terms with it.

A few years on, it's the single biggest unlock to River, and to my life.

I get to spend a lot of time thinking about the bigger pieces.

About the next five years, or next decade.

Because I'm not a lynchpin to the success of the next quarter.

I also get more time to do the parts I love, which is helping people move through periods of transition, often difficult ones.

Those moments, the people inside them, are the reason I still do any of this.

And now I get to experience more of them.

All by letting go.

You spend years or decades being genuinely essential, being relied upon.

It's exhausting emotionally and mentally, but there's a level of pride and purpose that comes with all of it.

The goal isn't to be indispensable.

The goal is to build something strong enough to survive your absence.

Trust your people.

Let them grow.

And make sure you only ever let people into their system, their world, who will have their back.

The rest will take care of itself if you give it time, guidance and space.