Not everything deserves your fire

I was 22, working for the biggest magazine in Patagonia. I was deeply into Truman Capote, New Journalism, and the idea that every single story — no matter how small — could be transformed into art. And I tried. I really tried. Even when the subject was a non-traditional advertising piece on a plasma-rich facial, I treated it like a narrative assignment. I interviewed, researched, framed a story arc, gave it a voice, and tried to turn it into something memorable. I submitted it proud. Excited.

My editor, one of the most brilliant and generous creatives I’ve ever worked with, said something I’ll never forget:

"This is beautiful — but it’s too much. Some stories deserve fire. Others just need to inform. You have fire. But you need to learn how to moderate it."

I didn’t love that. I wanted all my work to matter. To impress. But I rewrote it. I filed the informative version. It was fine. It did the job. It wasn’t magic, but it was functional. And that was enough.

It took me years to truly get it.

You don’t owe everything — or everyone — your best masterpiece. Especially in work. Especially in service. Especially when the person on the other side isn’t asking for it, paying for it, or valuing it.

Because every relationship — yes, even work-based ones — should be reciprocal. If it’s not, it’s a drain. A leak. A slow erosion of your energy and your creativity. That extra effort you’re putting in? Sometimes it’s not even being seen.

And yet, I still catch myself doing it. I still catch myself thinking everything I do must be perfect. Every email crafted. Every post beautiful. Every client served with our full creative capacity. Because at The Inmediato, we really care. We care about the work, the stories, the strategy behind each decision. And we want our clients to feel that care.

But here’s the truth: sometimes, people aren’t paying for that level of care. Sometimes, they’re not even expecting it. And when we over-deliver by default, we run the risk of making our work unsustainable. Not just financially — creatively, too.

Moderating your fire is not a weakness. It’s a form of creative protection. A way to last. A way to reserve your energy for the work — and the people — that truly deserve it.

Especially when you’re no longer just starting out. When you’ve done the work. When you’ve built the reputation. When people already kind of know what you do and why it’s good.

You can — and should — begin to be more intentional.

You can learn to choose when to give your all and when to just be clear and effective.

You can design your service, your brand, and your strategy to reflect where you are — not just where you started.

The truth is: your fire is powerful. But if you burn it all the time, you’ll lose the very thing that makes you exceptional.

So let it be sacred. Let it be sharp. Let it be deliberate.

Because not everything deserves it.

But when the time comes — you’ll still have it.

And it’ll be yours to give.