They died broke. Thoreau died in a room with boxes of his unsold books. Poe was disrespected by the literary community. Van Gough couldn’t sell enough art to pay his rent.
When I feel underrated, ignored, undervalued, underpaid, unimpressive, or like I’m expending way too much time and effort without any significant pay off, I remember these men.
I remember to never give up, to be unattached to a particular outcome, to value myself and my work even if I am not sure others will.
Doing what I feel compelled to do may not turn out the way I imagined it would, but I will never have to regret what I become by doing so.