Sometimes we feel discouraged, and wonder if our efforts are ever appreciated. But most of us just keep plugging away, and that's a good thing. I got to musing about achievement when I saw this in my inbox:
"It's the birthday of Herman Melville, born in New York City in 1819. In 1841, he joined the crew of the whaler Acushnet. Inspired by his adventures at sea, Melville returned to New York and settled down to write about his travels. He got married, had four children, and moved to a farm in Massachusetts, where he became friends with Nathaniel Hawthorne. Melville went to work on Moby-Dick,and Hawthorne encouraged him to make the novel an allegory, not just another adventure story. Melville thought it was his best book yet. But when Moby-Dick came out in 1851, the public did not agree. It was too psychological. His American publisher only printed a few thousand copies, and most of those never even sold.
He moved to New York and got a job as a customs inspector on the New York docks, where he worked for 19 years. The manuscript of his final work, Billy Budd, was found in his desk after he died, by which time he had become so obscure that The New York Times called him "Henry Melville" in his obituary."
- The Writer's Almanac
Is knowing you've done your best enough for you?
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