If you love to cook, would it still give you pleasure if there was no one to eat the food you prepared? If you love to sing, would you still sing if no one ever listened? If you love to write, what if you were the only person who read your written word? Would an artist still paint even though his or her canvases could only hang in total darkness? What if there was a play that was performed every evening to a totally empty theater?
How much of what we love is done for the simple act of creating something, and how much of it is because we can share it with others? If we love doing something does it matter if anyone knows or cares or shares it with us? Or is the simple act enough for us to continue?