Have you ever heard the story of the blacksmith Graham Barfield? Neither had I, so let me tell you about him in 200ish words.
He lived about 250 years ago, around 1750 in the Georgian-Era England, near London. There was nothing special about him. He had five kids, two of which died in early childhood. He had a wife he treated, given the time, with a decent amount of respect and he was a good father.
He had no spectacular life. Almost every day, he would walk from his home to the forge, where he would melt iron and form it into weapons that could be used by the military. Like most blacksmiths at the time, he was delivering to his majesty, the King of England. It wasn't the most glorious work, but it fed his family.
He did not even look very spectacular, as far as we know. He wasn't a rich man, so nobody ever painted him, but from what we know, he seems to have had a long beard and was pretty beefy.
The fascinating thing about Graham is, that I just made him up. There was never a blacksmith with the name Graham Barfield who lived near London in 1750. Or maybe there was and the world just forgot about him.
The world will probably also forget about me, and chances are high that in 200 years, nobody in the world will ever know that I lived here and what I did. So I might as well stop worrying about every little thing in my life. It really doesn't matter all that much in the grand scheme.