Web homes' mere existence.
I just finished reading this post from Cheapskate's Guide about their thoughts on maintaining their web home:
It reads like a moody full chapter of a book, delivering the alluded highs and lows. One of the seeming lows is the idea that, on top of the time, effort and money one might allocate to the existence of their site, people don't ultimately enjoy it (presuming they can even find it).
I suppose that would be disheartening if their goal was a regular stream of connection, and I think it spurred me to realize that expectable visitors and guests, while welcome, aren't flagged in my own mind as some kind of goal or criterion for success. Success, for me, is for the home to exist.
A music education professor once indicated page something within a thick, coiled low winds textbook: a fingering chart for the bassoon. My recollection is naturally paraphrased: "you should all have a copy of this page in your office. You may never need it in ten years, but the one time your student walks up and asks you for a fingering chart for the bassoon, you can hand it to them right then." For a quiet new player unsure how to produce that F-sharp, or who had mastered the day's lesson but was eager to study ahead, that could make a difference worthy of a permanent memory. There they might be, committing the answer to memory on the bus home.
Another analogy: a small garden in a front yard or windowledge, carefully tended by a focused amateur, perhaps taken up when moving from a more outward life to a more inward one. No doubt they would appreciate another's perception of their delight in shaping and perfecting it, but primarily, it's evidence of a relationship between themselves and something creative and humble that they care for, and that's what fulfils them.