If you never get around to writing your poems, telling your stories, or making your music, life will go on.
With or without your perspective on the record, life will go on. With or without your input, life will go on. With or without the realization of your ideals, life will go on.
Society holds no particular bias toward your creative impulses. The sun will rise and set whether you ever pursue what really matters to you or not.
Should your own unique account of the world go unexpressed, the historians will not gather together and weep as if it were a tragedy. They will simply provide an outsider’s description of what you have actually done and the books will be closed.
Only you can know the pain of your unmade art. Only you can feel the emptiness of your unlived life. Only you can can see the haunting vision of what might have been. Only you.