I once heard a psychiatrist say that writing is self aggrandizement. With a broad brush he painted people such as Thoreau, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Shakespeare, as bunch of ego maniacs. Maybe they were, but the world is made better because they had the guts to put their words onto paper.
Actors uplift. Artists inspire. Musicians enthrall. Birds enchant. And the antics of babes, human or animal, never fail to bring a smile to our lips, and they are not doing it for an audience. They do it because they love doing it.
Because of their expression the world rings, vibrates, dances, shines, and is made glorious.