Why do I take it so hard when my perfect work gets covered up?

You lay down a flawless coat. A year later it chips, or the next crew paints right over it, and something in you aches like you've been robbed. Look at that ache plainly. It is pride, dressed up as craft, demanding the world remember what you did. You knew, before you opened the can, that paint does not last forever. Walls get sold, buildings get torn down, tastes change. This was never a secret. The ache comes from wanting your work to outlive its purpose, which was simply to be well done, once, by you. Here is what was always within your power: the mixing, the prep, the steady hand, the care on the trim. Here is what was never within your power: who sees it, who paints over it, how long it lasts. Keep working on the first list. Drop the second.