A song you write at seventeen can outlive the bedroom you wrote it in.

Work made young is not practice for real work later, it is already real. Things get made in small rooms by people with no credentials, and then they travel, because nobody listening can tell how old you were. The bedroom is temporary and the song is not. That is a strange and encouraging asymmetry.

Finish something this month rather than improving it forever. Record it, write it down, put the file somewhere safe and dated. Years from now you will be glad a version exists, even a rough one, because you cannot go back and be seventeen again.