Do not hate little starts, the acorn that will turn oak, the first uncertain steps of a youngster destined to run marathons one day. Too fast dismissals of what hasn't shown itself yet; too ready to judge the seed by its size rather than its promise.
Despise not the poor student, the failed artist, the broke entrepreneur sleeping on sofas. Late bloomers abound throughout history who everyone wrote off before they finally blossomed. Do not hate your modest roots, your accent, your background, the community that formed you.
Those roots are profound and carry nutrients you'll require when you grow tall enough to fight strong winds. Do not scorn the person you were yesterday; that version of you was trying their best with what they knew. Growth demands we start somewhere imperfect, somewhere we'll finally look back on with mild shame and secret pride.