The real sting here isn't about ambition—it's about the quiet tragedy of competence. We often praise people for "knowing their limits," but Michelangelo warns that this sensible-sounding advice can become a prison of our own making, where we mistake caution for wisdom. A talented young writer might decide she's "realistic" about her prospects and settle into ghostwriting corporate copy, only to find, fifteen years later, that she's become exactly as good as she aimed to be—competent, employable, and hollow. What makes this different from cheerleading optimism is the recognition that we don't fail our low aims; we *succeed* at them, which is somehow worse.