"Be so good they can't ignore you" was the mantra of a generation. It was the gospel in every career-advice book of the 2010s.

But being the best is overrated.

At a jazz masterclass, a world-class musician introduced himself: “My name is X. I play at Lincoln Center. I’m divorced, and I have no children.”

That single personal detail said more about the cost of mastery than any lecture could. Becoming the best—even just one of the best—requires sacrifice.

The climb to first place demands more than most of us can pay. And is it worth it in the end?

I speak from the middle of the pack, not the top—and that gives me a different view. From here, it’s clear that not everyone can stand at the summit. Our limits, obligations, and choices shape how high we climb.

Still, the peak calls to me sometimes. I imagine dropping everything to pour myself into my art. But then I think of a friend’s story about a celebrated jazz trumpeter spending Christmas alone—playing shows without family or friends to share the day.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that choice. It’s a valid path. But it sounds lonely at the top—and perhaps even more so when people relate to you primarily for your skills, not who you are.

Maybe it sounds trite, but perhaps the goal isn’t to become the best. It’s to become your best. Some can compete to be best in class. Others can be the best in their own unique field—the truest version of themselves.

Take Picasso—certainly one of the greats. But was he “the best”? Hard to say. What’s certain is that he was the best Picasso, carving out a class all his own.

So yes, pursue excellence. But remember—it doesn’t have to come at the expense of being whole. Carve out the path that is entirely your own.