A few weeks ago, my ten-year-old told me she’s auditioning for another theater production.

She’s one of the younger kids in the room, trying out alongside middle schoolers and high schoolers, and when I asked her what part she was hoping for, she didn’t hedge.

She didn’t soften it.
She didn’t say, “I’ll just be happy to be cast.”

She named the biggest role.

I felt that familiar mix of pride and protectiveness rise up in my chest. Pride, because she wanted something and wasn’t afraid to say it out loud. Protectiveness, because I know how quickly girls learn to translate disappointment into self-doubt.

Watching her, I realized how clean her wanting still is. She hasn’t learned to pre-edit her desires to avoid embarrassment. She hasn’t learned to want smaller, just in case.

I think back to my own adolescence, and how different it felt. When I auditioned for big parts and didn’t get them, my internal narrative wasn’t, “Good for me for trying.” It was, “That was dumb. Why did I even think I could do that?”

Somewhere along the way I had learned that bravery was risky, and that perfection felt safer. We’re rewarded for getting things right, not for experimenting. For being prepared, not for seeing what happens when we try. For polishing our work, not for risking visible missteps.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot as I prepare to talk about my book more publicly.

Because there’s a part of me that still knows how to shrink. To name the reasonable version of a goal instead of the real one. To protect myself by not reaching too far, too visibly.

And there’s another part of me- one that is a little older, steadier, a little braver- that knows this book was never about being palatable.

So I’m saying a big goal out loud.

I want Ambitious Mother to hit the USA Today Bestseller list.

Even writing that sentence makes my chest tighten.

Not because a list defines the value of the book — it doesn’t — but because naming it means letting a few uncomfortable things be true at once.

I might not get there.

I might fail publicly.

I might wish I’d kept this to myself so I could pretend I didn’t want it.

And still — I’m saying it.

Because there’s something important about naming what we want without immediately disqualifying ourselves. About choosing bravery over perfection. About naming our desire without questioning whether we “deserve” it.

What the research shows

Psychology and organizational science have spent decades studying what happens when people set very ambitious goals — the kind that stretch us beyond what feels safe or guaranteed.

​Stretch goals and learning​
​Research on “stretch goals” shows that while extremely ambitious goals don’t always lead to immediate success, they reliably increase learning, adaptability, and long-term growth — especially when setbacks are treated as information rather than evidence of incompetence. In their analysis, Sitkin and colleagues describe this as a paradox: big goals can expand capacity over time, even when the outcome isn’t a clean win.
​Simple takeaway: Big goals aren’t reckless. They’re generative — as long as failure isn’t moralized.

​How we interpret failure matters more than failure itself​
​Research on mindset, including Carol Dweck’s work, shows that people who interpret setbacks as part of a learning process are more likely to persist and improve over time. When setbacks are interpreted as proof of limited ability or poor judgment, people are more likely to disengage or quietly shrink their goals.
​Simple takeaway: The real risk isn’t falling short. It’s deciding that falling short means you never should have wanted it in the first place.

Taken together, this research points to something we rarely say out loud: naming a big goal isn’t the dangerous part. Turning outcomes into identity verdicts is.

This is the heart of healthy striving — allowing ambition to be about learning and alignment, not proof or perfection.

The practical part of the goal: Why I’m talking about pre-orders

On a practical level, pre-orders aren’t just an early version of buying the book. They’re how books get traction in a crowded system.

Pre-orders are one of the main signals publishers, bookstores, and media outlets look at to decide how much attention a book gets before it’s even released. Strong pre-orders influence how many copies bookstores stock, whether a book gets featured or displayed, and how much support the publisher puts behind it.

Pre-orders also count toward first-week sales, which is how lists like USA Today are determined. That early concentration of support is often what makes the difference between a book quietly existing — and a book actually being seen.

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But on a personal level, this is also me practicing what I write about.

I can’t do this alone.

If this goal is going to be possible, it will be because I’m willing to ask for help — and let people decide whether they want to offer it. To share the book. Talk about it. Buy it early if it resonates.

That, too, is part of healthy striving.

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A practice to try this week

This week, I invite you to try a small reframe — not with achievement, but with meaning.

Take five minutes and write about a goal you’ve hesitated to name fully. Then ask yourself:

• If this goal were a learning experiment, not a test of my worth, what would change?
• What might this goal teach me — even if the outcome isn’t what I hope?
• What becomes possible when failure isn’t something to be embarrassed by, but something to learn from?

You don’t have to act on the answers. Just notice what it feels like to tell yourself the truth without immediately correcting it.

Because wanting something big isn’t naïve.
And choosing bravery over perfection is a skill — one we can practice.

If you’d like to support the book, Ambitious Mother comes out August 6, 2026. Pre-orders genuinely make a difference, especially this early. You can pre-order here or at any online seller you’d like!

And if not, I’m still grateful you’re here — reading, reflecting, and staying in a conversation about ambition that makes room for courage, learning, and humanity.

With care,
Anne

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