There is limit to everything.
When do we decide a room is too big or too small to be a bedroom? Where is the border? Is 1 x 2 meters too small, and 20 x 20 meters too big?
Before we are born, a baby is roughly 400–500 mm long inside the womb, living in water. That is the first limit known to us. Then, after we are born, we grow. From baby to adult, our limits expand. What used to feel like a massive door back then, we now realize is just a 900 x 2000 mm door. Yet still, there is a limit to everything.
There is a limit to how much you can eat in a day, how much water you can drink, how many hour you can sleep, how much weight you can lift, how much oxygen your lungs can hold, and how fast your eyes can blink.
A client with 100 m² of land and a client with 2,000 m² of land each have their own limits. A 1 billion budget for a house feels different depending on the context: if the limit is 60 m², it is abundance; if it is for 200 m², it is not enough. There is also a limit to how programmatic spatial relationships can be arranged within a given area—though the space is finite, there are still many ways to tailor it.
With one head, one body, two hands, two feet, and twenty fingers we have, there is a limit to how many luxurious things we can wear and feel—because our bodies themselves are limited.
To know the limit is the first step; it humbles you. But to know that a limit can grow is the next exciting thing. There are two characteristics of limits I recognize: first, the fixed limit—things like fate and death; second, the developed limit—limits that can be expanded, like how far you can run or how efficiently you can work, things that require discipline and time to train and push.
Limits are a characteristic of being mortal, as God alone possesses an unlimited nature.
As we are all only mortal,
There is a limit to everything.
Even the unlimited is limited by our own imagination.