Most trouble with AI is not the AI. It is a handful of ordinary-looking moments that almost everyone walks into, in roughly the same order, in their first few hours. Each one below names the moment, tells you what to do in it, and says what you get in return.
You hand over a spreadsheet of client contacts and ask it to tidy the phone-number column. Back comes the whole sheet, rewritten, with two columns you never mentioned now in a different order. The version you had is gone. Nothing warned you, and the save reported success.
Opening a file to write into it empties the file first, before a single character goes in. If the writing then stops halfway, through a crash or a full disk, you are left holding an empty file instead of your old one.
From the outside an empty file and a saved file look identical. You find out when you open it, which is usually much later. A delete run from a command line has no recycle bin behind it either.
Pick one above.
Not caution. Room. Once the original is safe you can ask for the ambitious version, the one you would never risk on your only copy. Most people ask small because they are frightened of the file, and small is what they get back.