Being a consultant is like flying first-class. The food is

Host: The city skyline shimmered outside the tall office windows, each building glowing with the restless light of late ambition. Inside, the conference room was still — long after most of the staff had gone home. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet, mingling with the smell of strong coffee and printed paper.

Host: Jack stood by the whiteboard, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, the faint fatigue of leadership etched into his posture. Across from him, Jeeny sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed, her eyes thoughtful and alive. The remnants of a long day surrounded them — scattered notebooks, half-empty cups, and a projection slide frozen on the words: “Strategic Advisory Proposal — Phase 3.”

Host: It was late. The kind of hour when truth sneaks past professionalism.

Jeeny: (with a faint smile) “Greg Brenneman once said, ‘Being a consultant is like flying first-class. The food is terrific, the drinks are cold. But all you can do is walk up to the pilot and say, “bank left.” If you’re in management, you have the controls.’”

Jack: (smirking) “Ah, Brenneman. The man who turned around Continental Airlines with a sentence. ‘Bank left,’ indeed.”

Jeeny: “He wasn’t wrong though. Consultants get comfort; leaders get consequence.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “And consequence weighs more than champagne ever will.”

Host: The city lights reflected in the window, flickering across Jack’s face — a mosaic of reflection and fatigue. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the empty screen.

Jack: “You know, there’s a strange cruelty in consulting. You can see the problem, articulate the solution, even model the future — but you don’t get to touch the controls.”

Jeeny: “That’s because control comes with risk. Comfort doesn’t.”

Jack: “Yeah. Consultants sell ideas; managers bet lives on them.”

Jeeny: “And sometimes managers wish they could trade places.”

Jack: (laughs) “You mean, sit back in first-class, give advice, collect applause, and never crash the plane?”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: A long pause. The sound of the city faintly breathing through the glass.

Jack: “You’ve been on both sides, haven’t you? Consultant, then management.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Consulting felt like theory — elegant, safe, detached. Management felt like war — messy, personal, unavoidable.”

Jack: “And which one made you feel alive?”

Jeeny: “Management. Every scar has more truth than a thousand PowerPoint slides.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly, the kind of smile that hides respect behind humor.

Jack: “You know what the irony is? Most consultants want to be leaders. But most leaders crave the certainty consultants pretend to have.”

Jeeny: “Pretend?”

Jack: “Come on, Jeeny. You know what I mean. Every consultant’s confidence is built on hindsight, on models and best practices. But out there—” (he gestures to the window) “—out there, the world doesn’t read case studies before it hits you.”

Jeeny: (softly) “No. It hits you first and asks questions later.”

Host: The faint click of the wall clock echoed through the still room. The glow from the monitors painted their faces in quiet contradiction — clarity and weariness, the twin currencies of people who live by decisions.

Jack: “You ever miss the consultant life?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. I miss the neatness of it. The control of analysis without consequence. You get to sound smart without being haunted by your own recommendations.”

Jack: “Haunted?”

Jeeny: “You know what I mean. When you’re in management, you don’t just build plans — you live their fallout.”

Jack: “Yeah.” (pauses) “You inherit both the victories and the guilt.”

Host: Jack turned toward the whiteboard, staring at the half-finished diagram: arrows, boxes, acronyms — architecture without heartbeat.

Jeeny: “You know, Brenneman was clever. He compared consulting to flying first-class because it looks glamorous — comfortable, exclusive. But he knew it’s also powerless. You can’t change altitude from seat 2A.”

Jack: “Exactly. Management is cockpit work — turbulence, alarms, real-time chaos.”

Jeeny: “And the controls don’t forgive you when you’re wrong.”

Jack: “They don’t even warn you.”

Host: The silence deepened again, filled with the quiet hum of consequence.

Jeeny: “Do you ever regret taking the pilot’s seat?”

Jack: “Every day I don’t crash.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And yet, you keep flying.”

Jack: “Because once you’ve touched the controls, you can’t go back to commentary.”

Jeeny: “That’s the curse of leadership. You lose the luxury of detachment.”

Jack: “And the privilege of pretending your words don’t cost anyone anything.”

Host: He walked over to the window, staring at the reflection of the city below — the endless rhythm of light and movement, as if every office and apartment were its own cockpit, piloting some version of survival.

Jack: “You know, I’ve had consultants tell me what my company should do like they’re reading off a manual. But they never look you in the eye when the numbers go south.”

Jeeny: “That’s because they can’t. They’re not allowed to feel the turbulence.”

Jack: “So maybe the real difference between consulting and management isn’t power — it’s accountability.”

Jeeny: “And courage. It takes courage to fly, knowing you can fall.”

Host: The reflection of Jeeny’s face joined his in the glass — her eyes steady, her voice soft but deliberate.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Brenneman’s quote isn’t just about work. It’s about life. Most people live like consultants — giving advice, analyzing others, but never taking the wheel themselves.”

Jack: “You mean they’d rather be comfortable than responsible.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s safer to suggest than to steer.”

Jack: (quietly) “But the view’s better from the cockpit.”

Jeeny: “Only if you can handle the clouds.”

Host: The camera lingered — the two of them silhouetted against the glowing city, the world outside vast and indifferent. Inside, their conversation glowed like truth shared in exhaustion — quiet, human, and earned.

Host: Jack turned back, his voice softer now, not as a manager, but as a man who’d made peace with the weight he carried.

Jack: “Maybe the real lesson is this — every first-class seat eventually lands. But when you’re flying, you decide where.”

Jeeny: “And that’s worth every bump.”

Host: The hum of the city filled the room again, steady and endless. The monitors dimmed. The night outside seemed to nod in agreement.

Host: And in that still moment, Greg Brenneman’s words echoed not as corporate wisdom, but as something elemental — a truth about agency, courage, and the cost of command:

Host: “Being a consultant is like flying first-class. The food is terrific, the drinks are cold. But all you can do is walk up to the pilot and say, ‘bank left.’ If you’re in management, you have the controls.”

Host: Because advice is easy.
Control is hard.
And the real test of leadership isn’t knowing where to go —
it’s having the nerve
to take the wheel
when no one else will.