Companies such as Microsoft, Cisco and Intel were just starting

Host: The city was drowning in neon light. It was close to midnight, and the skyline of glass towers flickered like electric dreams, each window a silent code of ambition and fatigue. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened — every puddle reflecting a thousand restless lights.

Inside a 24-hour diner overlooking the financial district, Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other in a red booth cracked by time. The coffee steamed between them, untouched. The television above the counter played a muted business report, flashing headlines about AI start-ups, stock surges, and layoffs.

Jerry Yang’s quote — “Companies such as Microsoft, Cisco and Intel were just starting at their 10-year anniversary” — had just appeared on screen before the anchor faded into the next segment.

Jeeny leaned forward, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, her eyes catching the flicker of screens outside the window.

Jeeny: “You hear that, Jack? Ten years. They were still starting at ten years. Everyone acts like success is a sprint. But it’s not. It’s a lifetime marathon — half failure, half faith.”

Jack: “Faith? No, Jeeny. It’s infrastructure. Microsoft didn’t grow on faith — it grew on systems, decisions, cold logic. People love to romanticize the grind, but what built those companies wasn’t hope. It was ruthless focus.”

Jeeny: “Ruthless maybe. But focus is emotional too. You can’t build anything great without some part of you believing it matters. Otherwise, it’s just code and profit margins.”

Jack: “Profit margins are what keep people employed. You think idealism pays rent?”

Jeeny: “I think meaning does. Eventually.”

Host: A truck rolled past outside, spraying up a thin mist of streetwater that splashed against the diner’s window. The light from passing cars shimmered over Jeeny’s face, washing her in shades of blue and amber. Jack sat back, his arms crossed, the corners of his mouth curving in that half-skeptical smile he wore like armor.

Jack: “You always want to believe that purpose runs the world. But it’s strategy, not sentiment, that changes history. Microsoft didn’t build an empire by dreaming — they built it by executing.”

Jeeny: “Execution without meaning is just machinery. You’re confusing survival with creation.”

Jack: “You think Bill Gates was chasing meaning when he built Windows? He was chasing market share. He saw a void, and he filled it. Same with Cisco — they saw the network coming before anyone else did. That’s not idealism, that’s vision rooted in data.”

Jeeny: “And what is vision if not belief in something unseen? You call it data. I call it faith.”

Host: The waitress, a tired woman with smudged eyeliner, refilled their coffee without a word. The diner buzzed faintly — the hum of the refrigerator, the low static of the television, the occasional clink of dishes.

Jeeny: “You know, Jerry Yang built Yahoo from a trailer at Stanford. He didn’t have a plan for dominance. He just wanted to make something people could use to find their way in the chaos of the internet. He created direction. That’s not capitalism, Jack. That’s contribution.”

Jack: “And look how that ended. Yahoo became the cautionary tale. You can be early, visionary, even kind — and still lose. The market doesn’t care about your ideals. It only rewards endurance.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Endurance. That’s the point of what he said — ten years in, they were still starting. The great ones keep beginning. They don’t stop evolving just because they’ve arrived.”

Jack: “Or they keep fighting because they’re terrified of irrelevance.”

Jeeny: “Fear or faith — does it matter if it keeps them alive?”

Host: Jack leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, the reflection of the neon sign outside glimmering across his grey eyes.

Jack: “You know what the real lesson is? Momentum. Every company, every person, needs it. Once it dies, the world moves on without you. Microsoft, Cisco, Intel — they survived because they refused to stall. Ten years in, they were hungry. Not hopeful. Hungry.”

Jeeny: “Hunger without purpose consumes itself. I’ve seen too many people grind themselves into ghosts chasing progress with no soul. There’s got to be more than just motion.”

Jack: “Maybe motion is the meaning. We’re not built to arrive, Jeeny. We’re built to move — to stay one step ahead of time. If you stop, you rot.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the art is in moving with heart, not just speed.”

Jack: “Heart slows you down.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Heart gives you direction.”

Host: A brief silence followed. The only sound was the gentle hiss of the coffee machine and the drizzle beginning again outside. Jeeny’s eyes softened as she looked out the window, watching a delivery boy on a bicycle ride through the rain, the light from his phone glowing like a tiny lighthouse.

Jeeny: “Do you ever wonder what those early days felt like for them? Gates, Morgridge, Grove… Ten years of work, and they were still trying to prove themselves. That’s not greed. That’s belief — the kind that survives failure.”

Jack: “Belief is fine until it blinds you. Look at Intel in the '90s — they almost missed the shift to mobile because they believed too much in their legacy. Belief is dangerous when it replaces adaptability.”

Jeeny: “But adaptability is belief — in change, in growth, in the idea that today’s failure could be tomorrow’s breakthrough.”

Jack: “You talk like a philosopher in a tech world that eats its dreamers alive.”

Jeeny: “And you talk like a cynic who’s afraid of the word hope.”

Host: The tension between them cracked like static. Jack’s jaw tightened. Jeeny’s eyes flashed with quiet fire. Outside, the rain intensified, streaking the window in trembling lines of light.

Jack: “You think I’m afraid of hope?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it makes you vulnerable. And you’d rather be right than alive.”

Jack: “Hope doesn’t pay for failure.”

Jeeny: “No, but it pays for trying again.”

Host: Her voice trembled, not from anger, but from conviction. There was a long pause — the kind where both realize the truth has shifted the room.

Jack stared down at his hands. His cigarette had burned out without him noticing. The ash clung to the edge of the tray like snow on iron.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? Every time someone quotes guys like Yang or Gates, they forget that success was never secure for them either. They were scared too. Maybe that’s what keeps you going — not belief, not even hunger, but fear disguised as progress.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe fear and faith are two sides of the same engine.”

Jack: “You always have a poetic answer.”

Jeeny: “Because life is messy. Even in business. Especially in business.”

Host: The clock above the counter ticked toward 1 a.m. The diner was empty now except for them and the faint hum of a freezer somewhere behind the wall. The rain had turned into mist again, soft and whispering.

Jeeny looked at Jack, her voice gentle now.

Jeeny: “What if Yang meant something else, Jack? What if he was saying that success takes time — not just to build, but to understand. That even after ten years, you’re still becoming. Maybe that’s not about companies. Maybe that’s about people like us.”

Jack: “Still becoming?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Still starting, even when you think you’ve arrived. Maybe life doesn’t have a finish line — only anniversaries of how far we’ve come.”

Jack: “So you think we’re all start-ups?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Except the product is who we’re becoming.”

Host: Jack let out a quiet laugh — the kind that carried both surrender and recognition.

Jack: “That’s… not bad, Jeeny. I’ll give you that.”

Jeeny smiled, her eyes soft but alive.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack? Even cynics can pivot.”

Jack: “Yeah, well… maybe the ten-year mark’s where the cynics finally start.”

Host: The two of them sat there as the rain faded to nothing, the city beyond them alive with digital constellations — screens, towers, circuits, the quiet pulse of innovation.

And in that small diner, between the hum of machines and the whisper of rain, two souls — one logical, one luminous — found themselves speaking the same language at last.

Because maybe, just maybe, Jerry Yang had been right all along:

Even after ten years — even after all the noise and the doubt — you’re still only just beginning.

And that, perhaps, is what makes the journey worth living.