Don't focus on the negativity. Focus on the positivity and the

Host: The night was thick with humidity and anticipation, the kind that clings to the air before a thunderstorm or a boxing match. Inside a dimly lit gym, the rhythmic thud of punching bags echoed like a heartbeat — heavy, determined, relentless. The floor smelled of sweat and rubber, the mirrors fogged with the ghosts of effort.

At the center, under a single flickering light, Jack sat on a wooden bench, wrapping his hands with the slow precision of a soldier preparing for war. His shirt was soaked through, his breath shallow but steady.

Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the ropes of the ring, her hair tied back, her eyes sharp and calm — the eyes of someone who believed in the fight, not the fame.

Jeeny: “Roman Reigns once said, ‘Don’t focus on the negativity. Focus on the positivity and the people that want you to do well; then, do it for them and for yourself. Sometimes I do things for myself. Sometimes I do things for my family. Sometimes I do things for my friends.’”

Jack: (snorts, pulling the wrap tighter around his knuckles) “Sounds like something you tell yourself before walking into a storm. But words don’t stop punches, Jeeny.”

Host: The light above them buzzed faintly, a halo of grit above their shadows. In the distance, a faint roll of thunder trembled through the city.

Jeeny: “He’s not talking about words, Jack. He’s talking about perspective. About choosing where to look when the world’s shouting at you.”

Jack: “Perspective doesn’t change reality. You can stare at the bright side all you want — it doesn’t stop the darkness from being there.”

Jeeny: (stepping into the ring) “No. But it decides whether the darkness owns you. That’s what he means. Negativity is noise — it feeds on attention. You focus on it, you lose. You turn away, you win.”

Jack: (grinning) “Spoken like someone who’s never been booed by fifty thousand people.”

Jeeny: “No. Spoken like someone who understands that applause fades too. That’s why he said, do it for them, and for yourself. Not for the crowd — for the circle of people who matter. For the family, for the friends, for the self that refuses to break.”

Host: Jack looked up at her — the glint of challenge in his eyes softened by exhaustion. He stood, cracking his knuckles, the wraps now tight and white against his skin.

Jack: “So, positivity as armor?”

Jeeny: “As fuel. Negativity burns you out. Positivity builds you. Look at Reigns — he was hated before he was loved. He learned to carry both. That’s strength — not ignoring the hate, but rising above it.”

Jack: “You think I could just... ignore everything that went wrong? All the people who doubted me?”

Jeeny: “No. You remember them — but you don’t let them define you. You use them to sharpen your will, not poison your peace.”

Host: The rain began outside — slow, steady, patient. Each drop hit the metal roof with a sound like applause turned inward.

Jack: “You talk about peace like it’s easy. You’ve never had the world tell you you’re not enough.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Haven’t I?”

Host: The air changed. Jeeny stepped closer, the sound of her boots echoing against the floor. Her voice was steady, but something inside it trembled — the echo of her own battles.

Jeeny: “I’ve had people tell me I’m too emotional. Too fragile. Too idealistic. Every time I tried to build something beautiful, they tore it down — and smiled while doing it. But I learned something. You don’t win by fighting them. You win by outlasting them. By living in a way that makes their noise irrelevant.”

Jack: (softly) “And you think that’s enough?”

Jeeny: “It’s everything. Because one day, the only voices left are the ones that love you — and the one inside you that says, ‘You kept going.’”

Host: The storm outside grew louder now — lightning flashing through the high windows, illuminating their faces in brief, electric intervals.

Jack: (pacing slowly) “So you think that’s what he meant — Roman Reigns, the superstar, the spectacle? You think he really does it for family? For friends?”

Jeeny: “I do. He comes from a wrestling dynasty — generations of warriors. When he steps into that ring, he carries them all. It’s not performance; it’s heritage. Every time he fights, it’s for his bloodline — for the people who built him.”

Jack: “And for himself.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because if you lose yourself, even victory feels hollow.”

Host: A bolt of lightning split the sky outside. For a moment, the light caught the sweat on Jack’s face, turning it to silver. He looked down at his wrapped hands, then up at Jeeny.

Jack: “You ever notice how hard it is to fight for yourself? Fighting for others feels noble. Fighting for your own worth — that just feels selfish.”

Jeeny: “It’s not selfish, Jack. It’s sacred. You can’t lift anyone else if you’re broken.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You always turn the arena into a sermon.”

Jeeny: “Because every fight is a prayer if you know why you’re swinging.”

Host: The thunder rolled again — deeper this time, closer. Jack climbed into the ring, standing opposite her. The world outside dissolved into shadow and rain, leaving only the faint hum of fluorescent light above them.

Jack: “You know, maybe that’s what I’ve been missing — the ‘why.’ I’ve been so focused on proving them wrong, I forgot what it feels like to prove myself right.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Then that’s where you begin. Not in defiance, but in direction.”

Jack: “And if the noise comes back?”

Jeeny: “It will. But by then, you’ll be too focused on the light to hear it.”

Host: The rain softened, turning rhythmic again — the pulse of a calmer world. Jack leaned back against the ropes, eyes lifted toward the ceiling, breath slowing.

Jack: “You know, Reigns went through leukemia twice. Came back stronger both times. Maybe that’s why he talks about positivity — because he’s seen how quickly the lights can go out.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. He’s not telling people to ignore pain. He’s telling them to rise in spite of it. That’s the function of positivity — not denial, but defiance with grace.”

Host: The lights flickered again, casting long shadows across the ring. In that moment, the space didn’t feel like a gym — it felt like a chapel of struggle, where faith was built on endurance, and worship meant not giving up.

Jack: “So… do it for them. Do it for yourself.”

Jeeny: “And never forget why you started.”

Host: Jack extended his gloved hand toward her. Jeeny took it, firm and sure. Between them, a quiet understanding passed — that life’s fight wasn’t against the world, but against surrender.

Host: The camera rose slowly, capturing the ring from above — two figures standing amid shadow and light, surrounded by echoes of rain and resolve.

Host: “And as the thunder faded,” the world seemed to whisper, “they understood Roman Reigns’ truth — that strength is not measured by silence or scars, but by what you choose to rise for. And when you rise for love, for purpose, for yourself — that’s when the fight becomes freedom.”