Failure is what we're all running from, we're always running

Host: The wind howled across the empty train platform, carrying the smell of cold iron and damp concrete. A single fluorescent light flickered overhead, washing the night in tired yellow. Somewhere beyond the tracks, the city breathed — slow, restless, unkind.

Jack stood near the edge, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, the smoke twisting like thought. His gray eyes reflected the dull gleam of a distant signal light. Jeeny sat on a bench nearby, her hands tucked into the pockets of her old coat, her breath visible in the cold.

A train horn wailed faintly in the distance — a reminder of movement, of destinations, of everything and everyone always in motion.

Jeeny: “Natalie Goldberg once said, ‘Failure is what we’re all running from. We’re always running toward success with failure at our back.’”
(She looked up, the words hanging in the chill air.)
“Do you feel that, Jack? That quiet panic — the one that chases you even when you’re standing still?”

Jack: (Exhaling a thin line of smoke.) “No. I don’t run from failure, Jeeny. I walk with it. It’s the only honest companion I’ve ever had.”

Jeeny: (Smiling faintly.) “That’s poetic for someone who doesn’t believe in poetry.”

Jack: “It’s not poetry, it’s realism. Success is a mirage. You chase it long enough, and you realize it only exists in comparison — to the failures behind you. The moment you catch it, it vanishes.”

Jeeny: “So you think failure defines us?”

Jack: “I think it builds us. Every promotion, every relationship, every dream — they’re all driven by fear. Fear of falling. Fear of being forgotten. Even love sometimes — it’s just a way to outrun loneliness.”

Host: The train rumbled faintly somewhere down the line, its distant sound like the echo of an approaching confession. Jeeny watched the light shift across Jack’s face, catching the sharp lines of weariness there.

Jeeny: “But doesn’t that mean we’re living backwards? If all we do is run from something, not toward something? That’s not living, Jack — that’s survival.”

Jack: “Survival is living. You think evolution happened because creatures wanted to chase dreams? No. They just didn’t want to die.”

Jeeny: (Leaning forward.) “But we’re not lizards on a rock anymore. We’re human. We can want more. We can run toward something without letting fear drive the engine.”

Jack: “You say that like fear’s optional. It’s not. Fear is what keeps the heart beating. It’s what gets you out of bed. If failure wasn’t chasing you, you’d still be sleeping through your potential.”

Host: A gust of wind tore through the station, scattering old newspapers across the ground — headlines of forgotten victories, forgotten losses. One page caught against Jeeny’s shoe: “Local Entrepreneur Fails After Promising Start.” She stared at it for a moment, then looked back at Jack.

Jeeny: “That’s just it. We glorify success so much that failure becomes shame. But failure isn’t the villain, Jack. It’s the teacher. The quiet, brutal one that doesn’t give you trophies — but gives you truth.”

Jack: (Flicking ash onto the tracks.) “Teachers don’t chase you, Jeeny. They stand still and wait. Failure doesn’t teach until it’s caught you — until it’s bitten you.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s when you learn. When it’s behind you, it’s fear. When it’s beneath you, it’s wisdom.”

Host: The train drew closer now — a low roar, a faint trembling through the platform. The air smelled of metal and electricity.

Jack: “You make it sound noble. But failure destroys more people than it teaches. You know what I’ve seen? Men drink themselves to death because their startups failed. Artists burn their canvases because no one cared. You call that wisdom? I call it extinction.”

Jeeny: (Softly.) “And yet you’re still here, talking about them. Maybe their pain became someone else’s courage. Maybe their collapse became another person’s path.”

Jack: (Bitterly.) “So failure’s a charity now?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s an inheritance. We inherit the lessons of those who fell before us — that’s how we evolve. You think Goldberg was talking about fear like it was poison. But maybe she meant it’s the shadow we need to stay aware of the light.”

Host: The train lights appeared in the distance, two orbs cutting through the dark — relentless, approaching. Jack stared into them as though staring down time itself.

Jack: “You really think we need failure? That it’s good for us?”

Jeeny: “I don’t think we can live without it. Failure humbles us. It forces us to face the parts of ourselves we hide. Success hides flaws — failure reveals them.”

Jack: (Quietly, almost to himself.) “I failed once. Big. Lost my job. Lost my partner. Thought the world was over. I packed a bag, left town, didn’t tell anyone where I went. For months I lived in motels, pretending to be someone else. Thought I was escaping failure, but really — it was following me everywhere, wearing my own face.”

Jeeny: (Her voice gentled.) “And what brought you back?”

Jack: “A letter. From my old editor. He said, ‘You were better when you failed.’ He meant it as an insult. But he was right. My writing had truth when I had nothing to lose. Failure stripped the filters off.”

Host: The train thundered past, a blur of light and motion, shaking the air. The wind lifted Jeeny’s hair, catching the scent of coffee and rain. When the train was gone, only silence remained — a heavy, cleansing silence.

Jeeny: “Then maybe failure isn’t behind you anymore, Jack. Maybe it’s beside you — walking with you. Like an old friend who reminds you not to lie to yourself.”

Jack: (Looking up, his tone quieter now.) “You make it sound like mercy.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe failure isn’t chasing us to destroy us — maybe it’s chasing us to keep us honest. To make sure we don’t confuse comfort with growth.”

Host: The fog drifted through the station now, curling between them like unspoken forgiveness. The light above flickered once more, then steadied.

Jack crushed the cigarette under his heel, his eyes distant but soft.

Jack: “So we keep running, then — not to escape failure, but to stay aware of it.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because the day you stop running, you stop learning.”

Host: The next train approached — slower this time, quieter — as if the world itself was exhaling. Jeeny stood, pulling her scarf tight around her neck, the color deep against the gray of the morning.

Jack rose beside her, the two of them outlined by the dull glow of the coming dawn.

Jeeny: “Failure doesn’t end us, Jack. It reminds us we’re still in motion.”

Jack: (A small, tired smile.) “Then maybe the point isn’t outrunning it — it’s learning to run with it.”

Host: The doors of the train opened with a sigh, and they stepped inside — two silhouettes carried forward by the endless rhythm of movement. The station emptied, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the faint hum of the departing train.

Outside, the first hint of sunlight bled through the fog — pale, persistent, alive.

And in that fragile light, failure no longer looked like a shadow at all — but like a companion, keeping pace.