I don't lose any sleep at night over the potential for failure. I

Host: The night was carved in steel and silence. A distant city skyline burned against the horizon, its lights flickering like battle scars on the dark. Inside an empty hangar, the echo of footsteps bounced off concrete walls — slow, deliberate, unwavering.

A single bulb swung above a metal table, spilling harsh white light across two figures: Jack, sitting with his arms crossed, and Jeeny, standing by the window, her reflection fractured by raindrops. Outside, thunder murmured like the distant growl of a sleeping god.

Jeeny: “Jim Mattis once said, ‘I don’t lose any sleep at night over the potential for failure. I cannot even spell the word.’”

Jack: “Sounds like the kind of thing only a general can say — or a fool.”

Host: The bulb swayed, its light flickering across Jack’s face, cutting hard shadows into the planes of his jaw. His eyes were sharp, gray, cold — the kind that had seen too much of the world’s disappointments.

Jeeny: “Or maybe someone who’s made peace with fear.”

Jack: “Peace with fear? No. That’s bravado. You don’t conquer fear by pretending it doesn’t exist. You conquer it by feeling it and walking through it. That line — it’s theater.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But sometimes theater is what saves you. Mattis wasn’t talking about arrogance; he was talking about discipline. About choice. You decide not to lose sleep. You decide to move forward.”

Jack: “That’s easy to say when you’re leading soldiers. Harder when you’re leading yourself.”

Host: The rain picked up, slapping against the windows in rhythmic defiance. The sound filled the space — a storm’s heartbeat. Jeeny turned, her silhouette outlined by the city’s pulse.

Jeeny: “You talk like failure’s a friend you keep close.”

Jack: “Maybe it is. At least it tells you the truth.”

Jeeny: “No — it tells you where you stopped believing.”

Jack: “You think belief keeps planes in the air? Or wins battles? No, Jeeny. Reality does. Planning does. Fear of failure keeps you sharp — it’s the only reason people survive.”

Jeeny: “Fear might keep you alive, but it doesn’t help you live. You know that, Jack. You wear it like armor — but armor rusts if you never take it off.”

Host: Lightning flashed — for a heartbeat, both faces were bathed in white, their eyes fierce, unyielding, yet full of the ache of understanding.

Jack: “You think Mattis never felt fear? He just refused to let it define him. But that’s not the same as pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Jeeny: “He didn’t deny fear — he denied its dominion. That’s different. You keep mistaking courage for absence of fear, when it’s really defiance in spite of it.”

Jack: “Defiance sounds poetic until the bullets start flying.”

Jeeny: “Tell that to him. He led Marines into chaos, Jack — and he still said he couldn’t spell failure. That’s not delusion. That’s clarity. It’s what happens when you’ve faced enough darkness to stop letting it whisper your name.”

Host: The thunder cracked, shaking the air. Jack leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice lower now, more weary than sharp.

Jack: “You really believe it’s that simple? That you can just decide not to fail?”

Jeeny: “No. But you can decide not to fear it. Failure’s a shadow — it grows when you stare at it too long. But turn toward the light, and it fades.”

Jack: “You always talk like light is some eternal thing. What if it’s gone?”

Jeeny: “Then you become it.”

Host: Her words hung there — heavy, electric, alive. Jack’s fingers tightened around his mug. Steam curled between them like the ghost of old battles.

Jack: “You ever failed, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Dozens of times.”

Jack: “And you still talk like this?”

Jeeny: “Because failure isn’t a wound; it’s a direction. Every time I fell, I found a better way to rise. You see failure as a wall. I see it as a compass.”

Jack: “Compass doesn’t mean much when you’re standing in the wreckage.”

Jeeny: “That’s where it means the most. When everything’s broken, the only thing left to guide you is what you still believe.”

Host: The rain softened, turning to mist. The light bulb stilled, no longer swinging — as though the room itself were listening.

Jack: “You know... I used to believe like that. Once. Back when I thought nothing could break me. I said the same words — no fear, no failure. But when things collapsed — when the project fell apart, when everyone left — I realized I’d been bluffing. I was only pretending to be fearless.”

Jeeny: “That’s where you went wrong. You tried to be fearless instead of faithful.”

Jack: “Faith? You think faith keeps you from breaking?”

Jeeny: “No. It helps you break better. With purpose. With dignity. Fearlessness isn’t never falling — it’s falling with your eyes open.”

Host: The room glowed faintly from the neon outside — blue, cold, cinematic. Jack leaned back, the tension easing from his shoulders, replaced by reflection.

Jack: “You make it sound noble.”

Jeeny: “Not noble — necessary. We spend half our lives running from failure when we should be learning its language. Mattis wasn’t boasting; he was rewriting the definition. ‘I cannot even spell the word’ — because he replaced it with something else.”

Jack: “And what’s that?”

Jeeny: “Learning.”

Host: The word hung between them like a spark — small, but enough to light the dark.

Jack: “You know, I envy that kind of clarity. To stand before chaos and not flinch.”

Jeeny: “You don’t need envy, Jack. You just need a choice. Fear or focus. That’s all it ever is.”

Jack: “And what if focus fails you?”

Jeeny: “Then you rebuild it. You learn from the ashes. That’s what soldiers do. That’s what survivors do.”

Host: The rain stopped. The air was heavy with that after-storm stillness — that rare moment when even silence seems to breathe.

Jeeny stepped closer, placing her hand gently on the table. “Maybe the reason you can’t spell failure,” she said softly, “is because every time you write it, you find a way to cross it out.”

Jack looked up at her, something unspoken moving behind his eyes — the memory of resilience, the ghost of belief returning.

Jack: “You always make war sound like redemption.”

Jeeny: “It can be — if the enemy is fear.”

Host: A faint smile flickered at the corner of Jack’s mouth — not triumph, not arrogance, just quiet understanding. He reached for his coat, stood, and looked toward the open hangar doors, where the city lights shimmered in puddles below.

Jack: “You know... maybe I can’t spell failure either. But I’ve sure learned how to pronounce it — and move past it.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve already won.”

Host: The storm clouds parted, and the moon broke through, silver and cold, spilling its light across the hangar floor. It fell between them like a silent truce — a promise that no defeat is final, no darkness absolute.

Jack walked toward the open doors. Jeeny stayed behind, watching as he disappeared into the pale glow of the streetlights, his shadow long, steady, defiant.

And in the echo of his footsteps, the night whispered the same truth Mattis lived by:

That failure is only a word —
and words mean nothing to those who have learned how to fight without fear.

Fade out.