I rate enthusiasm even above professional skill.

Host: The afternoon sun leaned lazily through the office window, casting long, gold streaks across the cluttered conference table. Papers lay scattered like fallen leaves—drafts, designs, half-finished plans, and half-drunk coffees. The faint hum of a distant printer underscored the room’s tension, as if even the machines were tired.

Jack stood near the window, sleeves rolled up, his grey eyes sharp with that blend of logic and fatigue that came from years of experience. Across from him, Jeeny sat on the table’s edge, her brown eyes bright and alive, her voice full of warmth that refused to yield to the sterile hum of corporate air.

Host: They had just come from a meeting—the kind filled with PowerPoints, polite silences, and bruised egos. And the quote that lingered in the air like an aftertaste was Edward Appleton’s:
“I rate enthusiasm even above professional skill.”

Jack: (half-scoffing) “Enthusiasm above skill. That’s a dangerous philosophy. Try telling that to a surgeon holding a scalpel or an engineer building a bridge. The world doesn’t run on enthusiasm—it runs on competence.”

Jeeny: (smiling gently) “And yet, Jack, without enthusiasm, there’d be no reason to pick up the scalpel or build the bridge in the first place. Skill builds the world, yes—but enthusiasm gives it color.”

Host: A small beam of light caught the dust in the air, turning it to gold. The faint buzz of the fluorescent light hummed over them like an uninvited mediator.

Jack: “Color’s a luxury. Function comes first. You can’t inspire your way out of inexperience. I’ve seen too many people think passion can substitute for ability—it can’t. Appleton’s quote sounds noble, but it’s naïve.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you’re thinking of passion as chaos. But real enthusiasm isn’t blind—it’s the spark that keeps you learning long after skill grows complacent. Think of Marie Curie, Edison, even Appleton himself. None of them were just experts—they were obsessed. Obsessed enough to keep going when logic said to stop.”

Jack: (crossing his arms) “Obsession’s a kind of madness. And it kills just as many dreams as it builds. You’re romanticizing the fuel, not the fire.”

Jeeny: “And you’re underestimating how cold precision can become without warmth. Skill without enthusiasm is like a body without a pulse. Efficient, maybe. But lifeless.”

Host: The air between them thickened. The sunlight shifted, cutting across their faces in stripes like invisible bars—Jack’s in shadow, Jeeny’s in light.

Jack: “Tell that to the pilot flying your plane or the scientist mixing your medicine. Would you trust their enthusiasm more than their skill?”

Jeeny: “I’d trust both. But if they didn’t love what they were doing, they’d be dangerous in another way. Enthusiasm isn’t just excitement—it’s devotion. It’s care. A pilot who loves to fly pays attention. A scientist who’s curious doesn’t cut corners. Skill perfects tasks, but enthusiasm perfects attention.”

Host: The room fell still, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound. Outside, the distant city pulsed with motion—cars, horns, voices—all mechanical, all alive, a contradiction of chaos and purpose.

Jack: “You talk like enthusiasm’s a moral compass. It’s not. It’s a phase. People start jobs full of fire, then reality grinds it out of them. Deadlines, failures, bills—those things don’t care how much you feel.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe not. But those who keep feeling despite all that—they’re the ones who change things.”

Host: A silence settled, heavy but not hostile. Jack’s gaze shifted from her to the window, to the skyline outside—a mess of glass and light built by people who had once been dreamers, before the world measured them by deadlines and deliverables.

Jack: “You think feeling is enough to build all this?”

Jeeny: “I think feeling is what keeps us from destroying it.”

Host: Jeeny stood, walking toward the window. Her reflection joined his in the glass, both faces framed by the endless sprawl of the city—its towers, cranes, clouds.

Jeeny: “Appleton wasn’t praising enthusiasm because it’s louder than skill. He said it because enthusiasm feeds skill. A skilled worker can fix problems. But an enthusiastic one finds new ways to prevent them.”

Jack: (rubbing his jaw thoughtfully) “You’re turning enthusiasm into evolution.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Skill is maintenance. Enthusiasm is motion.”

Host: The light dimmed as a cloud crossed the sun. The room cooled, the colors fading into muted tones. The moment felt like one of those small emotional eclipses that happen when pride begins to yield to reflection.

Jack: “You know, when I first started out, I had that kind of enthusiasm. Stayed up nights, drew plans on napkins. Thought I’d change everything. But the higher I climbed, the more I realized—it’s not enthusiasm that keeps you employed. It’s competence.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And maybe that’s why you sound so tired.”

Host: The words hit him like a quiet truth—gentle, but impossible to ignore. His shoulders eased, his breath came slower.

Jack: “So what—you think I’ve lost it? That spark?”

Jeeny: “Not lost. Just buried under too many finished projects. You stopped being excited when you stopped being uncertain.”

Jack: (after a pause) “Uncertainty’s dangerous. Enthusiasm without caution built as many disasters as dreams.”

Jeeny: “And caution without enthusiasm built boredom.”

Host: The cloud passed; light poured back into the room, flooding their faces with gold again. The papers on the table glowed like quiet reminders of all the unfinished ideas waiting for belief to return.

Jack: “You think enthusiasm can replace professionalism?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it revives it. Skill is what makes you capable; enthusiasm is what makes you unstoppable.”

Host: He looked at her then—not as a colleague or a critic, but as something harder to define. There was something in her eyes that reminded him of his younger self, the one who once believed in impossible blueprints and midnight sketches.

Jack: “You really believe people can keep that kind of fire forever?”

Jeeny: “No one keeps it forever. But we can protect it long enough to pass it on. That’s what leaders forget—that enthusiasm is contagious. You don’t manage people with rules; you lead them with belief.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked softly, marking the quiet transformation of the conversation. The tension that had filled the room now felt like air before a dawn.

Jack: “Maybe Appleton was right after all. You can teach skill, but you can’t teach hunger.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can’t train someone to care. And caring is what makes the work worth doing.”

Host: Jack reached for the stack of papers on the table, flipping through them. His fingers paused on one of Jeeny’s designs—raw, bold, imperfect, but alive with possibility. He smiled faintly.

Jack: “You know… this drawing of yours. It’s wrong in five technical ways, but it’s got something I haven’t seen in years. It’s got breath.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe you can help me make it right—without killing what’s alive in it.”

Host: The sunlight deepened, turning the edges of the paper gold. For a long moment, they stood side by side, their reflections in the glass merging with the city beyond.

Jack: “You win this one, Jeeny. Skill builds walls. Enthusiasm finds doors.”

Jeeny: “And sometimes, Jack… it walks right through them.”

Host: Outside, the city pulsed with the heartbeat of its creators—some skilled, some clumsy, but all driven by that invisible current of wanting more than competence. The light on the desk flickered once, catching a glint of color in Jeeny’s eyes.

And as they returned to their work, the room felt lighter—
not because the problems were solved,
but because something sacred had returned to the air:
that rare, unteachable rhythm of belief.

Host: For in the end, as Edward Appleton knew, the world doesn’t move forward on precision alone—
it moves on the fire of those who love what they are still learning how to do.