I was in college for organizational communication and politics

Host: The city was drenched in the amber glow of streetlights, their reflections trembling on wet asphalt. A faint rain whispered against the window of a quiet café, where Jack sat by the corner, his fingers wrapped around a half-empty cup. The clock ticked softly above the barista, its rhythm slow and thoughtful — like a heartbeat remembering something. Across from him sat Jeeny, her dark hair still damp from the rain, her eyes luminous with quiet curiosity.

Jack’s coat hung loose, his expression one of measured fatigue. Jeeny’s hands were folded, gentle but resolute, as though she was preparing not just for a conversation, but a confession.

Host: Outside, a neon sign flickered. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of coffee and the electric pulse of two souls about to collide over a single idea.

Jeeny: “You know, I read something today — Brendon Burchard once said he studied organizational communication and politics because he was fascinated by influence. He didn’t want to inspire the world — yet. He just wanted to understand how people influence one another.”

Jack: (leans back, eyes narrowing slightly) “Influence, huh? That word sounds more dangerous than inspiring. People study influence not to inspire — but to control. To bend minds. History’s full of people who started ‘curious’ and ended up ruling others.”

Host: The light above their table flickered faintly, casting a subtle shadow across Jack’s face. His voice carried a low gravel, like the rumble before a storm.

Jeeny: “You think every person who learns about influence wants to control others?”

Jack: “Not every person, but it’s a thin line. Influence is just a prettier word for power. You give someone the key to persuasion, and you’re teaching them how to shape reality in their favor. Look at politics, Jeeny. The whole machine runs on influence. Not truth — influence.”

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “Maybe. But isn’t influence also how change begins? How a movement grows? Martin Luther King didn’t inspire people with money or force — he influenced them through words. Through presence. Isn’t that the kind of influence worth understanding?”

Host: Her voice carried warmth, but underneath it a fire flickered — the fire of someone who believed in the possibility of people. Rain struck the windowpane harder, like a drumbeat echoing their debate.

Jack: “Sure, MLK used influence — but he didn’t study it like a science. He lived it. There’s a difference between being authentic and being calculated. The moment influence becomes something you analyze in a classroom, it loses its soul. It turns into a weapon.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it becomes art.”

Jack: (arches an eyebrow) “Art?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Influence can be art when it comes from empathy, not manipulation. When you learn how people connect, you can heal them. Think of teachers, therapists, even storytellers — they all influence hearts without taking anything from them.”

Host: A pause. The clock ticked again. Steam from the coffee machine curled upward like a ghost, blurring the space between them.

Jack: “You’re romanticizing it. Influence is like fire. You can cook with it — or burn a city down. Most people don’t know the difference until it’s too late.”

Jeeny: “Then that’s exactly why people should study it. To understand it before it burns them.”

Host: The words landed heavy. For a moment, even the rain seemed to listen.

Host: The scene deepened. Outside, a taxi splashed through a puddle, its lights sweeping briefly across their faces — his marked by skepticism, hers by conviction.

Jeeny: “Tell me something, Jack. Don’t you ever wonder why some people hold so much sway over others? Why a single tweet can shift public opinion, why propaganda still works after a century of lessons?”

Jack: “Because people are predictable. They want certainty. They want someone to tell them what’s true so they don’t have to face the chaos themselves.”

Jeeny: “That’s not predictability — that’s vulnerability. People don’t follow because they’re weak. They follow because they’re hungry for meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning’s just another word for comfort. The truth is rarely comforting.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But it’s still what influence should aim to reveal, not replace.”

Host: The air between them grew tense, like a wire stretched to its limit. The rain softened to a mist, a hush settling over the street.

Jack: “You talk about influence like it’s a moral tool. But look at the world, Jeeny. Every corporation sells happiness, every politician sells hope, every preacher sells redemption. Influence is currency now. You don’t inspire people anymore — you market to them.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even in that noise, there are still voices that move us. Greta Thunberg didn’t sell hope — she screamed truth. And millions listened. That’s influence too, Jack — but it’s born of authentic urgency.”

Jack: “Authenticity doesn’t sell. You think the system amplifies her because it believes her? No. It’s because she’s profitable controversy. Influence has always been a mirror of what society’s willing to buy.”

Jeeny: “But mirrors don’t lie — they just reflect. If influence mirrors society, then changing influence starts with changing what people value.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like smoke, soft yet luminous, circling above their coffee cups. Jack’s hand trembled slightly before he hid it under the table, a gesture small but revealing — the crack in his iron composure.

Host: The rain had stopped now. The streetlights flickered against wet glass, turning the world outside into a shifting collage of gold and shadow.

Jack: (quietly) “You make it sound easy. Like if we all just believed harder, the world would listen. But belief doesn’t pay bills. Influence without power is just noise.”

Jeeny: “And power without belief is just silence.”

Host: The words struck like a bell. Silence filled the space after it — dense, electric, almost sacred.

Jeeny: “Maybe Burchard was right — maybe the first step isn’t wanting to inspire the world. Maybe it’s just wanting to understand how influence works. Because you can’t change something you don’t understand.”

Jack: “So you learn the system to fight the system?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Influence isn’t evil — intent is. Studying it is like studying gravity. You don’t make it moral or immoral — you just learn how not to fall.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened, the lines around them easing as though a long-held tension was finally exhaled.

Jack: “Maybe I was afraid of it. Of how easily people follow. How easily I might follow too.”

Jeeny: (reaching across the table) “That’s the point, Jack. Influence isn’t about control. It’s about connection. It’s about remembering that even the skeptic wants to be moved — just not deceived.”

Host: Their hands brushed — briefly, almost accidentally — but the touch carried something tender, almost redemptive.

Host: Outside, a faint sunlight began to break through the clouds, painting the sidewalk in silver. The air smelled of wet earth and beginning.

Jeeny: “Maybe influence isn’t power or persuasion. Maybe it’s just attention with purpose.”

Jack: “And maybe inspiration is when that purpose finally points somewhere beyond yourself.”

Jeeny: (smiles) “Maybe that’s what Burchard meant — that curiosity is the first spark, not the end goal.”

Host: They both sat in silence, the kind that feels like understanding. The light from the window fell gently over their faces, tracing the faintest suggestion of a smile on Jack’s lips.

Host: The camera pulls back slowly, the café now just a small island of warmth in a cool, awakening city. The neon sign flickers one last time, then steadies — steady like a heartbeat, like a truth quietly realized.

Host: Influence — not control, not dominance, not seduction — but the shared pulse between two souls listening deeply. That’s where inspiration begins.