If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to

Host: The night was heavy with fog, the kind that swallowed sound and light whole. The bridge stretched out over the river like a thin silver line disappearing into nothingness. Jack stood near the edge, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, the embers flickering like a small rebellion against the cold. Jeeny walked slowly toward him, her boots crunching on the gravel, her coat drawn tight against the chill.

Somewhere in the distance, a train horn cut through the mist — long, haunting, as if calling someone who’d never arrive.

Jeeny: “Jim Rohn once said, ‘If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to settle for the ordinary.’”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Story of my life.”

Host: The fog curled around them like smoke, soft but relentless, erasing the world beyond arm’s reach.

Jeeny: “You say that like it’s already over.”

Jack: “Isn’t it? We all make peace with comfort eventually. The older you get, the smaller your risks become. You stop chasing cliffs and start counting guardrails.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s not peace, Jack. Maybe that’s surrender.”

Host: Her voice carried softly in the fog, but it cut sharp, slicing through his quiet defiance.

Jack: “You make risk sound like virtue. It’s not. It’s chaos dressed up as courage. The unusual breaks people.”

Jeeny: “No, fear breaks people. The unusual wakes them.”

Host: The river below whispered — dark, unseen, alive. The bridge’s metal hummed faintly under their feet, a low reminder that every structure carries its own tension.

Jack: “You ever notice how the world romanticizes risk? Every quote, every movie — ‘leap, live, love boldly.’ But no one writes about the ones who leapt and never landed.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because they’re the ones who proved the sky existed.”

Jack: (chuckling) “That’s beautiful. And deadly.”

Jeeny: “So is truth.”

Host: A gust of wind swept across the bridge, carrying the smell of wet iron and river mist. Jack flicked his cigarette into the water, watching the small ember vanish instantly — a tiny, glowing dream devoured by reality.

Jack: “You think risk is easy for everyone? Some people can’t afford it, Jeeny. Risk takes privilege — money, safety, time. You can’t gamble when you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly when you should gamble. When the stakes are high enough to matter.”

Jack: “You sound like a preacher.”

Jeeny: “And you sound like someone who stopped listening to his own heartbeat.”

Host: The silence that followed was long, stretching thin between them, until it trembled with something raw and human.

Jeeny: “Tell me, Jack — when was the last time you did something that scared you?”

Jack: (hesitates) “You mean besides talking to you?”

Jeeny: (smiles) “Deflection noted.”

Jack: “Alright. Years ago. I quit a job once — no plan, no backup. Just walked out. Everyone said I was insane.”

Jeeny: “And?”

Jack: “And it was the best thing I ever did.”

Jeeny: “So you remember what risk feels like.”

Jack: “Yeah. Freedom with a side of terror.”

Jeeny: “That’s the price of being alive.”

Host: She stepped closer, her breath visible in the cold air, mingling with his. The fog wrapped around them like the world was holding its breath, listening.

Jeeny: “You see, Rohn wasn’t praising recklessness — he was condemning fear. The ordinary isn’t bad, it’s just… safe. Predictable. It numbs you slowly.”

Jack: “And the unusual?”

Jeeny: “It breaks you open.”

Host: Her words hung there, trembling between challenge and invitation. The river below mirrored faint lights from the distant shore, distorted and trembling — like fragments of another world waiting to be touched.

Jack: “What if I don’t want to be broken open anymore?”

Jeeny: “Then you’ll never grow again.”

Host: The fog shifted. A brief glow of moonlight broke through, spilling over their faces. Jack’s expression softened, the cynicism giving way to something quieter — fatigue, maybe. Or recognition.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic, Jeeny. But life’s not jazz. It doesn’t forgive wrong notes.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But it rewards improvisation.”

Jack: “Or punishes it.”

Jeeny: “That’s the gamble. The unusual’s not a guarantee — it’s a question. And the only way to answer it is to leap.”

Host: The wind rose again, stronger now, rippling through her hair, tugging at his coat. The faint roar of the river deepened below — steady, endless.

Jack: “You really think the risk is worth it? Every time?”

Jeeny: “Not every time. But some risks define you. Others erase you. The trick is knowing which kind you’re taking.”

Jack: (softly) “And how do you know?”

Jeeny: “You don’t. That’s why it’s called courage.”

Host: A single car passed in the distance, its headlights carving two temporary beams through the fog before vanishing again. The world felt suspended — fragile and infinite all at once.

Jack: “You ever take a risk you regret?”

Jeeny: “Every important one.”

Jack: “Then why keep doing it?”

Jeeny: “Because the regret of inaction is heavier. You can live with scars; you can’t live with ghosts.”

Host: He turned away from the water, studying her face — the calm certainty in her eyes, the quiet fire in her posture.

Jack: “You know, you sound like someone who’s not afraid to burn.”

Jeeny: “You can’t light anything if you’re afraid of the flame.”

Host: The camera would linger there — the faint reflection of two figures half-drowned in fog and moonlight. The world around them was still, except for the sound of the river, flowing, untamable.

Jack: “Maybe I’ve been settling too long.”

Jeeny: “Then stop.”

Jack: “And start what?”

Jeeny: “Start being unusual.”

Host: He laughed — the sound was small, unsure, but it broke through the fog like the first note of a new song.

Jack: “You really believe the unusual is where life happens?”

Jeeny: “No.” (smiles) “I believe that’s where you find life again.”

Host: The fog began to thin, slowly revealing the faint outlines of the bridge leading onward, the unknown waiting in soft silver light. Jack stepped toward it, then stopped, looking back at her.

Jack: “You coming?”

Jeeny: “Always.”

Host: They walked together — two shadows dissolving into the lightening mist, their footsteps quiet but certain. Behind them, the city slept; ahead, the river whispered its eternal dare.

As they disappeared into the pale horizon, Rohn’s words seemed to echo through the air — not as advice, but as a dare carved into the fabric of the night:

If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to settle for the ordinary.

And in that moment, they did not settle.

End.