If you don't drive your business, you will be driven out of

Host: The morning was a pale kind of gold, the kind that didn’t shine — it burned slowly, like the first light after a long storm. The office was nearly empty, except for the low hum of computers and the faint smell of cold coffee left too long on the desk. Outside, the city woke up with a chorus of car horns, trains, and the endless rush of people trying to get ahead.

Host: Jack stood by the window, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. His reflection in the glass looked older than he felt — a man half-swallowed by responsibility. Behind him, Jeeny sat at the conference table, laptop open, her hair falling across her face as she scrolled through the latest sales numbers.

Host: The screen told the truth no one wanted to say aloud — they were losing. Slowly, quietly, almost politely.

Jeeny: “B. C. Forbes once said,” she murmured, “‘If you don’t drive your business, you will be driven out of business.’”

Host: Her voice was soft but clear, like the bell that sounds right before a fight.

Jack: “Yeah,” he muttered. “Sounds like something they’d print on a motivational poster. Right next to a picture of a mountain.”

Jeeny: “You think it’s just a slogan?”

Jack: “I think it’s what people say when they’ve already lost control.”

Host: He turned from the window, the morning light cutting across his face, carving deep lines of fatigue and resolve.

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s not about control,” she said. “Maybe it’s about responsibility. If you don’t steer, the world will steer you — and it won’t care where you end up.”

Jack: “You’re quoting philosophy in a sinking ship.”

Jeeny: “And you’re ignoring the wheel.”

Host: The air between them was thick, charged with that quiet tension that happens when both know they’re right — and both are afraid that being right won’t be enough.

Jack: “You want me to drive harder, push the team more, demand longer hours, more calls, more metrics? That’s not leadership, Jeeny. That’s desperation.”

Jeeny: “No,” she said, closing her laptop, her eyes meeting his with steady calm. “Desperation is pretending this is fine. Driving the business doesn’t mean burning everyone out — it means actually taking the wheel, instead of letting momentum do the work.”

Jack: “Momentum’s all we’ve got left.”

Jeeny: “Momentum,” she said slowly, “is just a fancy word for autopilot.”

Host: The sunlight shifted through the blinds, drawing bars of gold and shadow across the table. Jack walked over, set his hands on the edge, and stared down at the financial report. Every number looked like a wound.

Jack: “You know what kills businesses? Not the market. Not the competitors. It’s exhaustion. People can only fight gravity so long before they just… stop.”

Jeeny: “And what revives them?”

Jack: “Luck.”

Jeeny: “No,” she said firmly. “Vision. Luck only favors people who are moving toward something.”

Host: Her voice had changed — it wasn’t gentle anymore. It was steel wrapped in silk.

Jeeny: “Look at Kodak, Jack. They invented the digital camera — and ignored it. They had the future in their hands and decided not to drive it. Because they thought their film business would last forever. They weren’t beaten. They stood still.”

Jack: “And drove themselves out of business.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because they forgot what Forbes was talking about. Drive isn’t just aggression. It’s direction.”

Host: Jack fell silent. The buzz of the office lights filled the space where his words should have been. He looked toward the hallway, where a young intern passed by with a stack of papers, her eyes bright, unburdened by the kind of weariness that comes from carrying a company on your back.

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. But it’s simple. Either you move the wheel, or someone else does. And they don’t always steer toward you.”

Host: Jack sat down across from her, his fingers laced together, his breathing slow. He looked at Jeeny not as a colleague now, but as something more dangerous — someone who still believed.

Jack: “So what’s your plan then? Inspire them? Give a speech about purpose?”

Jeeny: “No. I’ll remind them who they are. Why they started this in the first place. Before it became about numbers.”

Jack: “And what about you?”

Jeeny: “I’m already driving.”

Host: Her words hit him harder than she knew. For a moment, he saw the fire he once had — that raw hunger to build, to shape, to command the storm instead of being swallowed by it.

Jack: “You ever wonder,” he said quietly, “if drive is just another word for obsession?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes,” she said, smiling faintly. “But obsession builds cathedrals. Complacency builds ruins.”

Host: A long silence followed. The clock on the wall ticked like a heartbeat, reminding them both that time — not competition — was their true adversary.

Jack: “You think we can still turn this around?”

Jeeny: “If we start steering now.”

Jack: “And if we don’t?”

Jeeny: “Then the road decides for us.”

Host: Outside, a truck horn blared — long, distant, like the sound of the world roaring past those too slow to move. The moment hung in the air, fragile as glass. Then Jack reached for the report, tore it in half, and tossed it into the trash.

Jack: “Fine. Let’s stop reacting. Let’s start driving.”

Jeeny: “Now you sound like a leader.”

Host: The tension broke like a wave. The light through the blinds warmed the room, and for the first time in weeks, something shifted — not in numbers, not in plans, but in momentum. Real, deliberate momentum.

Jack stood, straightened his tie, and looked toward the hallway where their team would soon gather.

Jack: “Let’s tell them we’re not waiting anymore.”

Jeeny: “Let’s tell them we’re steering.”

Host: As they walked toward the conference room, the city outside seemed to pulse with the rhythm of a thousand engines — ambition, chaos, hunger, drive.

Host: Jack paused at the door, his hand on the handle, and glanced back at Jeeny.

Jack: “Forbes was right,” he said quietly. “If you don’t drive your business…”

Jeeny finished his sentence with a quiet conviction: “...the world drives it for you.”

Host: He nodded once, and they stepped into the light — not the pale gold of morning now, but the fierce, living glow of purpose.

Host: And outside, beyond the glass and the noise and the rush of it all, the city kept moving — because everything that stands still, sooner or later, gets left behind.