If you want to go somewhere, it is best to find someone who has

Host: The train station was quiet, its vast hall echoing with the faint hum of passing time. Dust hung like memory in the air, illuminated by streaks of late afternoon light pouring through the old windows. The sound of a distant whistle broke the stillness — a call to movement, to direction, to destiny.

On one of the long wooden benches, Jack sat with a worn leather bag at his feet, a map half-folded in his hands. His eyes, grey and restless, scanned the horizon beyond the glass — the tracks stretching endlessly into the distance, toward places that existed only as names.

Jeeny approached slowly, her steps soft but sure. A book was tucked under her arm — its spine cracked, its cover smudged by years of travel. She stopped beside him, the light catching the dust in her hair like a halo of quiet determination.

Jeeny: “Robert Kiyosaki once said, ‘If you want to go somewhere, it is best to find someone who has already been there.’”

Jack: without looking up “So what are you saying — that I’m lost?”

Host: His tone was half amusement, half exhaustion. He folded the map with one hand, as though trying to make sense of life’s directions through geometry.

Jeeny: “Not lost. Just stubborn enough to pretend you can find your own way without asking.”

Jack: chuckles dryly “You make it sound like independence is arrogance.”

Jeeny: “It is when it blinds you to wisdom.”

Host: The station clock ticked loudly overhead — slow, deliberate, as if measuring not time but patience.

Jack: “You think following someone else’s path guarantees anything? People say they’ve ‘been there,’ but no one’s journey looks the same twice. Roads change. People change.”

Jeeny: “True. But knowing someone who’s seen the terrain doesn’t mean you walk in their footprints — it means you avoid their cliffs.”

Jack: finally looking at her “And what if the cliffs are the only way to learn?”

Jeeny: “Then at least fall knowing someone once survived the fall before you.”

Host: The light shifted as a train rolled past, its shadow slicing across their faces — bright, then dark, then bright again. It was like time breathing between them.

Jack: “You always talk like experience is something you can inherit.”

Jeeny: “In a way, it is. Every teacher, every elder, every story — they’re all maps we borrow until we can draw our own.”

Jack: “I’ve seen too many people follow maps straight into someone else’s failure.”

Jeeny: softly “And I’ve seen too many wanderers die with beautiful intentions but no compass.”

Host: A faint breeze drifted through the open platform doors, carrying with it the smell of steel and rain, the quiet ache of departure.

Jack: “You sound like my father. Always said I needed a mentor. Said a man alone is just a fool waiting for the world to prove him wrong.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he was right.”

Jack: “Maybe he was lonely.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe he knew that solitude is freedom until it becomes pride.”

Host: Her words lingered. A train whistle blew in the distance — long, mournful, filled with the gravity of choices. Jack stood, picking up his bag, pacing a few steps toward the tracks.

Jack: “You ever wonder if mentors limit us? If they make us see the world through their survival instead of our possibility?”

Jeeny: “Not if they teach you how to question them.”

Jack: turns back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully “And you think that’s what a real guide does?”

Jeeny: “A real guide doesn’t tell you where to go — they remind you why you started walking.”

Host: The light dimmed as a cloud crossed the sun. The station seemed to shrink, every sound amplified — the ticking clock, the rustle of paper tickets, the low murmur of wind.

Jack: “I’ve spent years chasing my own direction. Every time I thought I’d found the road, it twisted. Every ‘mentor’ I met — they wanted me to become them. But I don’t want their destination.”

Jeeny: “Then don’t. Take their lessons, not their lives.”

Jack: quietly “Easier said than done.”

Jeeny: “Everything worth doing is.”

Host: She sat beside him now, the book still in her hands. She placed it on the bench between them. Its title — The Road and the Return — was worn almost to illegibility.

Jack glanced down, a faint smile ghosting across his face.

Jack: “You’ve read that one a dozen times.”

Jeeny: “Because it keeps changing every time I do.”

Jack: “That’s the problem with wisdom. The older you get, the less it feels like an answer.”

Jeeny: smiling “Maybe wisdom isn’t an answer. Maybe it’s the courage to ask the same question twice.”

Host: A train pulled into the station now, its brakes screeching, its arrival cutting through their stillness. Steam hissed, the doors slid open, and a few scattered passengers began to board.

Jack: “So what, you think I should find a teacher? A guru with all the answers?”

Jeeny: “No. Find someone who’s bled in the same places you’re afraid to walk. That’s all.”

Host: The sound of her words was almost drowned by the roar of the engine, but Jack heard them — deeply, completely. He slung his bag over his shoulder, stepping closer to the platform’s edge.

Jack: “What if the person who’s already been there isn’t around anymore?”

Jeeny: “Then their lessons are. In the ruins, in the pages, in the silence.”

Jack: softly “I used to think asking for help was weakness.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think pretending you don’t need it is worse.”

Host: The light returned, bursting through the clouds in gold streaks. The station glowed — old, worn, but holy in its familiarity.

Jeeny: “Then maybe you’re ready to go somewhere after all.”

Jack: smiles faintly “You coming with me?”

Jeeny: “I’ve been there already. This part’s yours.”

Host: The train conductor called out, his voice echoing through the vast hall. Jack turned toward the open door — the unknown waiting like an old friend.

He looked back once — at Jeeny, at the station, at everything that had kept him still — then stepped aboard.

Jeeny watched in silence as the train began to move. The wheels screeched against the rails, the sound blending with the wind — the symphony of departure.

The camera lingered on her face — calm, luminous, touched by both loss and faith.

Jeeny: softly, almost to herself “We all need someone who’s been there — not to show us the road, but to remind us we’re not the first to walk it.”

Host: The train vanished into the horizon, a silver thread stitching the sky to the earth. The station grew quiet once more, the echoes fading but the truth remaining:

That wisdom is not found in the map,
but in the one who’s already crossed the distance —
and still believes you can too.