Nine out of ten people who are failing blame their failure on

Host: The night had fallen heavy over the city, draping every street in a veil of amber and ash. Rain trickled down neon signs, blurring colors into liquid ghosts. Inside a small, dimly lit bar, a faint smoke curled like a restless thought, rising toward the ceiling fan that spun with a slow, lazy rhythm.

Jack sat by the window, his reflection fractured by raindrops. His hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the amber glow catching the edges of his sharp face. Across from him, Jeeny sat still, her hair falling over one shoulder, her eyes dark and alive with quiet fire.

The host’s voice whispered like a lens drawing closer.

Host: There they were again — Jack, the skeptic, and Jeeny, the believer — bound not by agreement, but by the endless friction of truth-seeking. Tonight, the conversation began with a single line that burned like alcohol on an open wound.

Jeeny lifted her gaze.
Jeeny: “Nine out of ten people who are failing blame their failure on somebody else. And that is the common denominator of failure.”
She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Jon Taffer said that. It sounds harsh… but there’s something painfully true in it, don’t you think?”

Jack smirked, the kind of smirk that masked a dozen wounds.
Jack: “Painfully true? Maybe just painful. It’s the kind of thing people say when they’ve already made it. Easy to preach accountability from the top of a mountain.”

Host: The light flickered, bouncing off the raindrops like shattered glass. Jeeny’s brow furrowed, her voice soft but steady.

Jeeny: “But doesn’t the truth stay true regardless of who says it? People fail because they can’t face themselves. Because it’s easier to point than to reflect.”

Jack leaned back, his grey eyes narrowing.
Jack: “And what about the people who were never given a fair shot? The ones born into broken systems, or crushed by someone else’s greed? You think a child in a war-torn country fails because he didn’t ‘face himself’ hard enough?”

Jeeny: “You’re twisting it. Accountability doesn’t erase injustice, Jack. It’s about the part of life we can control — the choices we make after the world has wronged us.”

Host: A slow thunder rolled in the distance. The bar seemed to tighten with tension, every word between them pulling at the seams of the night.

Jack: “You’re idealizing it. Failure isn’t always self-inflicted. Sometimes, it’s inherited. You ever read about the Dust Bowl farmers? The Great Depression? Whole families starved, not because they were lazy, but because the sky stopped giving rain. You can’t blame them for their failure.”

Jeeny: “No. But you can admire the ones who kept trying. The ones who planted seeds in dead soil just to believe in tomorrow. Accountability isn’t about guilt — it’s about ownership. Even of pain.”

Host: Silence stretched like a taut string between them. A waitress passed, leaving behind a faint trail of perfume and loneliness. Outside, the rain intensified — a relentless percussion of truth against glass.

Jack: “You sound like one of those self-help prophets. ‘Own your destiny.’ ‘Manifest your success.’ But reality doesn’t bend to willpower, Jeeny. People lose. People get crushed. That’s not always their fault.”

Jeeny: “I know it’s not always fair. But if we keep saying it’s someone else’s fault, we give away our power. Think of Nelson Mandela. Thirty years in prison — thirty years stolen from him — but he never blamed. He came out forgiving, focused, free inside. That’s what Taffer means, I think. Failure becomes permanent when blame replaces responsibility.”

Host: Jack’s jaw clenched. He looked away, out the window, where the rain streaked like tears down a sleepless face. His voice softened.

Jack: “You think forgiveness and self-blame are the same thing? Mandela didn’t forgive because he thought he failed. He forgave because he wanted peace. There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “Not self-blame. Self-honesty. When you say, ‘It’s not my fault,’ you stop moving. When you say, ‘It happened, but I can still choose,’ that’s where life starts again.”

Host: The clock ticked in the background, marking moments like the slow heartbeat of fate. The bar emptied, the rain softened. The air between them trembled — not from anger now, but from the quiet ache of recognition.

Jack: “You ever fail, Jeeny? I mean really fail — so bad you couldn’t breathe without feeling like you’d wasted everything?”

Jeeny: (whispering) “Yes. Once. I stayed in a job that suffocated me because I blamed my boss for keeping me there. I said I couldn’t leave because he didn’t value me. But the truth was… I was afraid to see who I’d be without that cage.”

Jack: (low) “So you left?”

Jeeny: “Yes. And I failed again. But that time, it was my failure. And strangely… it felt like freedom.”

Host: The neon sign flickered once, painting their faces in a brief flash of red and blue — like sirens of memory.

Jack: “You talk about freedom like it’s something you can buy with suffering.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. You earn it by owning it.”

Host: The words hung in the air like a small flame refusing to die. Jack took another sip, his fingers trembling slightly. The glass clinked softly against the table, a quiet confession.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, my old man used to say something similar. He’d lose a job and call it ‘bad luck.’ I used to believe him. Then I grew up and realized — maybe luck just hates those who wait for it.”

Jeeny: “So you agree with Taffer after all.”

Jack: (half-smile) “I agree that excuses are poison. But not everyone who drinks it knows they’re dying.”

Host: The rain began to ease, the sound thinning to a faint drizzle. The tension melted too, leaving behind a soft, aching understanding.

Jeeny: “Maybe failure isn’t a curse, then. Maybe it’s a mirror. Some people smash it — others look deeper.”

Jack: “And most pretend it’s someone else’s reflection.”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) “That’s what makes the tenth person different. They stop pretending.”

Host: A faint light crept through the clouds, brushing the wet pavement with silver. The bar hummed with the distant buzz of a closing hour. Jack leaned forward, his voice barely a murmur.

Jack: “You think that’s all it takes? To stop blaming?”

Jeeny: “No. It takes courage — the kind that doesn’t need applause. The kind that whispers, ‘I am both the reason and the remedy.’”

Host: The moment stilled. The air shimmered with a fragile, human truth — that failure, in its cruel way, demands not shame but ownership.

Jack: “Maybe we’re all failing, Jeeny. Just at different stages of admitting it.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe we’re also all healing. At different speeds.”

Host: The rain stopped. The silence that followed felt almost sacred — the kind of silence that comes not from emptiness, but from acceptance.

The camera would linger here — on two souls, illuminated by the faint light of understanding, surrounded by the echoes of their own truths.

Host: And as the night faded into the pale light of dawn, one could almost hear the echo of Taffer’s words dissolving into the quiet: that the greatest failure is not falling, but blaming the ground for being hard.