The bold enterprises are the successful ones. Take counsel of

Host: The night was young but restless — a low wind carried the hum of the harbor, the scent of salt, iron, and ambition. The city skyline rose like a crown in the distance, each light a dream flickering against the dark. From a high balcony overlooking it all, Jack leaned on the cold railing, his grey eyes lost in the expanse of it — the kind of gaze only men who’ve lost something to ambition wear.

Inside, through the open glass doors, the room glowed with soft lamplight, the muted jazz of a record player spinning a tune from a more innocent decade. Jeeny stood near the table, pouring herself a glass of red wine, her movements unhurried, her presence calm — like someone who had long since made peace with risk.

The city below murmured with life — a thousand small beginnings, a thousand silent failures.

Jeeny: “Rutherford B. Hayes once said, ‘The bold enterprises are the successful ones. Take counsel of hopes rather than of fears to win in this business.’”

Jack: “Sounds like something they print on motivational posters. The kind you see in offices before they fire half the staff.”

Jeeny: Smiling faintly. “Maybe. But the truth doesn’t lose its edge just because it’s overused.”

Jack: “Boldness is easy to preach when you’ve already won. Hayes was a president — what did he have to lose?”

Jeeny: “Everything. Power is the riskiest position of all. Every decision cuts someone. Every hope is someone else’s fear.”

Host: Jack turned toward her, the light tracing the tired lines on his face. He looked like a man who had built his life on calculation and now found the math cold and exacting.

Jack: “Hope doesn’t win wars or business deals. Strategy does. Fear keeps you sharp — it keeps you alive.”

Jeeny: “Fear also keeps you small.”

Jack: “Small, but breathing.”

Jeeny: “What kind of life is that, Jack? Existing between caution and comfort? Fear builds walls, hope builds wings. Which do you want to live with?”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering a few papers from the table — plans, designs, maybe dreams. They fluttered like white birds trying to escape gravity.

Jack: “You talk about wings as if falling isn’t part of flying.”

Jeeny: “It is. But so is getting back up.”

Jack: “You ever risked everything?”

Jeeny: Her eyes softened, her voice lower now. “Once. I left a job I hated — steady pay, comfort, predictability. Everyone said I was foolish. I had nothing but a notebook and a belief that words could feed me. I was terrified. But terror turned to freedom the moment I stepped outside the cage.”

Jack: “And if it hadn’t worked?”

Jeeny: “Then I’d have learned something that safety never could’ve taught me.”

Host: The rain began — a slow, rhythmic tapping against the glass, the kind that turns the air contemplative. Jack stared out at the city again — its endless lights pulsing like nerves beneath the night.

Jack: “You think boldness guarantees success?”

Jeeny: “No. But fear guarantees failure. Hayes wasn’t promising victory — he was prescribing courage. You don’t win because you’re certain; you win because you move.”

Jack: “And what if hope blinds you?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you walked toward light instead of hiding from it.”

Host: A faint flash of lightning painted their silhouettes against the window — one rooted in logic, the other lifted by belief.

Jack: “You think hope can survive this world? The lies, the politics, the greed?”

Jeeny: “It has to. Because those things are born from fear — fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of insignificance. Hope is the only antidote.”

Jack: Quietly. “I used to have it, you know. Hope. Back when everything was still possible. Then life started teaching me the cost of being wrong.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s when hope matters most — when you’ve learned its price. You can’t be bold without scars. The trick is to let them remind you you’ve lived.”

Host: The thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, and the city glimmered beneath it like a galaxy trying to stay awake. Jack walked back inside, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor.

Jack: “You make boldness sound like faith.”

Jeeny: “It is faith. Not in God — in possibility. In yourself.”

Jack: “And fear?”

Jeeny: “Fear is faith, too — faith that the worst will happen. The only difference is which future you choose to believe in.”

Host: He stopped near her, his reflection merging with hers in the window’s faint glow. For a moment, their dual image looked whole — as if hope and fear were not opposites, but halves of the same truth.

Jack: “You really think hope is a better counselor than fear?”

Jeeny: “Always. Fear is loud — but hope is wise. It tells you not to measure the risk, but the worth.”

Jack: “And if you lose everything?”

Jeeny: Whispering. “Then at least you lost it living.”

Host: The music shifted — the soft crackle of an old record fading into something almost mournful, almost triumphant. The storm outside intensified, and the window reflected streaks of lightning like veins of light across their faces.

Jack: “So, I should take counsel of hopes rather than fears.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because fear’s advice is always the same — ‘Don’t try.’ And hope’s is always — ‘Just once more.’”

Jack: “You think that’s enough to win?”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s enough to begin — and beginnings are where all victories are born.”

Host: The rain slowed, and the wind gentled, leaving behind the soft hiss of the world exhaling. Jack finally smiled — not a smile of certainty, but one of surrender.

Jack: “Maybe Hayes was right. The bold enterprises are the successful ones. Not because they never fail — but because they never stop daring.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Boldness isn’t about arrogance. It’s about refusing to let fear have the final word.”

Host: The camera of the night pulled back — the balcony, the rain-washed skyline, the faint glow of their reflections framed against the storm. The city below shimmered with infinite possibility — a mosaic of dreams that had dared to begin.

And there, standing between thunder and dawn, two figures whispered a timeless truth into the wind:

Fear builds walls. Hope builds roads.
And only the bold ever walk far enough to find where both begin.