The reason why it is so difficult for existing firms to

Host: The city skyline blinked with restless light — a lattice of steel and glass, humming with ambition, profit, and exhaustion. The boardroom sat high above it all, walled with windows that reflected not just the city, but the storm moving in from the east.

The air was thick with the scent of coffee, stress, and the faint hum of electric tension. Laptops glowed, papers fanned out across a polished table that looked expensive enough to be ironic.

Jack stood by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, staring down at the traffic far below — a river of red taillights moving like blood through the veins of capitalism. Jeeny sat at the end of the table, notebook open, pen poised but idle. She was calm in a room that had forgotten how to be calm.

Host: On the whiteboard behind her, written in bold marker, were the words that had sparked the argument:
“The reason why it is so difficult for existing firms to capitalize on disruptive innovations is that their processes and their business model that make them good at the existing business actually make them bad at competing for the disruption.” — Clayton M. Christensen

The quote looked like both prophecy and accusation.

Jack: (turning) “He was right, you know. Christensen nailed it. We’re built for repetition, not reinvention. Companies like ours survive on predictability — and predictability kills creativity.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward) “But predictability feeds people, Jack. It keeps the lights on, pays the workers, keeps investors from panicking. You can’t build disruption on chaos.”

Jack: “No, but you can’t build the future on comfort either.”

Host: Lightning flashed outside, white and fierce. The reflection of the strike danced across the glass and died quickly. Jeeny’s eyes caught the flicker, but her voice stayed steady.

Jeeny: “You talk about the future like it’s some moral crusade. But disruption isn’t always progress. Sometimes it’s just destruction with better PR.”

Jack: “And stagnation is what? Elegance with a slower death?”

Host: His voice carried the sharpness of someone who had built and lost things before. The room seemed to shrink around their words — the hum of the fluorescent lights a constant reminder that even revolutions had to pay the bills.

Jeeny: “Disruption looks noble when you’re not responsible for payroll. Try telling the single mother in accounting that she’s a casualty of innovation.”

Jack: (softly, but cutting) “And what happens when the company goes under because it refused to adapt? You can’t protect people by keeping them comfortable. You protect them by keeping them relevant.”

Jeeny: “You mean replaceable.”

Jack: “I mean capable of change.”

Host: The rain began to tap against the windows, faint at first, then harder — each drop like a second ticking down to something inevitable.

Jeeny: (quietly) “You always talk about innovation like it’s this glorious wave. But I’ve seen what it does, Jack. Startups cannibalize their founders, giants collapse under their own weight. And through it all, the human cost gets written off as a line item.”

Jack: “You think I don’t see the cost? I just believe the alternative is worse. You know what Christensen meant — the things that make us successful become our blinders. We optimize ourselves into extinction.”

Jeeny: “Maybe extinction isn’t the failure. Maybe forgetting who you are is.”

Host: The lights flickered, a subtle warning. The storm outside had found its rhythm. Jack’s face, once confident, now softened with something like weariness. He looked at the company logo on the wall — sharp, bold, promising eternal relevance — and almost laughed.

Jack: “When we started this firm, I thought success meant endurance. Turns out, it just means delay.”

Jeeny: “And what’s wrong with endurance?”

Jack: “It’s not living, Jeeny. It’s surviving politely.”

Host: A pause stretched between them — long, electric, filled with the unspoken truth that both were right, and both were wrong. The rain blurred the city lights into streaks of color — red, blue, gold — like an impressionist painting of industry unraveling.

Jeeny: “You know, when Christensen wrote about disruption, he wasn’t just talking about business. He was talking about people, too. The same habits that make us reliable make us resistant to change. Companies are just mirrors for that.”

Jack: “So you’re saying the firm’s not dying — we are.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just evolving without asking permission.”

Host: The storm thundered, shaking the glass slightly. Somewhere deep in the building, an alarm chirped — brief, uncertain, like a reminder of vulnerability.

Jack: (sitting, running a hand through his hair) “Do you ever think about how absurd it is? We build systems to make us efficient — then realize efficiency kills curiosity. We automate thought until the only thing left that feels human is panic.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Panic means you still care.”

Jack: (laughing quietly) “That’s one way to measure faith.”

Host: The two sat in silence. The city below flickered — some lights stayed strong, others blinked out under the storm. Jack’s reflection wavered in the glass, split between the man he had become and the idealist he had been when the company began.

Jeeny: “Maybe the trick isn’t to beat disruption. Maybe it’s to stay small enough to keep moving.”

Jack: “You mean, stop trying to be immortal.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Immortality’s just another form of stagnation.”

Host: The rain slowed, but the thunder lingered — a low growl in the distance. Jeeny closed her notebook, her voice almost a whisper now.

Jeeny: “Christensen didn’t just diagnose companies, Jack. He diagnosed us. We’re all built by our successes — and broken by them, too.”

Jack: “So what do we do?”

Jeeny: “We fail better.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Outside, the city was still alive, still burning with the same hunger that had built it — the hunger to outlast itself.

Jack looked once more at the skyline — the storm clearing, the lights slowly reasserting their order. A strange calm crossed his face.

Jack: “Maybe failure’s not the enemy. Maybe it’s the reboot.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the disruption that matters.”

Host: The camera panned back — two figures in a glass tower, surrounded by the ghostly hum of computers and the low thunder of capitalism recharging itself.

And as the lights flickered back to full power, Clayton Christensen’s words seemed to echo through the room like both a warning and a prayer:

The reason why it is so difficult for existing firms to capitalize on disruptive innovations
is that the very things that make them strong also make them blind.

Host: Because sometimes, to keep building the future,
you first have to unlearn the perfection of the present —
and have the courage to let the system break,
so something human can grow from the cracks.