There was a point in the late '90s where all the graduating

Host: The night hummed softly with the sound of servers — the faint mechanical breath of a world running on ambition. Through the glass walls of a high-rise office, the lights of San Francisco stretched into infinity — each one a data point, a dream, a dollar sign flickering in the fog.

The room smelled of espresso, ozone, and the faint burnt scent of late nights turned into early mornings. On a desk cluttered with laptops, whiteboard markers, and half-empty energy drinks, Jack sat, leaning back in his chair, scrolling through code and charts with a look that mixed fatigue and irony.

Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop closed, her eyes on the skyline. The glow from the city cast her face in blue light — thoughtful, sharp, alive.

Jeeny: “Marc Andreessen once said, ‘There was a point in the late ’90s where all the graduating M.B.A.s wanted to start companies in Silicon Valley, and for the most part they were not actually qualified to do it.’”

Jack: (snorts) “Ah, the dawn of the wannabe founder. The original gold rush of code and confidence.”

Jeeny: “Except this time, the pickaxes were PowerPoint slides.”

Host: A quiet laugh escaped both of them — tired, knowing. Outside, a drone buzzed past the window like a mechanical bee, carrying someone’s takeout across the neon cityscape.

Jack: “Andreessen had a point, though. The Valley was full of dreamers with business plans and no businesses, decks and no direction. Everyone wanted to be the next Steve Jobs, but none of them wanted to be broke in a garage for ten years.”

Jeeny: “Because they mistook ambition for ability. The M.B.A. crowd thought ideas were enough. But Silicon Valley wasn’t built on ideas — it was built on obsession. On failure. On people who coded until their fingers bled.”

Jack: “You sound romantic about it.”

Jeeny: “I’m not romantic, I’m realistic. Andreessen wasn’t mocking them. He was diagnosing the disease of entitlement — that belief that education equals readiness.”

Jack: “Yeah. They thought degrees could substitute for scars.”

Jeeny: “And they learned fast that they can’t.”

Host: The monitors around the room flickered with graphs and updates — digital constellations in a manmade sky. Jack reached for his coffee, swirling the dark liquid, watching the small vortex form — like a metaphor for the era they were talking about: everything spinning, everything possible, everything eventually burning out.

Jack: “You know, sometimes I wonder if we’re any better now. We still chase the same myths — just with fancier words. Back then, it was ‘startups’; now, it’s ‘founder culture,’ ‘AI disruption,’ ‘changing the world.’ Different slogan, same delusion.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But at least delusion has built a few miracles. The Internet itself was someone’s crazy idea once. What Andreessen was really saying is that timing matters — not everyone’s supposed to build. Some are supposed to learn first.”

Jack: (smiling) “Learn? That’s not in the pitch deck.”

Jeeny: “No. But it’s in the failure report.”

Host: The rain began — soft at first, then heavier, streaking the windows in diagonal lines of silver. The reflections of the city blurred into liquid light.

Jack: “I was there, you know. Late ’90s. Dot-com fever. Money everywhere. You could sneeze near an idea and someone would fund it.”

Jeeny: “And what happened?”

Jack: (quietly) “We built fast, bragged faster… then watched it all collapse. It wasn’t a crash — it was an awakening. Turns out, bandwidth couldn’t keep up with hubris.”

Jeeny: “So Andreessen’s words were a warning.”

Jack: “Yeah. A reminder that markets forgive nothing. You can fake charm, fake confidence — but you can’t fake competence.”

Host: The light above them flickered once, briefly dimming, like a pulse skipping a beat. The two sat in silence for a moment, letting the storm outside fill the space.

Jeeny: “You know what I think the tragedy was? Those M.B.A.s — they weren’t wrong to dream. They were just taught the wrong metrics. They thought success was valuation, not value.”

Jack: “Exactly. They learned how to sell before they learned how to build. It’s like painting the finish line before you’ve even run the race.”

Jeeny: “And the Valley rewarded it. Venture capital made impatience fashionable. Everyone wanted exponential growth — no one wanted craft.”

Jack: “Because craft doesn’t go viral.”

Jeeny: “But it lasts.”

Host: A flash of lightning lit up the skyline, outlining the iconic Golden Gate Bridge in the distance — silent, stoic, still standing after every boom and bust.

Jack: (nodding toward the window) “You see that? That’s what real creation looks like. Steel. Weathered. Still carrying weight long after the hype’s gone. The bridge doesn’t need investors — just integrity.”

Jeeny: “And engineers who didn’t care about glamour.”

Jack: “Yeah. Maybe that’s the difference between the M.B.A.s and the makers. One group wanted applause, the other wanted structure.”

Jeeny: “But both needed each other. The builders without vision fail quietly. The visionaries without skill fail loudly.”

Jack: “So balance is the real business model.”

Jeeny: “Balance — and humility.”

Host: The rain softened again, leaving trails of light dripping down the glass like melted circuits. Jack set his coffee aside and leaned back, his voice thoughtful now, quieter — the kind of tone reserved for memories that still teach.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? The best founders I ever met didn’t want to ‘change the world.’ They just wanted to solve one problem well. The world changed around them by accident.”

Jeeny: “That’s how it always happens. Greatness isn’t planned — it’s earned. Slowly. Reluctantly.”

Jack: “So Andreessen wasn’t criticizing ambition — he was criticizing impatience.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The belief that timing can be skipped. That brilliance without experience equals destiny. But it doesn’t. It equals collapse.”

Host: The city lights flickered through the rain, the reflections trembling like digital candlelight.

Jack: (softly) “Maybe the Valley needed its fools. They were the price of innovation.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Every gold rush needs dreamers — but only the miners who stay through the winter build civilizations.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You always find poetry in the fallout.”

Jeeny: “Because failure isn’t the end. It’s the data.”

Host: The thunder faded, the servers continued their steady hum. The room felt smaller now — not confined, but focused. The storm outside had passed; the one inside was still evolving.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… maybe that’s what Andreessen was really trying to say. Not everyone’s meant to lead. But everyone’s meant to learn — if they’re willing to listen.”

Jack: “And if not?”

Jeeny: “Then they’ll build another bubble.”

Host: The camera pulled back slowly — the office glowing like a lone beacon amid the fog, two figures framed against the glass, surrounded by code, coffee, and consequence.

Host: “And in that neon silence,” the world whispered, “they understood Marc Andreessen’s lesson — that opportunity without readiness breeds illusion, that education without hunger breeds entitlement, and that timing without patience is just luck pretending to be genius.”

The lights dimmed, the city breathed. The storm was over, but the lesson remained: in every age, ambition repeats — and wisdom waits for those willing to fail long enough to earn it.