There will be very few occasions when you are absolutely certain

Host:
The rain fell steady against the glass walls of a dim office tower, forty stories above the city. It was late — the kind of late when the skyline turns into a constellation of human ambition, every window still lit marking someone else who hadn’t yet found rest. The clock on the wall blinked 11:47 p.m., its red digits humming softly in the stillness.

Inside, the boardroom was half-dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of computer screens and the blurred shimmer of the city beyond. Jack stood by the window, jacket slung over his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A glass of whiskey caught the light beside him. Jeeny sat at the table, barefoot now, her heels abandoned under the chair, her eyes reflecting both fatigue and defiance.

On the whiteboard behind them was written in black marker, underlined twice:

“There will be very few occasions when you are absolutely certain about anything. You will consistently be called upon to make decisions with limited information. That being the case, your goal should not be to eliminate uncertainty. Instead, you must develop the art of being clear in the face of uncertainty.” — Andy Stanley.

Jeeny: leans back, rubbing her temples “I love that line — the art of being clear in the face of uncertainty. It’s not about knowing. It’s about courage.”

Jack: half-smiling, staring out at the city “Courage, or delusion? Half the leaders in this world are just confident liars. They don’t know anything — they just sound like they do.”

Jeeny: “That’s not clarity, Jack. That’s arrogance dressed as certainty. Clarity doesn’t mean pretending you know. It means admitting you don’t — and deciding anyway.”

Jack: turns toward her, voice low “So ignorance with confidence?”

Jeeny: “No. Integrity with risk.”

Host:
The wind outside rattled the glass, echoing faintly in the hollow of the room. The city lights flickered, turning the skyline into a living heartbeat. Jack’s face, caught between shadow and gold reflection, looked like a man balanced on the edge of belief and exhaustion.

Jack: “When I was younger, I thought certainty was power. You know — have the facts, know the numbers, make the call. Now… I’m not so sure of anything.”

Jeeny: “That’s growth, not weakness. Certainty’s a comfort blanket for people afraid of mystery. Real strength is making choices when the ground beneath you won’t stop shifting.”

Jack: “So we live by guessing?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “By trusting. There’s a difference.”

Jack: snorts “Trust is just an emotional word for gambling.”

Jeeny: leans forward, voice gentle but fierce “Then every act of love, every risk, every dream — they’re all gambles, aren’t they? Maybe uncertainty isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s what makes life meaningful.”

Host:
A flash of lightning lit up the city. The brief burst of light illuminated their faces — Jack, the eternal realist, his expression hard but thoughtful; Jeeny, the quiet believer, her eyes alive with conviction.

Jack: “Stanley talks about clarity like it’s an art. But art’s subjective. How do you practice clarity when you don’t even know if you’re right?”

Jeeny: “By focusing on honesty instead of perfection. Clarity doesn’t mean correctness — it means alignment. It means saying, ‘This is what I see. This is what I believe. This is where I’ll stand.’ That’s all anyone can do.”

Jack: “And when you’re wrong?”

Jeeny: “Then you learn. And you lead again. The only thing worse than being wrong is being silent.”

Jack: quietly “You sound like someone who’s made peace with doubt.”

Jeeny: “No. I just stopped letting it paralyze me.”

Host:
The rain outside softened to a gentle rhythm, like applause from the heavens. The lights of passing cars below reflected on the wet streets — flashes of white and red, like thoughts speeding through the city’s veins.

Jack: “You know, when I was in business school, they told us that uncertainty was the enemy. Minimize risk. Control outcomes. But now I think control is the illusion that kills creativity.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can’t plan your way out of chaos. You can only choose who you’ll be inside it.”

Jack: “And who are you, Jeeny, inside all this chaos?”

Jeeny: after a long pause “Someone who tries to be clear — not certain. Clear about what I value. Clear about who I trust. The rest… I leave open.”

Jack: half-smiling “You make uncertainty sound almost sacred.”

Jeeny: “It is. It’s the space where faith breathes. Where possibility lives. If we had all the answers, we’d stop asking the right questions.”

Host:
A moment of quiet settled over them — not heavy, but charged, like the pause between two chords. Jack walked over to the whiteboard and stared at the quote again, tracing the last words — “clear in the face of uncertainty.” His hand lingered there, thoughtful.

Jack: “Maybe clarity’s not about knowing what’s next. Maybe it’s about knowing yourself well enough to face what’s next.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Yes. Exactly that. Clarity is character. When everything around you shakes, you still move forward — not because you’re sure, but because you’re anchored.”

Jack: “Anchored to what?”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “To the why.”

Jack: “The why?”

Jeeny: “The reason you choose when every reason fails. The thing that keeps you standing when certainty can’t.”

Host:
The clock hit midnight. The rain stopped. The city outside was still glowing — but quieter now, its energy turned inward, reflective.

Jeeny stood, gathering her papers, her voice calm but edged with warmth.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… clarity isn’t loud. It’s not thunder or triumph. It’s that still voice in the middle of the storm that says, ‘This is the next step.’ Even when you don’t know where it leads.”

Jack: nodding slowly “And maybe that’s the point. Life doesn’t hand us maps — just compasses. You never eliminate uncertainty; you just learn to walk with it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Certainty seeks control. Clarity seeks truth.”

Jack: “And truth… shifts.”

Jeeny: “Which is why clarity is an art — not a formula.”

Host:
They both laughed softly, the sound echoing gently in the near-empty room. Jack walked back to the window, looking out one last time at the lights below. Jeeny, now standing beside him, followed his gaze. The city — uncertain, imperfect, endlessly alive — blinked back at them.

Jack: quietly “You know, I think Stanley got it right. Maybe the goal isn’t certainty. Maybe it’s courage.”

Jeeny: “Yes. The courage to be clear — even when everything around you is blurred.”

Host:
The camera would pull back then, the two of them framed against the vast cityscape, reflections of light playing across the glass like moving constellations.

The whiteboard behind them glowed faintly in the dark, the words still visible like a promise:

“Be clear in the face of uncertainty.”

And as the city kept breathing beneath them, clarity, not certainty, felt — finally — like the truest form of peace.