We need to be able to identify and support young people who

Host: The sky above the city campus was a deep steel blue, fading slowly into the pale gold of early evening. The courtyard was nearly empty now — the students had gone, leaving behind a scatter of coffee cups, open notebooks, and the faint hum of dreams suspended in the air. Somewhere beyond the gate, a bus engine groaned, then vanished into distance.

Jack sat on a bench, sleeves rolled up, a laptop flickering faintly in his lap. His eyes, tired but alive, followed a group of young students rushing past — laughter echoing, backpacks bouncing, full of that relentless urgency of youth.

Jeeny appeared from the library steps, carrying a folder under her arm, her hair slightly windblown, her face soft but focused. She approached quietly, watching him as one might watch someone lost in a thought too heavy to disturb.

Jeeny: “You’ve been sitting here for hours, Jack. What’s got you so serious tonight?”

Jack: closing his laptop, sighing “I was reading a quote by Stephen Schwarzman. He said, ‘We need to be able to identify and support young people who demonstrate interest and aptitude in entrepreneurship and business creation and give them tools to follow this path throughout their educational experience.’ It made me think — are we really giving them tools, or just slogans?”

Host: A soft wind moved through the trees, shaking down a few last leaves. The campus lights flickered on, one by one, painting the pavement in golden grids.

Jeeny: “Maybe both. We hand them motivation — but not always maps. Everyone says, ‘follow your dream,’ but no one shows them how to build the road.”

Jack: “Exactly. We romanticize entrepreneurship — make it sound like rebellion wrapped in genius. But for most young people, it’s a cliff with no safety net.”

Jeeny: “Still, isn’t it worth climbing? Some cliffs give you wings, Jack.”

Jack: smirking faintly “And some cliffs give you broken bones.”

Host: Jeeny sat beside him, placing her folder between them. The faint light from the nearby lamppost glowed against her eyes, making them seem like small reflections of the city’s restless spirit.

Jeeny: “You’re too cynical. Entrepreneurship isn’t just about money or fame. It’s about imagination — people who see something missing and dare to fill it. Isn’t that worth teaching?”

Jack: “Teaching, yes. But we’re not teaching it right. We tell them to dream big, but never tell them about failure. We celebrate unicorns and billionaires, but not the ones who learned from loss. Real entrepreneurship isn’t glamorous — it’s brutal, lonely, and full of debt.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that what education should be for — to prepare them, not just inspire them?”

Jack: leaning forward, voice low “That’s what Schwarzman was getting at. We need to support them — not just cheer them on. Mentorship, resources, patience. The world keeps shouting ‘innovate,’ but half the innovators can’t even afford to fail.”

Host: A group of students passed by, their voices rising — fragments of conversation about startup pitches, deadlines, and caffeine. The energy of their youth floated through the air, like the faint hum of possibility.

Jeeny: “You’re not wrong. But do you remember when you started your first project? That old warehouse idea you had — converting it into a small community workspace?”

Jack: half-smiling “Yeah. I remember. I thought passion was enough. Turns out, passion doesn’t pay rent.”

Jeeny: “No, but it pays attention — and that’s where it starts. Maybe what we need isn’t fewer dreamers, Jack, but more systems that believe in them.”

Jack: “Systems don’t believe. People do. The system is designed to reward success, not curiosity. If someone fails twice, they’re branded reckless. If they succeed once, they’re called a visionary. Same person. Different outcome.”

Jeeny: gently “Maybe that’s why you and I keep talking about this — because we still believe that failure deserves a place in education. That kids should learn not just how to succeed, but how to fall without breaking.”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering the pages of Jeeny’s folder. A few sheets fluttered away, landing near the fountain. She rose quickly, chasing them, laughing softly as she caught one against her chest.

Jack watched her, a faint smile tugging at his lips — the kind that only comes from seeing something small and real in a world obsessed with big ideas.

Jeeny: returning, a little breathless “You know, these are proposals for our mentorship program. We’re starting it next month — pairing older professionals with students who want to start their own businesses. Practical skills, financial literacy, community backing.”

Jack: “So you’re building the tools Schwarzman talked about.”

Jeeny: nodding “Trying to. Because belief without structure is just noise.”

Jack: “And structure without belief is bureaucracy.”

Host: A brief silence followed — not heavy, but full of mutual recognition. The campus clock struck eight, its chime slow and deliberate. The sound carried through the air like a teacher’s reminder that every dream has a schedule.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, I think the real privilege isn’t success. It’s seeing potential before it blooms — in yourself or others.”

Jack: “And having someone willing to water it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A good mentor is like rain. They don’t make the seed — they just remind it that it can grow.”

Host: The camera would have pulled closer now, catching their faces illuminated in soft lamplight — his lined with weariness, hers glowing with belief. The night around them hummed with quiet purpose.

Jack: “You always make it sound poetic. But I wonder — can education really teach entrepreneurship? Or is it something you’re born with?”

Jeeny: “I don’t think anyone’s born with it. People are born curious, brave, restless — and then the world either nurtures it or silences it. Our job is to protect the ones who still listen to their own ideas.”

Jack: smiling, half to himself “You sound like my mother. She used to say, ‘Courage isn’t taught. It’s caught.’ Maybe schools need more courage, not just courses.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Less theory, more doing. Let students fail, fix, rebuild. Let them see that failure isn’t the end — it’s the tuition of creation.”

Host: The lights around the courtyard dimmed slightly as automatic timers clicked. The fountain gurgled faintly in the dark. Somewhere, a bicycle bell rang, echoing through the quiet campus — an accidental note of optimism.

Jack stood, closing his laptop again, his expression softer now — not cynical, but thoughtful.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the next big change won’t come from boardrooms or policies, but from classrooms that dare to let kids build before they believe.”

Jeeny: “And from teachers who see potential not in grades, but in grit.”

Host: The camera followed them as they began to walk through the courtyard, the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet, the air carrying the scent of rain-soaked stone. Overhead, the sky cleared slightly, revealing the faint arc of a crescent moon, like a subtle signature above their conversation.

Jack: “You know, if I’d had someone like you when I was younger, maybe I wouldn’t have waited so long to start building.”

Jeeny: smiling warmly “Then it’s not too late to become that person for someone else.”

Host: They stopped near the gate. The city lights beyond shimmered — thousands of tiny beacons, each one a window of work, ambition, or rest. Jeeny turned toward him, her voice quiet but sure.

Jeeny: “That’s the real legacy, Jack. Not just building companies — but building builders.”

Host: The camera panned upward, catching the moonlight reflected on the glass buildings, on the fountain’s ripples, on the eyes of two dreamers standing at the edge of possibility.

And as the screen faded, the echo of Schwarzman’s words lingered — not as policy, not as quote, but as a quiet vow between two souls who still believed that the future isn’t found in textbooks or funding rounds,
but in the courage to create —
and the wisdom to teach others how to begin.