When I hear people debate the ROI of social media? It makes me

Host: The rain had just stopped over the city, leaving the streets slick and silver beneath the buzzing neon lights. The office on the thirteenth floor still glowed — long after everyone else had gone home. Papers littered the table, computer screens hummed faintly, and the air smelled of coffee, electricity, and fatigue.

Jack sat slouched in his chair, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. His grey eyes were sharp but tired, reflecting the blue light of the laptop screen. Across the table, Jeeny leaned back against the glass wall, arms folded, her long hair spilling down like a shadow over her shoulder. Her eyes — warm, defiant — watched him the way one watches someone walking too close to the edge.

Jeeny: “Gary Vaynerchuk once said, ‘When I hear people debate the ROI of social media, it makes me remember why so many businesses fail. Most businesses are not playing the marathon. They're playing the sprint. They're not worried about lifetime value and retention. They're worried about short-term goals.’”
Jack: (smirks) “Yeah, the guy with a million followers talking about patience. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
Jeeny: “No. That’s the point. He earned the followers because he played the long game. He understood people before he sold to them.”
Jack: “And yet, everyone quotes him like he’s a saint in a marketplace. You know what I see? A man monetizing patience itself.”

Host: The wind outside brushed against the glass with soft, rhythmic sighs. The city lights flickered below — billboards glowing, promises flashing — every corner screaming for attention, every brand sprinting for a second of love.

Jeeny: “You always think everything’s a transaction.”
Jack: “Because it is. The moment you need attention, you’re selling something — even if it’s yourself.”
Jeeny: “But what’s wrong with that? Connection has always been currency. The only difference is that now it’s digital.”
Jack: “The difference is speed. Nobody builds trust at Wi-Fi velocity. You can’t run a marathon in tweets.”
Jeeny: “Tell that to the creators who built communities online. The ones who turned followers into families, and customers into believers.”
Jack: “Families? Don’t kid yourself. They’re just metrics with feelings.”

Host: The tension rippled through the room. A flicker of thunder rolled somewhere distant, a low murmur that felt like the sky grumbling over their argument. Jeeny pushed off the glass wall and stepped closer to him, her voice soft but cutting.

Jeeny: “You talk like a man who’s seen too many numbers and not enough people.”
Jack: “And you talk like a woman who thinks feelings pay rent.”
Jeeny: “Feelings create loyalty, Jack. Loyalty creates longevity. Isn’t that what business really is — a relationship that lasts?”
Jack: “Relationships end. Profit margins shouldn’t.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second like a footstep toward burnout. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly, washing their faces in pale exhaustion.

Jeeny: “You know what your problem is? You think growth is only vertical — more money, more clients, more deals. But real growth is horizontal. Depth, not height.”
Jack: “Depth doesn’t pay dividends.”
Jeeny: “It does — just not instantly. You’re addicted to the sprint, and you call it ambition.”
Jack: “And you’re addicted to the marathon, and you call it virtue.”

Host: She stopped, just a few feet away. The air between them crackled with the quiet electricity of two philosophies colliding. Outside, the rain began again — light, constant, the world’s whisper reminding them that cycles never end, only repeat.

Jeeny: “You ever wonder why most startups die before year three? Because they chase quarterly targets like addicts. No patience. No purpose.”
Jack: “Purpose doesn’t keep the lights on.”
Jeeny: “Neither does greed.”
Jack: “Call it survival.”
Jeeny: “No. Survival is knowing how to breathe through failure — not sprint into it.”

Host: Jack leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table, knuckles whitening. His jaw tightened; the faint light carved sharp edges into his face.

Jack: “You think I don’t play long term? I’ve been working twelve-hour days for ten years. That’s a marathon, Jeeny.”
Jeeny: “That’s exhaustion. Not vision. You’re burning through time, not building toward it.”
Jack: “Same thing, isn’t it?”
Jeeny: “No. One destroys. The other sustains.”

Host: A silence fell heavy between them. The storm outside had picked up — rain now racing down the glass in furious streaks. The city below blurred into moving light, like a painting smudged by too many ambitions.

Jeeny: “When Gary talks about long-term value, he’s not just talking business. He’s talking about people. Brands that treat customers like one-night stands never survive. It’s the ones who listen, who nurture, who keep showing up — those are the ones that build empires.”
Jack: “Empires still fall.”
Jeeny: “Yes. But they’re remembered for what they built, not how fast they built it.”

Host: Jack looked at her, his expression softening for the first time. There was something raw in his eyes now — the kind of truth that only exhaustion could bring out.

Jack: “You sound like you still believe business has a soul.”
Jeeny: “I do. Every exchange carries emotion. Even the ones that look like numbers. Behind every click, there’s a person.”
Jack: “And behind every person, there’s a price.”
Jeeny: “No, Jack. Behind every person, there’s a story. That’s what Gary understood. You’re not selling products — you’re earning trust.”

Host: The lights flickered. A gust of wind slammed against the windows. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed — thin, mournful, fleeting.

Jack: “I used to believe in stories. Until I learned that people only read the parts that profit them.”
Jeeny: “Then tell better stories.”
Jack: “You think it’s that easy?”
Jeeny: “No. But it’s worth it.”

Host: The storm softened. The office felt strangely intimate now — no longer a battleground, but a confessional. Jack rubbed his temples and sighed.

Jack: “You really think patience wins in a world built for scrolling?”
Jeeny: “Yes. Because noise fades. Trust echoes.”
Jack: “And what about speed? Adaptation?”
Jeeny: “Adapt, don’t abandon. Evolution doesn’t mean erasure. The tortoise didn’t stop moving — he just didn’t panic.”

Host: A faint smile tugged at Jack’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The tension that had gripped the room began to loosen, replaced by something gentler — understanding, maybe even respect.

Jack: “You know… maybe the problem isn’t the sprint. Maybe it’s forgetting the finish line.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not about speed. It’s about endurance — emotional, ethical, human.”
Jack: “But endurance doesn’t trend.”
Jeeny: “It doesn’t have to. It just has to last.”

Host: The clock ticked past midnight. The city outside had quieted — only the hum of lights and the occasional car cutting through puddles.

Jack: “You really think long-term vision can survive in a short-term world?”
Jeeny: “It has to. Because everything else burns out. And if business is just sprinting, then what’s left when the race ends?”
Jack: “Debt. And disillusionment.”
Jeeny: “Exactly. So run slower. Build deeper. Care longer.”

Host: Jack nodded slowly. The room, once filled with tension, now seemed to breathe again. He looked at Jeeny — not as a colleague, not as an opponent, but as someone who’d just reminded him of something he’d almost forgotten.

Jack: “Maybe Gary’s right. Maybe we’ve all been chasing the wrong kind of speed.”
Jeeny: “Then stop chasing. Start pacing.”

Host: Outside, the last raindrop slid down the glass and vanished. The first faint glow of dawn began to touch the skyline — a thin, hopeful line of light.

Jeeny: “You see that?”
Jack: “Yeah.”
Jeeny: “That’s what the marathon looks like. Slow. Steady. Worth the wait.”

Host: The camera would linger then — on two faces caught between neon and sunrise, between ambition and wisdom. The city still pulsed below, sprinting as it always did, unaware that somewhere high above, two people had quietly decided to walk instead.

Because in the end, as Gary Vaynerchuk said, most businesses fail not from lack of talent — but from lack of patience.
And in that quiet room, beneath the hum of computers and the hush of dawn, Jack and Jeeny finally understood:
It was never about running faster.
It was about running farther — together.