You can't please everyone, but I've always felt you cannot

Host: The office lights burned dimly against the velvet black of midnight, reflecting off glass walls that framed a skyline still pulsing with ambition. Desks lay empty now — papers neatly stacked, monitors asleep, the hum of the air-conditioning the only companion left to the late hour.

Jack sat alone at the conference table, a half-empty cup of coffee beside a mess of sketches, drafts, and prototypes. His tie hung loose, his eyes tired but alive — that haunted look of someone who’d given everything to something uncertain.

Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged on the table, her shoes off, hair tied back, flipping through a report. The faint glow from the city below traced her profile — sharp, steady, but soft where it counted.

Host: The clock on the wall ticked toward 1:00 a.m., the hour when exhaustion and reflection become indistinguishable.

Jeeny: (closing the report) “Mark Ryan once said, ‘You can’t please everyone, but I’ve always felt you cannot ultimately lose if you give everything you try 110%. You’ll always learn something useful, even from a failure, that can be applied to the next challenge or project.’”

(she looks at him) “You gave this project your 110%, Jack. Maybe more.”

Jack: (rubbing his forehead) “Yeah. And it still flopped.”

Jeeny: “Flopped? No. It stumbled. There’s a difference.”

Jack: “Tell that to the investors.”

Jeeny: “They’ll recover. You will too.”

Jack: (shaking his head) “You sound like a motivational poster.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Maybe. But sometimes posters are all that stand between people and quitting.”

Host: The rain began tapping against the glass, the droplets catching the faint city lights like tiny fragments of truth falling from the sky.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? Everyone talks about giving your all — putting in 110%. But nobody tells you what to do when your ‘all’ isn’t enough.”

Jeeny: “Then you redefine what ‘enough’ means.”

Jack: “Easy for you to say. You weren’t in that meeting today.”

Jeeny: (leaning forward) “No, but I’ve been in others. And I’ve failed in front of people who were less forgiving. You know what I learned? That you don’t measure effort by applause. You measure it by what you take forward.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like slow smoke, wrapping around the quiet space between them.

Jack: “You think failure’s useful? Feels more like a scar.”

Jeeny: “It is. But scars are just healed lessons. They don’t fade — they remind.”

Jack: (half-laughing) “You’ve got a quote for everything, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “No, just for the things that hurt.”

Host: The wind shifted, rattling the tall glass panes, as if the city itself were eavesdropping on the conversation of two weary dreamers refusing to surrender.

Jack: “You ever get tired of trying? Of giving more than you have to things that don’t give back?”

Jeeny: “All the time. But I’d rather drown in effort than dry up in regret.”

Jack: “That’s poetic.”

Jeeny: “That’s survival.”

Host: She reached across the table, pushed his pile of papers slightly aside, and revealed a small, rough sketch underneath — a design he’d abandoned weeks ago.

Jeeny: “You drew this before the revisions, before the committee, before the compromises. Remember how proud you were of this version?”

Jack: (quietly) “Yeah. It was raw. Untested. Dangerous.”

Jeeny: “It was honest. You didn’t make it to please anyone — you made it to build something real.”

Jack: (exhaling) “And that’s what got it killed.”

Jeeny: “No, that’s what will save the next one.”

Host: The lights flickered slightly, as if agreeing. Outside, the rain softened to a steady rhythm — the sound of perseverance in liquid form.

Jack: “You think that’s what Mark Ryan meant? That you can’t lose if you keep learning?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because loss only exists if you stop moving. The second you turn failure into fuel, it stops being defeat.”

Jack: “And becomes experience.”

Jeeny: “And experience becomes advantage. You just haven’t cashed it in yet.”

Host: Jack leaned back, letting her words sink in. The room felt larger suddenly, the failure smaller. It wasn’t absolution, but it was perspective — and that was enough.

Jack: “You know, I used to think success was about the outcome — about recognition. But maybe it’s more about integrity. About showing up at full capacity, even when the odds are ugly.”

Jeeny: “That’s the secret. You don’t do it to win — you do it because effort itself is an act of faith.”

Jack: “Faith in what?”

Jeeny: “In becoming. In the version of you that tries again, wiser this time.”

Host: The camera lingers on the two of them, framed by the city lights and their own exhaustion. On the table between them, the failed project’s plans — still beautiful, still alive in paper form — catch the faintest reflection of the skyline, like the city itself approving the next attempt.

Jack: “So what do we do now?”

Jeeny: “We learn. We rest. Then we build again. Because people who give 110% don’t retire after a setback — they recalibrate.”

Jack: “And if the next one fails too?”

Jeeny: “Then we’ll have learned twice as much.”

Host: Her certainty was quiet, but unshakeable. The kind that doesn’t come from optimism — but from understanding how to stand in the ruins of something and still find raw material for the future.

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I don’t just believe it. I’ve lived it. Every mistake I’ve made built the ground I’m standing on right now.”

Jack: “And it’s solid?”

Jeeny: (nodding) “Enough to build again.”

Host: The clock clicked past 2:00 a.m., and the rain outside finally stopped. The city glowed, cleansed and reflective. Inside, the air was lighter — not triumphant, but resilient.

Jeeny stood, gathering her notes, her movements deliberate and calm.

Jeeny: “Come on. Go home, Jack. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

Jack: “You think tomorrow’s worth another 110%?”

Jeeny: “It always is. Because every percent teaches something the last one didn’t.”

Host: He smiled, stood, and looked once more at the blueprint — the linework still raw but full of potential. Then he turned off the lights.

Host: The city below shimmered, alive with a thousand small failures still trying — and that was enough.

Host: As they walked out, Mark Ryan’s words seemed to echo softly behind them — not as corporate wisdom, but as human truth:

Host: That you can’t please everyone,
but you can always please the part of yourself
that refuses to quit.

Host: That giving 110% isn’t about winning,
but about growing into someone
who knows what effort really costs —
and still pays it gladly.

Host: Because even from the ashes of defeat,
you carry the blueprint for something better.
And that, in itself,
is victory enough.