You can't take anything personally in this business. Follow your

Host:
The night air shimmered with the restless hum of the city — cars whispering, billboards glowing, dreams colliding in the silent tension of ambition. On the rooftop of a downtown hotel, the world below looked small — a living constellation of neon and noise, pulsing with the rhythm of those who still believed in tomorrow.

The skyline stretched endlessly, a mosaic of windows like scattered mirrors — each one holding a life, a secret, a pursuit. Somewhere between the stars and the streetlights, Jack sat on the edge of the roof, his coat pulled tight against the cold, his grey eyes fixed on the horizon.

Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the railing, her long black hair caught by the wind, her expression both tender and defiant. Between them, the remains of two cups of coffee steamed faintly, their warmth fading into the chill.

On a scrap of paper, weighed down by Jack’s lighter, were the words that had sparked their argument —

“You can’t take anything personally in this business. Follow your dreams, but there is a lot of criticism. You have to brush it off. Everybody is looking for something different.”
— Kendall Jenner

The words flapped slightly in the wind — part confession, part survival guide.

Jeeny: quietly, watching the city lights below “She’s right, you know. It’s all about letting go — not of your dream, but of how people see it. You can’t survive in a world built on opinions if you keep swallowing every one of them.”

Jack: half-smiling, half-tired “That’s easy to say when the criticism comes with a paycheck.”

Jeeny: turning toward him, frowning slightly “You think money makes rejection hurt less?”

Jack: shrugging “It cushions the fall.”

Host:
The wind picked up, lifting the paper slightly before the lighter pinned it down again. The city’s glow shimmered against Jack’s tired face, tracing the lines that only time and disappointment can carve.

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s still bleeding from an old review.”

Jack: sighing “More like a few dozen. You spend your life chasing something pure — an idea, a story, a truth — and then someone who’s never even tried tells you you’ve failed. And somehow, they sound so sure, you start believing them.”

Jeeny: softly “So you quit?”

Jack: smirking bitterly “No. You keep going. But something inside you hardens — a little more with each word.”

Host:
A helicopter buzzed faintly in the distance, its lights gliding like a restless thought across the sky. Below, laughter drifted from the streets — strangers living their lives without the weight of ambition pressing on their ribs.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why she said it — ‘you can’t take anything personally.’ Because if you do, you’ll stop. And if you stop, you disappear.”

Jack: gruffly “You think that’s strength — brushing it off?”

Jeeny: nodding “No. It’s discipline. Strength is emotional. Discipline is survival.”

Jack: looking at her, intrigued “You make it sound mechanical.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe it has to be. You can’t create from a wound that never closes. You have to scar over and keep building. That’s what every artist, every dreamer learns — eventually.”

Host:
Her words hung in the air like notes from an unfinished melody. The wind softened, brushing gently against their faces, carrying the faint scent of the ocean miles away.

Jack: “So what, we just stop feeling?”

Jeeny: quietly “No. We learn how to feel without falling apart.”

Jack: with a small laugh “You make it sound like resilience is an art form.”

Jeeny: meeting his gaze “It is. You have to paint over the bruises until they start looking like lessons.”

Host:
The lights of the city flickered, and somewhere below, a siren wailed — the soundtrack of every restless dream that ever dared to survive the night.

Jack: after a moment “She said, ‘Everybody’s looking for something different.’ You think that’s the problem — or the solution?”

Jeeny: thinking “Both. The problem is that no one agrees on what beauty, talent, or worth really mean. The solution is that you don’t have to care. There’s room for everything — if you can handle being misunderstood.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “Being misunderstood. That’s the tax you pay for chasing something only you can see.”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “Exactly. You can’t make everyone see it. You just have to believe in it enough to keep going when they don’t.”

Host:
A plane cut silently across the sky, its light blinking against the dark. Jack’s cigarette glowed, a tiny flame against the enormity of the city.

Jack: “Funny how every dream looks invincible until you start living it. Then it becomes fragile — like a bird that lands on your hand. You want to hold it, but the tighter you grip, the more you risk killing it.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s the paradox, isn’t it? To care deeply — but not take it personally. To believe fiercely — but not expect validation. To love the art — even when the world doesn’t love you back.”

Jack: after a long silence “You think it’s worth it?”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Always. Because the alternative is silence — and that’s worse than criticism.”

Host:
The wind calmed, and for a moment, the city seemed to hold its breath. The sound of traffic faded beneath the quiet hum of the universe doing what it always does — moving forward.

Jack: smiling faintly “You know, I think she’s right. The business — whatever the business is — it’s not about perfection. It’s about persistence.”

Jeeny: grinning softly “And a little bit of madness.”

Jack: with a low chuckle “Always that.”

Host:
They sat there, side by side, two dreamers on a rooftop — caught between exhaustion and renewal, between cynicism and faith. The paper on the table fluttered again, the quote glowing under the city lights like a quiet truth whispered from another world.

And as the camera of thought drew back — leaving them small against the vast expanse of stars and skyscrapers — the narrator’s voice rose, low and deliberate, echoing like a heartbeat through the night:

That to dream is easy.
To keep dreaming — in the face of noise, judgment, and indifference —
is an act of quiet rebellion.

That in a world where everyone is looking for something different,
the only thing that matters
is to keep creating,
even when no one’s watching,
even when it hurts.

Because success is fleeting,
but the courage to begin again —
that’s eternal.

Host:
And so, under the trembling city lights,
Jack and Jeeny sat —
not waiting for approval,
not afraid of the noise —
but simply existing in the rare, beautiful quiet
of those who still dare to believe in their own voice.