Your attitude towards failure determines your altitude after

Host: The night hung low over the city, its sky stitched with cold, neon light and the hum of traffic far below. Through the window of a small, dimly lit café, rain slid like tears down the glass, catching the reflection of two souls sitting across from one another — Jack and Jeeny. The steam from their coffee cups curled upward like ghosts, mingling with the faint smell of wet asphalt and roasted beans.

Jack sat with his hands clasped, his brow furrowed, eyes distant — the look of a man who’d wrestled too long with disappointment. Jeeny, across from him, rested her chin lightly on her hand, her eyes steady, soft, but burning with belief.

The clock ticked on the wall, slow and indifferent.

Jeeny: “Do you know what John Maxwell once said, Jack? ‘Your attitude towards failure determines your altitude after failure.’”

Jack: (chuckles dryly) “Altitude, huh? Sounds poetic enough to put on a poster in a corporate hallway. But life doesn’t really work like that, Jeeny.”

Host: A car horn blared outside, and the reflected lights trembled across Jack’s face.

Jeeny: “You think it’s just a slogan? No, Jack. It’s the truth. Failure doesn’t end you — your reaction to it does.”

Jack: “Spoken like someone who hasn’t really failed.”

Jeeny: (leans forward) “That’s unfair. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

Jack: “I know what failure feels like. When a project collapses, when you’re blamed for what you couldn’t control, when the world stops believing in you — attitude won’t pay your rent. It won’t bring back what’s lost.”

Host: The rain tapped harder now, as though echoing his bitterness. Jeeny’s gaze softened, but her voice carried quiet fire.

Jeeny: “You’re right — it won’t bring things back. But it’s the only thing that decides whether you rise again or not. Do you remember Thomas Edison? They say he failed over a thousand times before creating the lightbulb. A thousand, Jack. Imagine if he’d stopped.”

Jack: “Edison also had money, investors, assistants — a system that allowed him to fail safely. Ordinary people don’t get that luxury. You fail once in this world, and you’re branded for it.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. You’re branded by how you carry your failure, not by failure itself. People remember how you respond, not how you fall.”

Host: A moment of silence lingered, stretching like the shadow of a long memory. Jack looked toward the window, his reflection faint and fragmented by droplets.

Jack: “Tell that to the people who got fired last year from the firm. Some of them had great attitudes. Still lost their homes.”

Jeeny: “And some of them started over. You know Marcus, the accountant? He lost everything — job, marriage, even his car. But he began teaching online finance courses. He said failure forced him to reinvent himself. That’s altitude, Jack — not money, not position, but perspective.”

Jack: (smirks) “Perspective doesn’t pay the bills either, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: (firmly) “Maybe not. But without it, you’ll never get back up to earn them again.”

Host: The air between them grew heavier, like the moment before a storm breaks. The neon sign outside flickered — pink, then blue, then dark — casting their faces into a rhythm of light and shadow.

Jack: “You talk like failure is a blessing.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s pain, and humiliation, and nights of crying into nothing. But within that pain lies something sacred — choice. The choice to stay broken or to build again.”

Jack: “Choice? Or delusion?”

Jeeny: (voice trembling) “Delusion is giving up and pretending you had no choice.”

Host: Jack’s eyes lifted at her tone — there was something fragile in her anger, something that hinted at a scar of her own.

Jack: “You’ve failed before, haven’t you?”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Twice. Once in love, once in work. Both nearly destroyed me. But I learned — failure doesn’t decide your worth. Your attitude does. That’s why I started again.”

Jack: “And you think attitude saved you?”

Jeeny: “It was the only thing that could.”

Host: Jack leaned back, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. His voice dropped, low and rough.

Jack: “You know, when I lost my company — everyone vanished. Investors, friends, even my so-called partners. I spent six months trying to rebuild, and all I got was another rejection. After a while, attitude felt like an empty word.”

Jeeny: “But you’re still here, Jack. Still trying. That means something survived — maybe not your company, but your spirit.”

Jack: “Spirit doesn’t build things. People do. Systems do. Sometimes I think all this talk about mindset is just a way to blame individuals for structural failures.”

Jeeny: “It’s not blame, it’s power. You can’t always change the system, but you can always change yourself. Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison and came out forgiving the people who locked him away. That’s altitude after failure — moral altitude.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened, and for a brief second, his guard slipped.

Jack: “You make it sound heroic.”

Jeeny: “It is. Every comeback is. Every time you choose not to sink, you’re defying gravity.”

Host: The rain eased, replaced by a faint drizzle, soft as whispering breath. The coffee had gone cold, untouched.

Jack: “So, what, Jeeny — every failure is a test?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not of success, but of spirit. Failure asks, ‘Who are you now that you’ve lost?’ The answer defines everything.”

Jack: “And if the answer is ‘I don’t know’?”

Jeeny: “Then that’s the beginning. Admitting you’re lost is the first climb upward.”

Host: A bus rumbled by, scattering the puddles outside into a shimmer of city lights. Jeeny’s eyes glowed faintly in the flickering neon.

Jack: “You really believe there’s altitude after every fall?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because falling means you tried. People who never fall, never fly either.”

Jack: (after a pause) “You sound like a preacher.”

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) “No, just someone who’s been at the bottom and decided not to live there.”

Host: Jack looked at her then — really looked — and the sharpness in his eyes softened into something like respect, maybe even understanding.

Jack: “Maybe attitude doesn’t fix everything. But maybe it’s the only thing that makes ‘everything’ possible again.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Failure doesn’t define your height — your heart does.”

Host: Outside, the rain had stopped completely. The streetlights glowed against the wet pavement, turning it to a river of silver. Jack and Jeeny sat quietly, the storm both outside and within finally easing.

Jack: “So… altitude after failure.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not how high you climb in the world — but how deeply you rise within yourself.”

Host: The camera of the moment lingered — two figures framed by the faint glow of dawn creeping between clouds, the steam of forgotten coffee fading like an old memory.

Jack exhaled, a long, slow breath that carried both weariness and peace.

Jeeny smiled — small, knowing, luminous.

And for the first time that night, the city felt quiet. The rain had passed, but its echo remained — a soft reminder that even the sky falls before it clears.