Gents Journey
Helping Men become the Gentleman they deserve to be. This Podcast is part inspiration part motivation. We discuss what it takes to be a Gentleman in the 21st Century. We also talk about how to deal with the internal and external battles that life throws at us. So come be apart of the Gents Journey!
Gents Journey
The Confidence Protocols: The Tower of Rejection
"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast. My name is Anthony, your host, and today we are in episode three, or trial three, of the confidence protocols. So let's go ahead and let's get into it. The jungle is silent again, and let's get into it. The jungle is silent again, not the kind of silence that feels safe, but the kind that feels like someone's watching you move carefully, now, slower than before, not out of exhaustion, but because something in the air feels different, feels thicker, heavier, not with danger, but with expectation. You can feel it tightening with every step, not like before, not like the howling veil where the wind pressed your chest and choked your voice. No, this is something colder, this is something sharper. You realize what it is just as you cross a ridge and the jungle opens up before you Judgment.
Speaker 1:The path is gone and in its place, jagged stone Cliffs rise unevenly on either side, a single trail, winds between them, narrow, exposed, and at the far end of this stone corridor, you see it the tower. It isn't tall in the traditional sense, it's not some gleaming spire, not some gothic monument. It's crooked, it's cracked, it's impossible, rising at a slant like it's straining against its own design, barely able to hold itself up. It's made of rough, dark stone, reinforced by what looks like the bones of things that once tried to climb it. It scrapes the sky, not because it wants to touch it, but because it wants to dare to strike it down. The top disappears into the mist. You can't see how high it goes, you don't even know where it ends, but you already feel it. The place you're meant to reach is far, far above the moment you take your first step toward it, the air changes.
Speaker 1:The shame begins to return, not full force, just little whispers saying why would they listen to you? What if they say, no, you're not ready for this. You never were. See, it's not memory now, it's anticipation. Memory now, it's anticipation. You're not facing something that has already happened. You're facing something you must do, knowing it may not work. That's the real reason the tower exists Not to block you, but to see if you'll ask anyways, because this trial is about rejection. And the most dangerous thing about rejection isn't the pain, it's the avoidance. It's the way it teaches you to reach for less, to risk less, to desire less, not because you stopped wanting, but because you started believing it wasn't worth the cost of being denied.
Speaker 1:You stop at the base of the tower. There is no door, just a crack stone slab pressed against the lower wall. Is no door? Just a crack stone slab pressed against the lower wall. It reads the path does not open unless asked. And you must ask without certainty. You must climb, knowing you may fall, and still you must climb.
Speaker 1:The wind shifts behind you. It doesn't push this time, it waits. Everything is waiting your breath, your shame, your courage. The trial hasn't begun yet, not until you ask the first question, and the tower always hears it, whether you whisper it or not. So you stand before this crack slab of stone, heart beating like it's trying to convince you to turn around, but you don't. You place your palm on the surface. The moment your skin touches the stone, it vibrates A low hum, like something waking up behind the wall. Then the slab splits, not cleanly, not like a door. It groans as it drags apart, like it doesn't want to let you in, but it must. You step through Inside.
Speaker 1:The tower is hollow, just a spiraling staircase cut into the wall, ascending endlessly. The air inside is cold, but not a natural cold, rejection cold, the kind of chill that hits you when you say something vulnerable and they blink, confused, the kind of cold that wraps around your chest when your idea gets dismissed in silence, the kind that follows you out of a room where no one saw you. And this tower, it holds all of it. You take your first step upward. The moment your foot lands, you hear it no, just one word. But it isn't yours, it's someone else's from long ago. You take another step, another no Then follows. You're not good enough, not what we're looking for. We went another direction. I don't see it. Try again next time. No response, no message, no one showed. Each step echoes with a rejection you've buried. Some were direct, some were implied, most weren't even spoken out loud. But the tower remembers all of them. It has no walls, just a spiraling path upward. No railings, no safety, only risk. The higher you go, the harder it becomes to step, not because your body is tired, but your nervous system remembers what it felt like to reach and to be denied, to hope and be invisible, to apply To addition, to confess To love and be met with silence.
Speaker 1:At one turn of the staircase, you come across a break in the stone, a platform, a ledge, with nothing on it, just a simple carved into the floor, an open hand, below it, a phrase ask. Here you freeze. The tower doesn't say what to ask. It doesn't tell you who to ask. It only requires that you put something on the line a desire, a question, a request that could be denied. And that's the rub. It's not safe and that's why it matters.
Speaker 1:You step onto the platform. It's not safe and that's why it matters. You step onto the platform, you open your mouth and you ask and this could be different for every man. It could be will you choose me? Will you help me? Can I have this? Will you support me? Do I deserve this? Can I have this? Will you support me? Do I deserve this? Can I try again?
Speaker 1:The moment the words leave your lips, the tower shifts and the answer it doesn't come, not yet. That's the second lesson of the climb you must act without guarantee. You must act without guarantee. You must ask without assurance. You must move forward even if the door might not open. See, this trial isn't about receiving. It's about whether you will still risk the rejection. Again and again and again, you place your hand on the open hand symbol. It glows faintly and the staircase continues upward. The tower didn't give you a yes, it gave you permission to keep climbing and that's enough.
Speaker 1:Now you've been climbing, no reward, no applause, no confirmation that it's working. Just one step after another, asking, risking, waiting, breathing against the weight of every old no still echoing inside of you, and for a moment it starts to feel like maybe, just maybe, you'll reach the top without incident. And then it happens. The stone under your foot shifts Just slightly, just enough. You reach for the next handhold, but it's slick, it's sweat, rain, blood. You don't know.
Speaker 1:Your grip slips, your foot follows and before you can even think, you're falling, not far, but far enough to hurt. You slam against the ledge you've climbed past. Your ribs catch a stone. Your palms scrape open. You gasp, not from pain but from the feeling that you're back at the bottom again. You roll onto your back and stare up at the impossible spiral. It looks steeper now longer.
Speaker 1:The shame comes quickly. See, I knew it. Why did I even try? This is always what happens. I should have known better. You press your hands into your face. The blood from your scraped palms smears across your cheek. You feel raw, stupid, exposed.
Speaker 1:And here, right here, is where most men stop. They stop trying. They call the fall proof, they make the pain mean something. It doesn't mean Like the pain means something. It doesn't mean this isn't for me. I'm not ready, I'll never be the one who gets chosen, but that's not the truth. The truth is you fell, that's it. You took a risk and this time it didn't land. The world didn't say yes, the door didn't open. The world didn't say yes, the door didn't open. The hand didn't reach back. And that hurts, but it doesn't mean you were wrong to ask. It doesn't mean you weren't worthy. It just means that this is part of the climb.
Speaker 1:You sit up slowly. Your breath is ragged, you feel the sting of the blood in your palm, but your body isn't broken. Your courage is bruised, but it's still yours. You reach for the map, not because you need direction, but because you need proof that this moment still matters. And when you open it, there it is A new syllable Carved into the parchment with a faint red light, like it bled its way into existence. Ash, you stare at it. You don't understand it yet, but your soul nods because you've earned it, not by succeeding, but by continuing after the failure. That's the mark the tower gives, not for those who never fall, but for those who get up anyways.
Speaker 1:You rise, you place your torn hand back on the wall and you climb. The stone beneath your boots doesn't feel the same anymore. It's still sharp, it's still uneven, it's still high and dangerous, but it no longer resists you. It recognizes you. You've proven something, not just to the tower but to yourself that you can fall and not unravel, that you can slip and still climb, that failure is not a disqualification, it's an initiation. You ascend again, slower now, but more deliberate. There's no longer tension in your chest, not because the risk is gone, but because you're no longer avoiding it. Each step becomes easier, not physically, emotionally, like. The tower is no longer trying to convince you to quit. It's now watching Silently, impressed, as you continue.
Speaker 1:You round another corner and, for the first time since entering the spiral staircase ends Above you a narrow stone platform with an arch of cracked pillars. It opens to the sky. You step through. You're now at the summit, but there is no throne, no crown, no applause. Summit, but there is no throne, no crown, no applause, no radiant beam of light to welcome you, just a wide ledge and a single mirror mounted on the slanted stone slab. You approach it slowly, stone slab. You approach it slowly.
Speaker 1:At first glance it looks simple A tall, obsidian, black surface, smooth and still. Then you realize it's not your current reflection staring back at you. It's all of them, every version of you that reached for something and was denied. You see him the kid who raised his hand and was ignored. The teenager who put himself out there and got mocked. The young man who tried and tried and kept being overlooked. The older man who lowered his expectations to avoid hearing. No, again the present you standing there, bleeding, scraped out of breath, but unbowed. They look at you from inside the glass, all of them not judging, waiting. You raise your hand. The reflection copies it, but this time the younger versions don't fade. They remain layered in your shadow, part of you, integrated, not shamed.
Speaker 1:Seen you trace the word ash across the mirror's surface with your bloody palm. And just like that the mirror splits, not with violence, with reverence. It opens like a doorway, not into another trial, but into the real reward. A narrow stone bridge stretches out beyond the mirror's frame. It leads to another tower, not crumbling, not broken. This one is whole, strong, still, silent. Silent. You step forward, but before you cross you hear a voice, not from the sky, not from the map, but from you. I asked, I fell, I climbed and I'm still here. That's the real test and you passed it. As you step off the tower of rejection, you glance back once more and, etched into the stone where you first began, you now see the words that were never there before. You are not defined by who said no. You are defined by who kept asking.
Speaker 1:Let me tell you the truth behind this trial, because if you're not careful you'll mistake the pain for punishment. And it wasn't. It was preparation. See, the Tower of Rejection wasn't about climbing, it was about asking, risking reaching, not in the cute inspirational poster kind of way, but in the way that makes your stomach tighten and your breath go shallow, because deep down you'll already believe they'll say no. That's what this trial was really about the fear of asking for what you truly want because you're not sure whether you could survive another.
Speaker 1:No, see, some of you didn't grow up hearing no at all. You just got ignored or delayed or given the soft, quiet rejections. That never closed the door, really, but it made you stop knocking and eventually you started doing what most men do. You stopped asking altogether, not because you didn't want it, but because the pain of asking and not receiving felt like proof that you were never meant to have it. So you got quiet. You got clever, you got careful. You got clever, you got careful. You lowered your standards. You became okay with crumbs. You built your personality around being fine without being chosen. But here's the truth the tower made you face. Rejection doesn't destroy you. Avoiding it does. Every time you silence your ask before it's spoken, every time you pull back before you're seen, every time you don't apply, don't try, don't speak up, you abandon the man you could become, and that's what makes this trial brutal.
Speaker 1:It isn't the fall, it's what makes you really. It's what you see in the mirror at the top. You see every past version of you that wanted and got told or shown or taught don't try again. That mirror hurts because it reflects the cost of believing that lie. But here's what changes everything the version of you that climbs again, that asks again, that shows up without guarantee. He isn't naive, he's free. You want to know what actual confidence is, what it really is actually. He isn't naive, he's free. You want to know what actual confidence is, what it really is actually.
Speaker 1:It's not walking into the room knowing they'll say yes. It's walking in prepared for no and choosing to ask anyways. It's learning how to fall and not making that fall meaning something it didn't. It's realizing you can scrape your knees, lose your breath, get laughed at, turned down, passed over and still be a man who asks again. That's what the tower gives you Not a yes, not applause, not answers. It gives you the most dangerous, liberating thing a man can possess, and that's the willingness to ask without assurance and the courage to climb, knowing he may fall.
Speaker 1:This trial, it may have triggered something deep in you, and it should have, because the tower reflects the part of you that still believes rejection is proof that you're not enough. But it isn't. Rejection is a redirect, it's a pressure test, it's a divine way of asking Are you willing to keep becoming, even when the world doesn't clap for you yet? Because most men don't finish this climb. They build their lives around being okay without asking, but not you. You climbed, you fell, you bled and you asked anyways, and for that you recovered a new syllable Ash, the fire that still burns in your voice when the world goes silent. You've now learned the secret that will follow you for the rest of your life. You are not and I repeat, you are not defined by who said no, you were defined by the man who kept asking. So now, this is your work of the trial.
Speaker 1:This time, okay, again, you've climbed, you've asked, you've fallen, you've asked again. But if this is just a story, or if this ends as just a story, I should say you will return to the world as the man who almost changed. So now you must ask. Not perform, not reflect, but ask. So this ritual is simple, which means it's going to be excruciating, because it requires what most men avoid risk vulnerability, uncertainty and humility. You're going to ask for something. You're afraid to ask for Something real, something meaningful, something that might not be granted. So here it is.
Speaker 1:Step one identify the ask you've been avoiding. This could be asking someone for forgiveness, asking for help, asking for an opportunity, asking for feedback, asking to be seen, asking for space, asking to be chosen, asking for closure, asking for more. You already know what it is. It's the ask that makes your stomach turn just thinking about it. The one you've put off, the one you've reasoned yourself out of with a thousand excuses, the one you've told yourself they're just going to say no, that one. Write it down in a single clear sentence. It goes like this I need to ask for. I need to ask blank for blank. Now step two make the ask in real life.
Speaker 1:This is not a journal prompt, this is a ritual of risk. You must ask directly. Ritual of risk, you must ask directly. No conditions, no cushions, no watered down half sentences to protect your ego, right? Say it aloud, send the message, schedule the conversation, make the request and then let the response come. They may say no, they may not answer. They may not respond how you want. That is not failure, that is the tower speaking.
Speaker 1:The task was never about the outcome. It was about becoming a man who no longer abandons his voice just to feel safe. Now step three write down what you felt afterward, even if it didn't go as how you hoped, even if it was awkward, even if you froze up. What did it stir in you? Did you feel shame? You froze up. What did it stir in you? Did you feel shame, relief, panic, pride. Write it down, don't fix it, Just witness it. See, that's the integration. You don't need more, yes, you need more courage to ask again. And this ritual proves that you are now a man who climbs without needing to be carried. You've now completed trial three.
Speaker 1:Three syllables, recovered Ka-vor-ash, and from somewhere high above you, a sound like stone sliding open. The next structure awaits. It's not above, it's below. Sit in the silence, let the island speak. You know, you know something about about this, and you know I'm just gonna say with me, you know when I was writing this, as rejection is one of the hardest things to overcome. It really is, but the hardest rejection to overcome is the rejection that you make up in your head. That never happens. You know, we as humans build up things way more in our mind than they ever are in reality, and that's what this is trying to show you. That's what the tower shows you, is that you have this one life to live, and if you're afraid of rejection, you're not really truly living life. Anyways, you're going to fall. It happens, it's a part of life. It's not how many times that you fall down, it's how many times that you get up, and that's what's most important.
Speaker 1:So, guys, I want to thank you for listening today and, my goodness, we are doing amazing. I just have to say this I'm getting feedback from this and really from the Peace Unique series too. I'm getting a ton of feedback from that now and I just want to thank you guys for your comments, your questions and your listenership. I think that's a word. It means it really means a lot to me, it really really does. That's a word. It means it really means a lot to me, it really really does. And and I just appreciate that and if you, if this is your first time listening, welcome to Jen's Journey. Thank you for listening.
Speaker 1:And if you want to, you know, be like everyone else, get a hold of me or, you know, reach out to me. There's three ways. First way is going to be through the chat function here, say let's chat. You click on that that you and I can have a conversation about this episode, this series, or the five or six other series that are out there, or maybe it's more. Now I've done a lot, um, that's the first way. Second way is going to be through my email. My email is anthony at gentsjourneycom, so feel free to email me there. And, last but not least, you go to my Instagram. My Instagram is Anthony, or Anthony. Jesus is my chance journey, and you can go ahead and reach out to me there. You can slide on my DMs. So again, guys, thank you so much for listening. Today Really means a lot to me and, as always, remember this you create your reality. Take care.