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
GRANDEUR: – The Giving
The journey through grief isn't linear—it's a labyrinth where we sometimes find ourselves circling back to the same painful corners before discovering new paths forward. This powerful episode introduces us to a man whose life collapses after his partner dies in an accident just moments before he planned to propose. The engagement ring, still in its unopened box, becomes both burden and talisman as his grief spirals into job loss and homelessness.
When a mysterious stranger places a chess knight with "No Retreat" carved into its base beside him on a park bench, something shifts—not dramatically, but fundamentally. This isn't a story about magical healing or sudden transformation, but about the quiet courage required to simply keep going when everything has been stripped away. As our protagonist navigates his new reality, he begins collecting small tokens and writing single words that become signposts on his journey: Begin. Decide. Still. Grieve.
The raw authenticity of this narrative challenges us to examine our own unspoken grief. What are we carrying that we never got to give away? What boxes remain unopened in our own lives? Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is whisper a name into silence without falling apart. This episode reminds us that being "chosen" doesn't always look like triumph—sometimes it simply means being available to whatever comes next, even when that next thing emerges from complete devastation.
This marks the beginning of our most ambitious series yet—"Grandeur"—which will unfold over twenty episodes. Throughout this journey, we'll follow our protagonist through homelessness, hunger, and the mysterious "gauntlet" that begins when he finally acknowledges that moving forward doesn't require leaving his love behind. Join us as we explore what it means to find purpose after collapse and how the simplest choice—to keep going—can become the most profound act of courage.
"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 one of Grandeur. Now this is gonna be our longest series we've done thus far. This is gonna take pretty much four weeks, 20 episodes. So get ready, this is not gonna be like anything we've ever done before here on Gents Journey, so I hope you enjoy it. So let's go ahead and let's get into the cold open.
Speaker 1:He was going to propose tonight. Not with flash, not with cameras, not on some rooftop drenched in fairy lights. Just her, just him, just the bar where they'd met at three years ago, a hole in the wall with uneven stools and a busted jukebox that still played their favorite song. Their place. He'd gone back and forth a dozen times. Ring, no ring, ring, no ring. Should I do dinner first? No, just ask her. Be real, be scared, let it shake. So he brought the ring. It was small, simple, but it felt like gravity in his pocket. Every step toward that bar was a skipped heartbeat. Every streetlight passed. It was a silent rehearsal in his head. He had it planned She'd sit down, he'd fumble the words, she'd laugh, he'd say it anyways. He touched the box again just to make sure it was there it was. He was three blocks away now when the phone rang A no number. He almost ignored it, but something instinct maybe told him to answer Is this are you her partner? Time folded, noise blurred, there was an accident. They said the location an intersection, two blocks from the bar. He ran. He didn't feel the wind or the cars or the blood in his legs, he just ran. Lights, tape flashing, reds and blues. Someone met him, said his name, her name. His knees buckled. He never made it to the bar. She never got to hear the question In the ring. It's still in his coat pocket Suddenly felt like a lie.
Speaker 1:He didn't go home that night because home was filled with her Her shampoo in the shower, her jacket by the door, the groceries they bought together just two nights ago. He got a motel, one of those off-the-highway rooms with buzzing lights and sheets that smelled like bleach. He sat on the edge of the bed, held the box in his palm. He didn't open it, didn't sleep, just stared. The funeral came. He wore the same suit he wore to his cousin's wedding. It didn't fit anymore. Just stood by the graveside surrounded by faces he barely knew. Everyone said she was the light that she made people feel seen. He didn't speak. What could he say? That wouldn't break in the air. After everyone left, he knelt beside the grave, touched her name, touched the box, didn't take it out, didn't open it. He just whispered I'm sorry. Then he stood and didn't look back.
Speaker 1:That afternoon they fired him, said the company was downsizing, said it wasn't personal but it was Because he was the one who stopped showing up like a man who mattered. He was the one who brought his grief into the walls. He was the one whose silence started to echo. He didn't fight it, just nodded, walked out. And now the job was gone, the love was gone and all that remained was a box in his pocket, a proposal that never happened, a ring that's that still glinted like maybe it had a purpose.
Speaker 1:He sold his car to cover two months of rent. Then someone stole the last of his things from the laundry room. Then the landlord changed the locks. He slept in stairwells, then on benches, then eventually, grant Park, there was a tree half dead. He liked that. It felt honest. He hadn't spoken to anyone in four days. He hadn't even looked at the ring in seven, but he still carried it every day in his pocket, not as a reminder of love, but as proof that something once mattered.
Speaker 1:And then a sound, a shift on the bench. Someone had sat beside him. He didn't look, didn't care. The stranger said nothing. No greeting, no question, no judgment, just reached in his coat and placed something on the bench. When he glanced over a single chess piece, the knight, weathered, heavy On the base, etched like a scar. No retreat. The man stood, a scar, no retreat. The man stood, walked away, no explanation. For the first time in weeks he moved.
Speaker 1:Now, Episode 1, part 1. The collapse begins. The man came back, sat back down and didn't say anything. For a while the bench creaked, not like it was old, but like it was listening. He didn't look up, he didn't care. People didn't sit next to him anymore, not with the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way. He didn't meet their eyes, but this man did. And for a while neither of them spoke. And then the man said You've been here for three nights. His voice wasn't harsh, it wasn't soft either, just factual, like he wasn't guessing. He said nothing back.
Speaker 1:The man nodded more to himself than anything else You're not waiting for anyone. Still silence. Good, that finally got him. He turned his head just slightly. What You're not waiting, the man repeated. Which means you started. He almost laughed. Started. What Riding? The man didn't smile, didn't flinch. He reached into his coat, pulled something out, a small shape, heavy, cold, and placed it on the bench between them. A chess piece, the knight.
Speaker 1:The man stood slowly. You moved, he said, then turned to walk away. Wait. But it came out like a whisper. The man paused, didn't look back. What, what is this? You kept the ring, the man said A breath, a truth, no judgment in it. He blinked, how do you? But the man was already walking, just like that. He was gone. He didn't touch the piece at first, was gone. He didn't touch the piece at first, just stared. It wasn't plastic, it wasn't ornamental, it was cars from something old, weathered On its base, a phrase etched in foreign weight no retreat. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He turned the night in his hand as if it might unlock. It didn't, but it fit into the same pocket where the ring lived. Two symbols, one of the past, one of something else, something unknown. He sat there for another hour, didn't cry, didn't speak, but for the first time since the funeral he felt not better, just different, like maybe this wasn't the end, maybe it was the first piece.
Speaker 1:That night he didn't sleep. He found a bus, shelter, cold, leaking. But it was something. He didn't dream of her. He dreamed of the voice, low, clear. The game has already begun. He woke up with the night in his hand, not in his pocket, like his body knew he'd understand it. But something had shifted and whatever it was, he wasn't retreating.
Speaker 1:Part 2. The Voice in the Silence. The next morning he woke with the night still clutched in his hand. It had grooves, now his own fingerprints pressed into the ridges from holding it all night. His breath fogged. The air, no blanket, just the coat, just the night. The sun was barely up, but something felt alert, not loud, not warm, just present, like the air itself was paying attention. He rubbed his eyes, tried to shake it, but something, something was different. It wasn't the bench, it wasn't the cold, it was him.
Speaker 1:He moved without knowing why, crossed three blocks, then four, passed a coffee shop with fogged windows, passed a bookstore where they once bought matching paperbacks and then never read them. He didn't have a destination, just an ache, the kind of ache that pulls your body inside out but then says go. Eventually he found a building Brick, faded, forgotten, no sign, no people, just there, like it had always been waiting. He stood in the front of it for a long time, didn't knock, didn't leave. Then he turned and kept walking.
Speaker 1:Two hours later he sat on the steps of a church not religious, not even curious. But the doors were open and the sound inside? Silence, not emptiness, silence that kind you feel in the back of your throat. He didn't go in, just sat on the steps. He held the night in his palm. For the first time since she died, he spoke. I don't know what the hell is happening. His voice cracked. The wind didn't answer. First time since she died, he spoke. I don't know what the hell is happening. His voice cracked. The wind didn't answer. But something moved in him, something listened. That night he had the dream again, the voice deeper, this time clear. The game has begun, but this time it. The game has begun, but this time it wasn't alone. It was another voice. It was familiar, female. Her voice was soft but kind You're not done yet. He gasped awake, hands shaking the night on his chest, looking right at him at the bottom no retreat.
Speaker 1:The next day something pulled him toward the river. The cold bit through his clothes, but he kept walking. There's a man beneath the bridge burning something in a metal barrel. He didn't ask questions, didn't greet, just nodded. The man nodded back for a moment, just a flicker. They weren't strangers, just men carrying weight. He stayed there for hours, didn't speak, didn't need to. But when he left the man said one thing Most people wait for a map. He looked back. But the ones who matter, they just start walking. He didn't ask how the man knew, didn't ask what it meant. He just kept going With the knight in his pocket. And that was something stirring, something alive.
Speaker 1:That night he did something strange. He took out a pen, found a discarded napkin and wrote the word BEGIN. He stared at it, folded, itucked it into the same pocket, next to the ring, next to the night. That was the first move. And that silence. It shifted.
Speaker 1:Part 3. The box he didn't open. He hadn't opened the ring box, not once, not in the hospital. Not in the hospital, Not at the grave, not in the motel or on the bench or in the church doorway. He held it, he felt it, but he never opened it. That was the deal. If he opened it, he'd have to face what was inside, not the ring, the failure, the fact. The question was never asked, the question never given, that a future had been carved into a circle and it never got to live. So the box stayed closed. Every day it grew heavier.
Speaker 1:He sat in the park again Same bench, same dead tree, different wind. He sat in the park again, same bench, same dead tree, different wind. He pulled the box from his pocket, turned it over in his hand. It had scratches, now wear from time. It still clicked when he shook. It still whispered what could have been, still whispered, what could have been. He placed it on the bench beside the knight. Two relics, one of lost love, one of a war just beginning. He watched them both For the first time he spoke to her. I can't carry both. A bird landed nearby looked at him sideways. I need to know what matters. The bird flew away. He waited. The wind shifted, then he picked them both up and stood, still unopened, still whole, but now willing.
Speaker 1:That night the voice returned, same rhythm, same tone, but this time it asked a question Are you ready to suffer? Not in a cruel way, just honest and without hesitation he answered aloud. Yes, then silence, real silence. But this time it didn't echo. It Settled Like a hush before something sacred.
Speaker 1:He walked the city with no purpose, just motion, old alleys, fire escapes, rooftops he used to sneak onto in college. At one point he passed a mural, a knight on horseback, sword raised, cloak torn, but behind him his shadow wore a crown. He stopped, looked up and laughed, not because it was funny but because it was familiar. Something inside him stirred. He placed his hand on the knight in his coat pocket. It buzzed just for a second, enough to feel it. He didn't imagine it, he knew. He knew he didn't imagine it. And now something was watching, something wanted more. Not worship, not obedience, just a decision. He pulled the napkin back out, began. The ink had blown a little. He turned it over and wrote one more word Decide. He didn't know why, he didn't care. It felt right, it felt real. For the first time since the fall he felt like a man again, not healed, not whole, but present. And that was enough.
Speaker 1:Part 4. The Mapless Hour. The city looks different when you stop pretending it belongs to you. He walked it like a stranger, felt its cold bricks, read its closed signs, watched people through cafe windows, laughing at nothing, caring about everything. He didn't envy them, he didn't resent them. He just didn't envy them, he didn't resent them, he just didn't feel them anymore.
Speaker 1:Whatever used to connect him to the ordinary world jobs, schedules, small talk was gone. What remained was motion, one foot, then another, no plan, no destination, just presence. He was moving, but not forward. He was breathing but not hoping. This wasn't survival, it was something else, like waiting for a summons he hadn't realized he'd already received. He found himself on a street he didn't recognize, but the name rang in his bones it was called Mercy, a dead end Fitting. He followed it until the pavement ended, then climbed the hill at the edge, at the top, nothing, just wind and sky and the sound of his heartbeat reminding him he was still there. He took out the night H held it up to the light. It caught the sun, like it had been waiting, like it knew. He closed his fist around it. He didn't ask for signs, didn't ask for help, he just said I'm listening and something in the wind shifted, not louder, just clear.
Speaker 1:That night he met the boy, nine years old, maybe ten, alone sitting on the curb, threadbare hoodie and a busted skateboard. No cheers, just stillness. He stopped, looked at him hey, are you okay? The boy didn't answer, just stared forward. Then you see it too, don't you? He blinked what, what? The shift, the shift the boy stood, walked towards him. You're not like them anymore. Who? The boy pointed behind him, the city, the waiting ones. Then he held out his hand and gave him something a stone, smooth, black Warm. He closed his fingers around it. By the time he looked up, the boy was gone. No one around, no footsteps, no trace, just a warm stone in a cold night and the sense that the world was starting to show its cracks. He placed the stone in his coat, next to the ring, next to the night, next to the napkin, and walked. This time he didn't wander, he moved.
Speaker 1:Later that night he wrote again, this time on a matchbook cover. One word still, because in all the noise, in all the hunger, hunger and all the claps, he was still here and sometimes that was the loudest thing a man could say. Part five the names he doesn't say. He used to say her name every day in texts, text and half-asleep greetings and whispered apologies. Now he couldn't say it at all. He tried the first time after the funeral. He said it once it broke something, not like glass, like a rib. He didn't try again.
Speaker 1:That morning he stood at a bus stop, not to go anywhere, just to listen, to let the sounds of the city push against his silence. There was a woman humming behind him, soft melancholy. He wanted to ask her the name of the song, but the question didn't feel right coming out. So he stood there, let the melody stitch into his bones. When she left, he whispered thank you. His voice cracked. The wind answered.
Speaker 1:Later he passed a memorial wall, downtown, pictures of lost children, stuffed animals tied to poles, handwritten notes and fading marker. One photo stopped him cold A little girl, same eyes as her, same nose. He almost said her name, almost, but instead he knelt. Name almost, but instead he knelt. Lit a match, held it under the stone from the boy. The flame didn't touch it, but it glowed For a second, a pulse. He closed his eyes and said nothing. He wrote again, this time on a torn flyer grieve, the first letter of something he didn't yet understand. He folded it, tucked it beside the napkin. He was starting to build something, not consciously but instinctually Paper relics, one word at a time Begin, decide, still, grieve. Each one a brick and an unseen foundation. He wasn't rebuilding a life. He was becoming a man who could.
Speaker 1:That night he stood by the river again no voices, just water. He spoke into the wind I don't know how to do this A long pause. Then, in a quiet whisper, he said her name. Only once it cracked him wide open. But he stayed. He didn't collapse, he didn't retreat, just stood there, name spoken, tears silent, and the night warm in his pocket, still watching Part 6. The Stillness Before the Invitation.
Speaker 1:The next morning he returned to the grave, not on purpose. His feet led him there like they remembered something. He hadn't spoken yet. It was still early, dew on the grass, air thick with blue silence that only shows up just before the world wakes. He stood in front of her name, didn't kneel this time, didn't cry, just stood.
Speaker 1:For the first time he talked. I don't know what I'm doing, he said, but I think I'm supposed to keep going. He took the knife from his pocket, rolled it between his fingers. They gave me this. I don't know who they are. He paused. I haven't opened the ring box yet. I don't know if I ever will. A breath, a stillness. I miss you, but you're not coming back, and I think it has to be okay. Another pause. You told me once I was meant for more. I didn't believe you. I do now. The wind moved through the trees like a sign. He closed his eyes. He held the night tight and whispered Guide me. Then he turned, walked away For the first time, not as a man who was lost, but as a man who had accepted.
Speaker 1:Later that day he found the flyer. It wasn't handed to him, it wasn't mailed. It was folded and placed under his coat while he slept. A single sheet, white, no logo, just three words printed in red ink. The gauntlet begins no address, no name, no instructions. But he knew. He didn't know how, but he knew. He folded it, slipped it behind the torn flyer with grief. His pocket now held a ring that never got to shine. A night carved from silence, a stone, warm to the touch, four pieces of paper, four single words and now a summons. He didn't smile, he didn't cheer, but he stood straight in his coat and began walking towards something, into something, and the wind behind him carried one word Chosen.
Speaker 1:So let's sit with what just happened. This isn't a story about a man who got handed a magical fix. There was no miracle. No second chance, no resurrection, just ruin. And one decision he lost the woman he was going to marry, the ring still in his pocket, the proposal he never got to make, still sealed in a box that remains unopened. That kind of weight doesn't just hurt, it haunts you.
Speaker 1:And then life kept going. He got fired, his home was taken, the kind of collapse that doesn't make headlines but it ends men silently every day. But here's what matters. He didn't retreat, he sat in the pain, he spoke to her, he accepted the silence instead of running from it. And that's when something moved. That's when the game began. You might have missed it, but the knight wasn't given for heroism. It was given because he moved, not dramatically, not bravely, but because he simply kept going. That's all. Grandeur asks. Keep going.
Speaker 1:And along the way he started collecting relics a stone from a boy who shouldn't know anything, a matchbook with one word, a napkin, a torn piece silence, sacred pieces of a new code, not for the world but for himself. He's not healed, obviously, but he's initiated. He's not empowered, but he's available. And maybe so are you. Maybe that's why you're still listening, because something in your life has collapsed too. Something in you has stayed silent for too long and maybe, just maybe, the story isn't his, maybe it's yours. What are you carrying that you never got to give away? What box is still in your pocket? How long will you wait before you decide? This episode wasn't about triumph. It was about tenderness, because sometimes the bravest thing a man can do is whisper a name into silence and not fall apart. You're still here, that's enough.
Speaker 1:Now the gauntlet begins, so let's go ahead and get into our reflection questions. Number one what moment in your life shattered you and have you fully or I should say, have you ever fully grieved it fully? I should say, have you ever fully grieved it? That's such a big question. Number two what symbolic ring are you still carrying that no one else knows about? Number three when was the last time you made a silent decision that changed everything? Number four what are you still waiting for permission to do that you already know you must do? Number five what is your next word? Not a goal, not a plan, just a word, a word that signals you're still here. So you know, when you're dealing with this kind of stuff death and loved ones and that kind of stuff it can get pretty deep.
Speaker 1:And this, I'm going to say this this is going to be a different series. There's going to be a lot of things that he's going to go through homelessness, hunger, all those different things but it's real life. These are things that really happen. But you'll see throughout his journey what happens, and I think you're going to love it, because I do, and I think you're going to fall in love with this guy because I have. So again, guys, I want to thank you so very much for listening today. I can't even tell you that the amount of support that we get here on this channel or show is just unbelievable, and I couldn't do this without you guys and I just I'm so thankful for for you guys always listening and always being supportive. It just means the world to me, and also your questions and the conversations I get to have with you guys. It's just so awesome.
Speaker 1:So, since we're talking about that, if you want to reach out to me, if this is your first time listening, there's three ways you can do it. First way is going to be through the description of this podcast. It'll say let's chat. You click on that and you and I can have a conversation about this episode, this series, or the 260 plus episodes and now 13 plus series. We have going right. Second way is going to be through my email. My email is anthony at gentsjourneycom, so please feel free to reach out to me there. And then, last but not least, you can always go to my Instagram. My Instagram is my gentsjourneycom, so please feel free to reach out to me there. And then, last but not least, you can always go to my Instagram. My Instagram is my gentsjourney. So please, please, please, feel free to reach out to me there as well too. Okay, so again, guys, thank you, so, so, so, very much for listening today, and remember this you create your reality, take care.