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 Man Who Vanished
What if your greatest achievements are the ones no one has ever witnessed? What if your most significant growth happens in moments of complete solitude, when there's no audience to validate your struggle?
"The Man Who Vanished" takes us on a mesmerizing journey through a metaphorical chess game where each piece represents not just an achievement, but a wound healed—just enough to keep moving forward. Our protagonist awakens in a mysterious chamber with only fragments of memory, guided by an enigmatic figure who reveals that "GRAND" stands for Grief, Ruin, Ascension, Nullification, and Divinity—stages through which one must pass to reach authentic selfhood.
Through a series of trials, we witness profound lessons about transformation. In "The Tower Without Applause," our protagonist climbs a treacherous staircase that no one sees—a powerful metaphor for the struggles we endure without recognition. Later, he simply walks alongside an elderly man, learning that service isn't about strength or performance but about genuine presence. Most poignantly, he confronts the relationship he abandoned, discovering that "pain doesn't mean punishment."
The heart of this episode beats with a revolutionary truth: transformation occurs not through victory but through quiet perseverance—staying when it hurts, serving without recognition, confronting truths without witnesses. As our protagonist collects each chess piece, he realizes they aren't trophies but stories, stepping stones on the path to becoming real.
Whether you're facing unseen challenges, questioning your progress, or searching for meaning beyond external validation, this episode offers a profound alternative to performance-based growth. Join us as we explore what it means to build without applause and to become whole without anyone noticing.
Remember, you create your reality. What silent climb in your life have you never honored, and what would it mean to finally acknowledge it?
"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 seven of Grandeur. This one is the man who vanished. So let's go ahead and let's get into the cold opening. It's cold, not like wind, not like winter. It's the kind of cold that seeps in from nowhere, a stillness that's older than sound.
Speaker 1:He wakes up on stone, no memory of lying down, no sense of being taken. Just here, a sharp breath cuts through his lungs as he sits up too fast. The world doesn't follow, it just waits, like it's done, watching him suffer. Darkness surrounds him, but not empty darkness. This is sculpted, intentional, like someone chose this shade of black. He blinks. There's a dull ache at the back of his skull, like something struck him but didn't finish the job, like he was supposed to forget more than this. The air tastes of dust and iron. There's no light, no sound, just a steady hum of his own heartbeat, loud in his throat. He reaches for his chest, slowly, instinctively. His coat still there, damp, heavy. Inside of his left-spread pocket. He finds it. The box Doesn't open, it never does. But he holds it in his hand, pressing it against his heart, like it could still rewind time, like he still might to carry her name inside of it. He swallows hard and checks the other pockets. His fingers close around two familiar shapes, cool to the touch, the knight and the bishop still with him. He sighs, not relief exactly, but something like permission to keep going.
Speaker 1:He's not completely lost, not yet but a sound. His head snaps toward it. It's faint, like breathing, echoing through a tunnel. Then a drag of something across stone. Not footsteps, not chains, just presence. He calls out hoarse Hello. No answer. His voice feels wrong in this place, like it doesn't belong here, like it wakes something older than him.
Speaker 1:The silence presses closer. His eyes adjust. There's something ahead, an outline, a seam in the wall. He stumbles forward, legs stiff, ribs still aching. He reaches the seam, presses his fingers no sound, no flash, just gone. Behind it, a long hallway, narrow, endless, lit by a pale blue glow that has no source. At the far end, a shape Seated, still Waiting. He steps forward Slowly. Still waiting, he steps forward slowly. The stone beneath him hums with each footfall, like it remembers every man who ever walked this corridor. Each step starts to feel heavier. He's not afraid, not really. It's something deeper than fear, it's recognition. He knows, somewhere beneath the static of forgetting that this is the moment everything changes, that this path doesn't lead out, it leads in.
Speaker 1:The figure doesn't move. As he approaches it's cloaked, hooded hands, resting on a carved walking stick, but the staff is cracked, worn like it's been through too many winters. The man stops a few paces away. The cloaked figure speaks not with voice but with presence. The sound vibrates through the walls, but not his ears. You're late, he swallows. Where am I Not lost, but also not found. Who are you Not? Who, what? The figure finally lifts its head. The hood falls back, no face, just shimmer, like wind trapped in skin. You carry the pieces, but not know the board. You speak of grandeur, yet do not know its letters. The man steps back. Uh, what do you mean? You've been wandering in pieces. Now you must learn what they're for. He blinks and in that blink the walls shift symbols, light up across the floor, squares, lines, grids, a chessboard and in the center a pulsing glyph of a crown, but no throne, no king. The game has always been watching. Then silence. Then the man's dead is at the edge of something he doesn't understand, but something inside him whispers. This is where the real story begins.
Speaker 1:Part one, the one who waited. There was no chair, but he sat anyways. The floor felt warmer beneath him now, like it had been expecting this moment longer than he had, and the shape in the cloak still hadn't moved. It had spoken once, yes, but that voice hadn't come from a mouth. It had entered him like a memory, like pain. He waited A minute, maybe an hour. Time in this place wasn't made of seconds, it was made of weight.
Speaker 1:The figure finally rose one arm, slow, deliberate, in motion. For him to come closer. The man stood, bones aching like he's aged ten years, in the dark and stepped into the final few feet of space between them, up close. The guide wasn't cloaked in cloth, it was something heavier, a kind of fabric that doesn't move unless it meant to. The patterns were faint, almost invisible, but there Symbols woven into the hem. One of them looked like the bishop's shape, another like an open eye cracked through the center. You carry two pieces.
Speaker 1:The guide said this time the voice wasn't inside of him. The guide said this time the voice wasn't inside of him, it came through the air like thunder, wrapped in patience. He nodded yeah, the knight and the bishop. Which did you earn first, the knight? The guy tilted his head. Why? I don't know. It just came to me. I was moving through something. I didn't understand it at all at the time. You still don't. I'm trying. No, you're surviving. Then silence. He clenched his jaw. Why, why am I here? The guy didn't answer. Instead, he raised his staff and tapped against the floor. Once the air shifted, lines of blue and white light pulsed out in all directions across the stone, across the walls and across him. They spread upwards, connecting in sharp 90-degree turns, until a perfect grid revealed itself around them An 8x8 board, but not etched or projected.
Speaker 1:Alive, it hummed with tension, with memory. He stepped back instinctively. The board. He said Not yet. The guy replied this is its echo. The real board waits. He swallowed nervously. The real board waits. He swallowed nervously where the guy lifted a glove hand and tapped his chest inside.
Speaker 1:Every man carries the game within him. Most bury it. A few hear its call, but only one in every generation is offered the chance to finish it. The man tried to breathe. It felt like the room was shrinking, though nothing had moved. Why, why me?
Speaker 1:The guy didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the cloak and pulled out something A small stone, white, smooth Round. The man recognized it instantly A pawn, but not like the others he'd seen in his life. This one shifted when he looked at it. Its shape rippled slightly, like it was being remembered by something older than time. You will earn this, but not yet, the guy said. Then returned to its folds of the cloak. Sixteen pieces. He said that's the full board.
Speaker 1:The guy nodded knight, bishop, rook, queen, king. He trailed off. Do not list them like. You know them. He looked up. You have seen their forms, the guide continued, but not their purpose. And the board does not care about form, it rewards only truth. He stepped forward again, fist clenched. Then tell me, teach me, show me what they mean, not all at once. Why not? Because you are still a liar. The words hit harder than they should have. The man took one step back. You don't even know me. The guide's voice dropped quieter. Now almost gentle. I know you never gave her the ring. His throat closed. The guy turned his head slightly toward the left of the room. There was a stone platform. Now he hadn't seen it before. On top his coat, his box, the exact one he carried, still closed. Nothing touches it. The guide said. Even here he didn't move. You said earlier. I don't know what grand means. The guy turned back toward him. No, but you will Then spoke it this time slowly, deliberately Grand, it's an acronym.
Speaker 1:The G stands for grief. The G stands for grief, the R stands for ruin, the A stands for ascension, the N stands for nullification and the D stands for divinity. The words echoed in the stone like prayers. He repeated them softly Grief, ruin, ascension, nullification, divinity. You must pass through all five. The guide said Each one takes something from you and gives you nothing in return, until the end. What's at the end? What's at the end? You, he frowned you, before the forgetting, before the pretending. Before you traded the board for something easier.
Speaker 1:He sat again, not because he wanted to, because his knees gave out. The guide stepped closer. I will walk you through five more pieces, he said, but after that you leave. The guide paused, then nodded. And what comes after you? He asked. The guy tilted his head the side of you that doesn't want to be saved. He went still. Then he whispered to the man, the red king. He said nothing. Then he whispered to the man, the Red King. He said nothing, but the lights across the board dimmed just slightly.
Speaker 1:Let us begin. You've earned the knight, the one who moves in silence and strikes at angles no one sees. You did not understand him when he came, but he came because you bent instead of broke. You earned the bishop, the one who watches diagonally across time and motive. You earned him through stillness, through waiting, through silence. That wasn't submission. The next piece you need is the rook. He stood, the guide raised its staff and pointed to a wall. Symbols emerged spirals, towers, scaffolding. The rook represents foundation, not strength, not dominance, not order, but what you build when no one claps for you. The wall turned, a door opened Inside a narrow staircase of shattered stone Climb. The guide said If you fall, you'll return. If you reach the top, the piece is yours. He looked at him and if I don't? The guy didn't answer because they both knew he would.
Speaker 1:Part two, the tower, without applause. He stands before the staircase. It rises not in symmetry but in fracture, each step, a different shape, a different height, as if it was carved from broken pieces of other men's climbs. Some are cracked, some are missing entirely, a few are worn down so thin they look like they can shatter under breath. There are no railings. There are no railings. There are no safety nets, only a spiral, jagged stone winding through a tower that doesn't seem to end.
Speaker 1:Behind him, the guide speaks with calm finality. No one sees you climb this. That's why it matters. He nods once and steps forward. The first stone beneath his foot shifts slightly, like it wasn't ready for him. Like he wasn't ready for it. He climbs At first he tries to count the steps.
Speaker 1:After 39, the rhythm collapses. Some require lunges, some demand crawling. The silence is oppressive until it isn't because, somewhere around the 15th step, he hears it Breath, but it's not his. A rhythmic inhale and exhale echoing through the tower, like someone else is here, right behind him. But when he glances over his shoulder, the stairs vanish into mist. No one's there. Still, the sound continues, each exhale matching his own, each exhale just a fraction late. He climbs faster. His legs begin to burn, not with exertion but memory, because the pain isn't muscular, it's something else, like a phantom moon that comes from failure.
Speaker 1:His mind drifts back to a hallway White walls, fluorescent lights, a clipboard in his hand, an office job he had for eight months. He quit on a Tuesday. No plan, no goodbye, just walked out. He doesn't remember why. Only that he did and that no one noticed, not his boss, not his team, not even the woman he went home to that night. He expected fireworks, a fight, something, but there was only silence. No one sees you climb this Step, step another, then a ledge wide enough to stop to breathe.
Speaker 1:He collapses onto it. His body is shaking, not from the exertion but from everything coming back. This ledge is different though it's smooth, it's flat, it's almost warm. In the center, a small wooden desk, just a desk and a chair. He hesitates. Then sits On the desk, a single sheet of paper and a pen. Nothing written, no prompt, just emptiness. He stares at it for a long time. Then he picks up the pen, doesn't remember what he writes, only the feeling, the weight in his chest, the grief that comes when you finally look at yourself, not through someone else's eyes but your own. But the time he lifts the pen he's crying quietly. The tears surprise him. The tower doesn't. The desk disappears the moment he stands and the staircase continues. He climbs, hours pass, maybe days. Time is lost here, and so is he. But he climbs Because this isn't about reaching the top, it's about becoming someone who would.
Speaker 1:The next platform is higher, narrower. Just one has no desk, just a mirror, and not a clean one. Cracks run through its center, a spiderweb of fractured truth. He steps in front of it. He sees himself, but not quite. His reflection is slightly younger, smiling, wearing a t-shirt he hadn't owned in years. But then the mirror moves, not the glass, the image. The man in the reflection turns away, starts walking down a hallway he doesn't recognize, and behind the younger version, her she's walking with him, laughing. The ring is on her finger. He stares, he's paralyzed. Then the glass begins to freeze over, frost crawls across the image, consumes it, and then it cracks, shatters. He falls to his knees again. His hands are trembling. This, this is the cost, he says. But he gets up. He climbs Eventually.
Speaker 1:There are no more stairs, only a platform. It's vast, it's circular, open to an impossible sky. But there's no wind, no sound. But in the center of the platform, a stone column. Upon it, the rook. It's larger than other pieces, smoother, heavier, black marble with silver veins that pulse faintly beneath its surface.
Speaker 1:He approaches it slowly. There's no guide here, just him. He reaches out and stops because the column has writing on it Three lines, carved in language he shouldn't understand. But he does Build, without applause or burn for attention. He touches the rook and it vanishes. Not in smoke, not in light, it simply ceases to be. And he feels it inside him, not like a prize, not like a gift, like an oath, like something he will never be allowed to break.
Speaker 1:He turns, the staircase is gone, but the path back isn't stairs, it's a drop. Sheer, endless waiting, and something tells him fall or stay. But you can't go back. So he steps forward and lets go. He falls, not through air, through memory, through pain, through versions of himself clawing at the edges. He screams once and the sound is at fear, it's surrender. Then, dark, he wakes on the cold stone floor.
Speaker 1:Again back in the chamber, the guide stands exactly where he left him waiting. The man doesn't speak, he just pulls something from his coat, the rook. It's there now. He doesn't remember taking it, doesn't remember pocketing it, but it's his. The guide nods once. Three down. Thirteen to go, and the room begins to shift again.
Speaker 1:Part three the humbling of the first step. Thirteen to go and the room begins to shift again. Part Three the Humbling of the First Step. The room shifts, not like wind, not like a dream, but like the world holds its breath and then exhales something different. The floor vanishes, the light flattens and when the man opens his eyes he's standing in a hallway made of smooth gray stone. But this isn't ancient like before. It's too clean, it's too clinical. There's a hum in the wall, somewhere Water moves through hidden pipes in the wall, somewhere Water moves through hidden pipes. He smells disinfectant. He turns slowly. No window, no doors, just the hallway and at the far end a chair In it, someone sitting slumped forward, not moving.
Speaker 1:The man walks towards them cautiously. It takes longer than it should. Every step feels like he's walking in place, like the hallway stretches ahead, every inch he gains. But finally he reaches. It's an old man, thin, frail, eyes closed, wearing a thin hospital gown and a pair of old socks. A metal cane rests against the chair. The man doesn't speak, he waits. Finally the figure stirs just a little, without opening his eyes. The old man mutters Been waiting. The man leans down slightly. Hey, do you need help? The old man mouth switches, maybe a smile, maybe not. No, I just need you. He helps him stand. It takes longer than it should. Every movement is slow, a careful negotiation between pain and gravity.
Speaker 1:They begin walking down the hallway together, step by step. At first. The man tries to support him from the side, but the old man slaps his hand away. Not that kind of help. Just walk with me. So he does. Just walk with me. So he does. They walk Silence For a long time. The hallway never ends.
Speaker 1:The old man speaks again. You think helping someone means being strong for them? That's not help, that's performance. The man doesn't respond, they keep walking. When I was your age I used to think service was for the weak, for the ones who had no legacy edge, no hunger. He chuckles and coughs. Funny thing is now I know the strongest man I've ever met carried water for people who never even looked at them. Man feels something shift inside him, not much, just a flicker.
Speaker 1:They reach a bench. The old man gestures, they sit. He pulls out something from his pocket, a small cloth-wrapped parcel. He unwraps it slowly Inside a worn deck of playing cards. The man watches the old man begin to shuffle. You want to play a game? What kind of game? The kind that tells the truth. He deals five cards each. They play Not poker, not anything. The man recognizes, but somehow he understands the rules as they go. After the third round the old man looks up. Have you ever served food to someone who doesn't say thank you? Yeah, did it change you? He pauses. I think it made me angry. Good, the old man smiles, really smiles. This time At least it made you something.
Speaker 1:The hallway doesn't end. They play cards. They talk Not about the board, not about the pieces, just about people, moments, regrets. And the man finds himself speaking, more than he expected, about the time he left someone on red for three months, about the apology he never made to his father, about the way he used to lie just to keep people close. He doesn't say it to impress the old man. He says because no one's listening here, no one will clap, no one will quote him, and that's why it matters.
Speaker 1:Eventually, the old man stops. He places one card on the bench between them. It's blank. You've served your time. He stares at it. But you weren't supposed to fix me, you were just supposed to be here and that's the piece you were missing. The card glows Not bright, just faint. The man reaches out to touch it and it dissolves Into a skin. The card glows not bright, just faint. The man reaches out to touch it and it dissolves into his skin. He's standing alone again. No hallway, no bench, just the stone floor, the chamber and the guide stands beside him. Pawn one. He nods, doesn't speak. The guide raises his hand On the wall. A faint inscription appears To serve without reward is the first key to legacy.
Speaker 1:He closes his eyes Part four, the memory he never shared. Closes his eyes Part 4, the Memory he Never Shared. The chamber breathes again, not literally, but it feels that way. The man can sense it in the air, like something has shifted. Opened the wall opposite. The guide begins to ripple Stone gives way to something smoother, darker. Opened the wall opposite. The guide begins to ripple Stone gives way to something smoother, darker. Like obsidian made liquid. It forms an archway. No sound, no music, just an invitation. The guide nods. Once you must go alone again. The man doesn't ask why. He already knows Some doors can't be opened with help, some truths can't be witnessed by anyone else. He steps through and the world dissolves.
Speaker 1:He wakes in a living room, his living room Old carpet, dusty bookshelf, a crooked lamp with a scarf over the shade. This isn't a memory because it's wrong. The coffee table has no scratches, the couch isn't torn and she's there On the floor Back against the couch, legs tucked into her chest, reading. She looks up and smiles. Hey, he doesn't speak, he can't. His throat locks, his heart shudders. She doesn't notice. She pats the floor beside her sit, he does. The air is warm, the kind of warm that doesn't come from heat but from the illusion that nothing's wrong.
Speaker 1:She opens a photo of him, one he doesn't remember owning, inside pictures of the life they never had her in a white sundress, him in a linen shirt, laughing in Italy. A child, blonde hair, her eyes, chasing pigeons through a plaza. Every photo stings. Every image is a blade dulled by beauty. He can't look away. She turns a page. It's blank. Why didn't you ever show me this one, she asks.
Speaker 1:He looks down, the page begins to fill slowly from the edges in A memory forms, one he forgot, one he chose to forget. It's them. Forms, one he forgot, one he chose to forget. It's them. But it's not a vacation, it's a fight, a quiet one, one of those nights when nothing gets loud but everything breaks.
Speaker 1:She's sitting on the bed, he's in the doorway, his hands are clenched, her eyes are tired, there's no yelling, only disappointment, only silence. And then he walks away, not out of the room, out of the relationship. The memory freezes. She turns to him you didn't fight for me. Tears run down his face I. I didn't fight for me. Tears run down his face, I. I didn't know how. He whispers. She nods. That's why you're here. He looks down at the page.
Speaker 1:The memory changes. Now it's him Alone In a small apartment, later, maybe years, drinking, writing things he'll never send. The engagement ring sits on the counter, stolen, spock's, unopened, untouched. She closes the album. This is the piece she says. He looks at her. What peace. She taps his chest the part of you that remembers pain doesn't mean punishment. She fades the room withers. He's standing in the chamber again. A pawn rests in his hand, pawn two. He closes his fingers around it For the first time since waking in the alley. He forgives himself, not completely, but enough. The guy doesn't speak. The room prepares for the next trial and the man stands taller, not because he's stronger, but because this time he stayed.
Speaker 1:Part 5. The Shape of Trust. There is no instruction this time. No doorway, no voice from the guide, no whisper from the walls. The man simply turns and the chamber is gone.
Speaker 1:He's standing in a vast open field. Golden light spills across everything, but there's no sun in the sky, just a horizon that stretches forever. In front of him, a house familiar but wrong again. It's the house he grew up in, but rebuilt Wider porch, new paint, no broken fence. A dog barks from the inside of the house, a sound he hadn't heard in decades. He steps forward. Each footstep sinks slightly into the dirt Not soft, just real.
Speaker 1:He reaches the porch. The front door creaks open. No one stands there, but he walks inside. The air smells like pancakes and dust. The living room is filled with sun, not bright but warm.
Speaker 1:Gentle On the couch, two people, not moving, not speaking, but he knows them. It's his mom. It's his mom, it's his brother, not as they were, but as he remembers them at their best, before sickness, before distance. His mother lifts her head when have you been, she asks. He opens his mouth to answer, but his brother speaks instead. He opens his mouth to answer, but his brother speaks instead. Mom, he forgot how to trust. He blinks.
Speaker 1:And now he's sitting at the kitchen table. There's a notebook in front of him, pages filled with handwriting, his own Letters, notes, promises, all of them unfinished. He flips through them Apologies, he's never sent Ideas, he never built Vows, he never kept. His brother sits across from him now watching. You're scared, they won't believe you, his brother says. He nods You're right, but the real fear fear, his brother says is that they will and they have to become it. The table fades.
Speaker 1:Now he's on the porch again. It's night, stars overhead, millions of them, but it's silent. He looks beside him. The guide is there, seated, still no words for a long time. He looks beside him, the guide is there, seated, still no words for a long time. Then the rook taught you how to build the pawns, taught you how to serve.
Speaker 1:Now the knight returns. The man looks confused. I earned him. You earned his shape, not the reason. The man looks confused, I earned him. You earned his shape, not the reason.
Speaker 1:The shadow moves across the yard a figure, hooded, carrying something wrapped in cloth. It approaches slowly. When it reaches a step it kneels, offers the bundle. The man takes it, unwraps it Inside a set of armor Familiar. It's the same type of armor knights wear, but it's scuffed, marked. There's a crack across the shoulder plate. He looks back at the guide. Every knight wears what he survived. Every piece must be carried. Without boasting, the man puts the armor on. It's heavy, but it fits. It fits really well because now it carries him.
Speaker 1:The hooded figure stands again and removes his hood. It's him, an older version, wiser, harder, not cruel, but tempered. He nods once and vanishes. The man looks at the guide. He doesn't have to ask, the piece is already in his hand. Night two he holds it gently, then places it beside the others Four. Now he looks down at them and he realizes none of them feel like trophies, they feel like stories. And they're not finished. The guide stands and the world begins to move again.
Speaker 1:Part 6. The One who Stayed Silent. The walls close again, not in a threatening way, more like a final breath, like the world knows something just ended. The man stands in the center of the chamber, alone, but not empty. He feels the weight of everything he's gathered the knight, the bishop, the rook, the two pawns and now the second knight. Each piece not just as simple, but a wound healed, just enough to keep moving.
Speaker 1:The guide steps forward, one more piece, then the board changes. The man doesn't ask what that means, he knows. Now every question is answered through motion. The guide lifts a hand. This time the light forms a doorway, but not like before. This one flickers, it's unstable, like it doesn't want to stay open. Go, the guide says he does. He emerges into silence.
Speaker 1:A massive cathedral, empty, endless but not abandoned. The air carries weight, history, something sacred. The floor is black stone veined with silver, like the rook piece itself. He walks forward, each step echoes longer than it should. At the far end of the cathedral, a small platform. Upon it, a single book, closed, no guards, no riddles, just one thing waiting to be read. He approaches, his hand hovers over the cover, he hesitates, then opens it. The pages are blank until he touches them. Then they begin to fill. The words etch themselves across the page, not in ink, but in memory. The page not in ink, but in memory.
Speaker 1:Let's go ahead and let's get into the monologue. You know there's a kind of silence you earn after pain, not the kind that breaks you, the kind that rebuilds you from underneath. You know he sits in the dark, again back where it all started. You know the alley, the box, the breath that never quite fills his lungs. But something's different now. Not the world, not the sky, not even the shadows, but him. He doesn't feel stronger or smarter or more important, he just feels real. And maybe that's the first time he's ever been able to say that the box is still in his coat pocket, still unopened, still waiting. He could take it out. He could finally open it, see what's still inside. You know what he doesn't, because now he knows some things aren't about closure, some things are about continuing, even when the chapter never finishes.
Speaker 1:So, as I'm saying this, what do you think just happened? What do you think you missed? Here's what it is. This wasn't a battle, it was rebuilding. He didn't climb for applause. He didn't earn the pieces by performing. He earned them by surrendering to humility, to memory, to truth. He faced a staircase no one saw. He helped someone who never would, would really never remember him. Right, he told the truth to a memory who no longer exists. He put on armor not to fight but to carry his scars with dignity. And that test wasn't an action, it was silence. He was shown what happens when you finally say I'm fine.
Speaker 1:Too often, when you stay quiet because you think honesty will drive them away, every piece this time came through the absence of glory. He came, I should say he became something, not by winning, but by staying when it hurt, by standing in a room. No one clapped. For that's the reason, and if you're listening, if you're really listening, then maybe you've done the same. So what do we do with this?
Speaker 1:Now, right, you look at your own staircase. Ask yourself what am I climbing quietly when no one's watching? Right, ask yourself what have I endured without witnesses? Did I ever give myself credit for it? Ask yourself, where have I been silent? Not because I was wise, but because I was afraid. And then ask yourself what pieces have you earned that no one sees? And does it matter if they don't? Because maybe you've been waiting for someone to hand you something? But what if it's already in your pocket? What if the ring has always been there Not to be opened but to remind you why you started? So let's go ahead and get into these reflection questions, okay.
Speaker 1:Reflection one what silent climb in your life have you never honored and what did it shape in you? Number two Number three and what would it mean to release it? Number four how do you define progress when no one is watching? And number five what would it feel like to become whole without anyone ever noticing? So? Well, guys, now he's not getting beat up, he's not getting starved, he's not walking around aimlessly and trying to figure stuff out. Now there's a path. Now we're starting to see momentum in his life, and that's the fun part about this. Now, obviously, there's going to be a lot of twists and turns, but just know that not everything is forever and some things are just temporary.
Speaker 1:So, as I'm saying that, I want to thank every single person who's listening today. This, the amount, it just it honestly blows me away. Guys, the amount of support you guys give to this show, the conversations we have, the messages I get from you. It honestly means the world to me and I can never thank you guys enough. So thank you so much for your support of the show.
Speaker 1:Now, if you want to support the show, there's really two ways to do it. First way is send this to somebody who needs to hear it, right A family member, a friend. Give it to them. Let you be the way to help themselves, right. Or the second way you can help this show out is just leaving a review. Reviews do so so many things for the show. So if you do that, I would sincerely appreciate it.
Speaker 1:Now, if you want to have a conversation with me about this series or this episode, there's three ways to do it. Okay, first way is going to be through the description here. There's a little link that says let's chat. You click on that and you and I can have a conversation about this series, this episode, or the 14 plus series that I have, and then 270 now episodes that are out there on Jen's Journey. It's crazy, right? Second way is going to be through my email. My email is anthony atjentsjourneycom. Feel free to reach out to me there. And then, last but not least, you can always go to my Instagram. My Instagram is myjentsjourney. Feel free to reach out to me there as well, too. Okay, so, guys, again, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for listening today. And remember this you create your reality. Take care.