August 4, 2025 • 36 mins
Have you ever stood at the crossroads of who you were and who you might become? The sixth episode of Grandeur takes us through the raw, unfiltered journey of a man who's lost everything yet still clutches two chess pieces that seem to hold the key to his future.
This isn't your typical hero's journey with clean edges and triumphant music. Instead, we walk alongside a broken man through Chicago's winter streets, shelter fights, and moments of crushing solitude. Through his eyes, we witness transformation in its most authentic form—not as a glamorous rebirth, but as the final gasp of an old life before something new can emerge.
The episode reveals a powerful truth often missing from personal development narratives: your defining moments don't arrive with fanfare. They happen in silence, when you're alone, when the costume you've been wearing starts to burn against your skin. It's in these spaces—when you've exhausted all options except truth—that genuine power awakens.
What makes this story particularly compelling is the chess metaphor woven throughout. The knight and bishop pieces serve as physical manifestations of potential and protection, humming with energy that responds not to desperation but to stillness and resolve. As our protagonist discovers, "Peace, just like your potential, doesn't get activated by panic, it gets activated by stillness."
Through five thought-provoking reflection questions, we're invited to examine our own lives: What decisions are we avoiding because they lack certainty? What old versions of ourselves do we still feed with our attention? If no one ever applauded us again, would we still choose to rise?
Ready to stand in that uncomfortable hallway between who you are and who you're becoming? Listen now and discover why sometimes the most powerful move in life's chess game is simply deciding to stay present when everything in you wants to run.
"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode six
of Grandeur.
So let's just go ahead andlet's get into it, cold, open,
(00:22):
one way out.
It starts with motion, notforward but down.
He slips off the curb and landstoo hard gravel scraping the
skin through his worn jeans.
It's not the first time he'sfallen, but it might be the
first time.
He doesn't bother getting upquickly.
(00:43):
He just lays there On the sideof the street.
No one stops Above him.
The sky is too clear, almostsurgical in its indifference.
It doesn't rain, it doesn'tthreaten to.
It just watches A bus roarspast.
(01:05):
The wind lifts the edge of hiscoat.
He's too thin now.
His shoes are held together bydesperation and duct tape.
He finally sits up, just enoughto check if the night's still
there.
It is Still cold, still heavy,still his.
(01:26):
The same hand that once held aring now clutches a relic.
That's what he's named it now Arelic, not a symbol of hope,
just a marker of what was lost.
He limps towards the shelteragain.
Same cracked brick, sameflickering light above the door.
(01:49):
Inside, someone's screaming,someone's crying, someone's
praying.
The three sounds blend togetherso perfectly it could be a
choir.
He signs in without making eyecontact.
They don't ask his name anymore.
They know the weight of it.
(02:11):
Back in his bunk he lies on hisside, doesn't sleep Not really.
He turns the light over in hishand.
It doesn't hum.
That's what scares him the most, because now even the silence
feels like abandonment.
Part One no Way Back.
(02:34):
The night clings to him likeguilt Thick, heavy, unrelenting.
Every sound on the street feelslike a question he can't answer
.
A bottle breaks somewherebehind him, a woman screams from
a second-story window.
Tires peel from a nearby alley.
(02:55):
The city's orchestra of chaoscontinues, but he moves through
it like a ghost with nowhere tohaunt.
There's a man asleep on thestairs of a boarded-up pawn shop
.
Another is talking to himself,yelling at memories.
No one else can see but him.
He's the silent one now.
He stopped asking for help,stopped explaining the smell,
(03:21):
stopped trying to appear okay.
He showers once a week now, onTuesdays.
That's the only time theshelter water isn't ice.
His skin always smells faintlyof rot and steel.
He carries his belongings in atorn backpack that squeaks when
he moves.
There's one pair of socks,inside a crumpled photo of her
(03:48):
and the night, the night.
Some nights he tries to forgetit's there, pretends it's just a
trinket, but it pulses quietlylike breath, like something
asleep that dreams.
He doesn't understand it, buthe started talking to it.
Why me?
He whispered two nights ago,and the shelter's half-light.
(04:12):
No answer.
But it was warm in his hand.
That was the night he didn'tsleep, not even the kind of
shallow sleep he's come to relyon, not even the kind of shallow
sleep he's come to rely on.
He lay there staring at theceiling, tiles, warning if it
was purgatory and if this iswhat it feels like Never
(04:37):
punished, never saved, justsuspended.
This morning he wakes on a bench, not even remembering how he
got there.
The air is damp, cold enough tobite.
He rubs his hands together andstands, and the ache in his knee
reminds him how long he's beenwalking.
He passes a cafe.
(04:58):
The reflection in the glassstartles him.
He doesn't recognize himself.
He doesn't recognize himselfbeard, unkempt eyes, bloodshot,
a jawline tightened bystarvation not resolved.
He moves on.
By noon he's back at the bridge, the same one, always this one.
(05:18):
He doesn't know why it pullshim, maybe because it feels like
a moment waiting to happen, aplace suspended in indecision,
somewhere between where he wasor where he'll never return.
He leans against the railing.
The night is cold today, quiet.
He clutches it anyways.
(05:42):
Across the bridge a figureappears, the same man as before
coat, dark face, unreadable.
He steps closer, stopping a fewfeet away.
You haven't dropped it yet, theman says.
The voice cuts through the fog.
Didn't plan on it, he says,says the stranger nods slowly.
(06:06):
Good, that's the only piecethat knows the way forward.
What?
What does that mean?
The man doesn't answer.
Instead he reaches into his owncoat.
You don't give a man the wholeboard at once, he says.
He wouldn't know what to dowith it.
A hand emerges, finger curledaround something small, another
(06:31):
piece, the bishop.
He doesn't move.
He asks what if I don't want it?
The stranger tilts his head.
Then don't take it.
But know this Refusal Is stilla move.
Silence.
(06:53):
Then a soft click, the sound ofa porcelain Against stone.
The bishop is left on therailing.
When the broken man finallylooks up, the stranger is left
on the railing.
When the broken man finallylooks up, the stranger is gone.
The city feels quieter, eventhe wind stills.
He reaches for the piece.
(07:14):
It's warm.
The moment he touches it,something sharp runs up his
spine.
Not pain, not pleasure,something else like alignment,
like something deep in themorrow.
Waking up, he doesn't cry, butthe muscles behind his eyes
(07:37):
twitch as if his soul is tryingto remember what tears are.
He pockets the bishop.
He walks on, no direction, justmovement.
But for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he walks with
something more than despair.
(07:57):
He walks with intent.
Part 2.
The Wait Between.
He wakes in the shelter, but itdoesn't feel like waking more,
like surfacing from underneathsomething heavy, something that
didn't want to let him go.
There's a bruise on his wrist,a new one.
(08:19):
He doesn't remember how it gotthere.
The night is still in his coat.
It's silent.
Now it's cold.
He sits up, scans the room.
A fight must have broken outsometime after he dozed.
The man in the corner has bloodon his shirt.
The air reeks of sweat, smokeand something synthetic.
(08:43):
Whatever pills they passedaround the hour before midnight.
He doesn't ask, he just stands,steps over a boot that isn't
his and makes his way out.
The morning isn't morning.
It's gray, washed out like thecity forgot to color it in.
By the time he's outside, hisstomach's already aching.
He hasn't eaten since twonights ago Half a sandwich left
(09:08):
by the church bends.
He checks the pocket for coinsnothing.
So he walks, not because hewants to but because movement is
easier than hunger.
The sidewalk knows him now.
Its cracks and patterns almostfeel familiar.
He knows where not to step toavoid the puddle that never
(09:30):
dries.
He nods at the old woman whoalways mutters to herself by the
bus stop.
She never looks up.
He passes a man with a signsaying spare what you can.
They make eye contact.
The man looks away.
He keeps walking.
Eventually he finds himself backat the corner of the
(09:50):
convenience store.
He doesn't know why he justalways ends up there.
There's a girl handing out soup.
Her jacket is too thin, herhands are red with cold, but
she's smiling at everyone, evenat him.
When it's his turn he almostsays no, shame, curls up his
(10:13):
spine like it wants to wear hisface, but she says you look like
you need it and hands him abowl.
He doesn't remember the lasttime someone looked at him like
that, like he wasn't fading.
He eats slowly.
It's not the soup that warmshim, it's the moment and the
(10:33):
moment after, when she pressessomething into his hand before
he leaves.
It's not a piece, it's a foldednote, four words, you're still
there.
Part 3.
The Wall.
Beneath the Wall he hasn't seena mirror in days.
(10:55):
There are shards of reflections, windows, puddles, the back of
a bent soup spoon, but nothingdirect.
And maybe that was the point.
If he could just see himselfclearly, it might confirm what
he's already beginning tosuspect.
He didn't look like him anymore,the man walking these streets
(11:18):
in the early gray morning lightwore the same coat but hung
inside it differently now.
Shoulders curled inwards, faceslacked from nights spent
chasing sleep and morningswaking up with someone else's
cold breath in the room.
A man who started flinching atkindness more than cruelty.
It's freezing again.
(11:40):
Chicago's winters are brutal.
But he got inside, where youwere still still, and he's been
here still too long.
His fingers ached.
Eve Wynn shoved it deep in hispockets.
His feet's blistered soles hecouldn't afford to replace.
(12:00):
Hunger sharpened the corner ofhis thoughts.
The only thing not deterringwas the night.
It was still there, tucked intothat same chest pocket, the
lining worn thin around it.
It pulsed every now and then,not electrically, but like it
was breathing, like it knew.
(12:21):
He found himself staring at itsome mornings, not out of
curiosity anymore, but out ofresentment.
What do you want?
He whispered at once.
What do you want from me?
Of course it didn't answer.
(12:43):
It never does because itdoesn't have to.
It kept dragging him places,not physically, just
rhythmically, like his bodymoved in cadence with something
older than instinct.
His feet turned corners beforehis brain processed the sidewalk
, his eyes locked onto buildingsbefore his neck turned.
(13:05):
He'd walked this city for years,but not like this.
Today was one of those days.
It started with a womanscreaming, not in terror, just
fury, a guttural, exhaustedscream from the alley near the
shelter.
When he peeked his head aroundthe corner, he saw her Small
(13:27):
frame, tangled hair, too manycoats, kicking a metal trash bin
, screaming I was someone.
No one else looked, no one everdid, but he did.
He saw her, but he did.
He saw her and for the firsttime in days, the night warmed.
(13:49):
Later he sat on the curb acrossfrom the train tracks, not
because he needed to be there,just because something told him
that this was a place to stop.
He had six dollars and a halfpack of gum in his pocket.
The night stayed quiet.
A man approached Older, wearyskin, like someone who lived too
(14:11):
many summers in a tent and toomany winters beneath bridges.
But his eyes were sharp, toosharp for someone who was truly
gone.
Gone you caring?
The man asked Shook his head.
The man didn't believe him butdidn't press.
Good, he muttered, there'sstill a chance.
(14:40):
Then what do you mean?
The man just smiled and walkedoff.
That night he stood in front ofthe church again, not the one
from the shelter, the other one,the small brick one with a
crooked cross and fading mural.
He hadn't gone in since thefuneral.
He didn't even believe anymore.
But tonight he needed to standnear something.
(15:01):
He gripped both pieces in hiscoat pocket the knight and the
bishop opposite sides of theboard one for the move, one for
the protection.
He didn't know how he knew that, but he did Suddenly.
He wanted a mirror, not to seehimself but to prove he hadn't
(15:23):
vanished completely.
Part 4, where the Fog Breaks.
He's tired of walking.
That's the first honest thoughthe's had in days.
Not hungry, not angry, justtired.
His legs feel like they're madeof soaked denim.
(15:43):
His thoughts are slower too,like he's been breathing
underwater without realizing it.
The city blurs past him infaceless patterns.
Streets he's walked for weeksnow feel foreign.
Familiar corners twist justslightly out of place.
A mural he's passed everymorning for a month now has a
(16:05):
different face on it, or maybeit was always that way.
He couldn't tell and he stoppedasking.
It's better to let things slide.
He just toured a small diner onthe corner Not to go in, just to
sit outside.
There's a concrete barrier justbeneath the boarded window that
(16:27):
holds his weight like it knowshim.
Inside, two men are arguing,not loudly but enough.
One wears a suit, the otherlooks like he hasn't slept in
days.
He catches fragments.
You said I'd get the rest.
That's not how this works.
The suited man adjusts his tieand leaves the other man stays
(16:49):
head in his hands.
A waitress his tie and leavesthe other man stays head in his
hands.
A waitress walks over andleaves a cup in front of him.
No words, just presence.
He watches that.
It stings more than expected.
He's never been good at beingcomforted.
Even when she tried, she alwaysreached for his hand when he
(17:10):
was angry.
Never said anything, justplaced her finger over his.
At the time it made him feelexposed, like she saw something
he hadn't decided to show.
Now he'd trade everything forthat touch again.
A boy approaches him eight maybenine, holding a handful of
(17:34):
crushed wildflowers in an oldpaper cup.
Spare some change.
He stares then laughs, notcruelly, just strangely Funny.
I was about to ask you for thesame thing.
The boy shrugs.
You look like you have a lotless to lose.
(17:56):
He smiles Smart kid.
The boy walks away.
He watches him disappear aroundthe corner, then looks down at
his coat.
The bishop is still there.
He can still feel it like apresence, not just an object,
object.
It's not humming at this time,it's just warm.
It's waiting like it's watching.
(18:21):
He makes his way back to thecemetery, not for her, well, not
entirely.
It's the only place he stillfeels time, moving normally,
where silence doesn't feel likepunishment.
He steps between the rows ofstones like he's navigating a
conversation he doesn't want tohave.
At our grave he sitscross-legged.
(18:43):
No ceremony, just exhaustion.
I don't know what I'm doing.
He says aloud.
The wind responds.
A low whistle through the irongate Got another one.
The bishop it's.
It's heavier.
No reply.
I thought they'd give meanswers.
(19:05):
He pauses, but it's just moreweight.
His fingers dig into the grass,cold and damp.
Why am I still here?
Behind him a church bell rings.
He turns, but the chapel isempty, but the chapel is empty.
(19:30):
Back at the shelter there's afight, not with him, not about
him, but it rattles him anyways.
Two men yelling about a stolencoat, someone gets shoves, a
bottle breaks.
He backs into the hallway andfinds a corner.
He doesn't want to be hereanymore.
(19:52):
He doesn't want to be hereanymore.
He doesn't want to be anywhere.
He pulls off the bishop.
It's glowing just slightly, asoft pulse like breath.
He doesn't understand what itmeans, but he knows this.
He's not the same man who tookthe knight.
Something shifted, somethingmoved.
He didn't ask for permission.
(20:13):
He slides the bishop back intohis coat and in that moment, for
the first time in a long time,he stops asking for permission
too.
Part 5.
The One Without a Map.
He didn't plan to walk this far.
His shoes are damp with therain from three days ago.
(20:34):
Blisters have formed in placeswhere blisters have already
formed.
The skin on his heels feel likepaper thinned by too much
folding.
But still he walks becausestanding feels like drowning.
The city, whatever it used tomean to him, now stretches and
grays, doesn't welcome him,doesn't warn him, it doesn't
(20:58):
even acknowledge him.
It just breathes Asphalt andalley, glash and shadow.
Another man without a map.
He crosses a neighborhood hedoesn't recognize, though he's
sure he's been here before.
Everything's familiar in a kindof blurry way, like remembering
(21:19):
someone else's dream.
The trash bins overflow, an oldman coughs something wet into
the street.
A teenage girl yells at herboyfriend while holding a baby
on her hip.
No one sees him, or they seehim, but it registers as
furniture Something you expectto be there, something easily
(21:41):
ignored.
That used to break him.
Now it's kind of a relief.
There's a corner bodega with asteel gate.
Halfway down A singleflickering neon letter.
Oh, the rest of the sign hasdied.
He stands there for too long,not sure why.
He's not shopping, he's notresting, he's just standing
(22:07):
Until the Kirk yells at himthrough the crack in the gate,
tells him to move.
He does Down two more blocks,past a graffitied payphone.
There's a man handing outnewspaper.
No one buys.
The man doesn't say anything,he just shoves one into his
chest, he takes it, walks away.
He reads nothing on the front,but the back page is blank.
(22:31):
That stops him.
He turns it over again, checksthe other pages All fine
Headlines, smudged ink, ads forbail bonds and car washes, but
the back is empty.
He rips it off and folds intohis pocket, not for any reason,
just he doesn't want to throw itaway.
(22:53):
He walks until he hits thetunnel underpass.
It's one of those places wherelight doesn't behave, where the
day doesn't quite reach.
There's a rhythm of drippingwater, a low echo of cards.
Overhead, something else, faint, humming like electricity, with
(23:13):
a voice.
He steps inside.
Halfway through there's afigure Seated Hood up, hands out
, not just begging, just restingtheir fingers trace circles on
the concrete floor, slow,deliberate.
The humming stops when heenters.
The figure doesn't move,doesn't look.
(23:35):
Still, he nods as he passes,not out of fear, because
something about this personfeels Fixed, like they belong
here and he doesn't Not.
Yet On the other side of thetunnel, a boy tries to sell him
a cracked iPhone, tells him itworks great.
(23:57):
He smiles, hands the phone backand keeps walking.
His body is sore, the kind ofsore that goes past muscle, bone
sore, spirit sore.
He feels like a man who lost awar.
No one else knew was happening.
He finds a bench.
The wood is warped but it holdshim.
(24:19):
He takes off his shoes, looksat his feet, smiles bitterly.
Becoming something new alwayscosts something old.
He says aloud to no one.
He pulls off the night.
It's heavier now, or maybe he'sweaker.
He doesn't hold it up likebefore, just rested on his lap,
(24:43):
looks at it like you'd look atan old photo, something that
once mattered more than anythingand now it hurts to remember.
A kid on a bike stops in frontof him, points at the piece Is
that a horse?
He nods Kind of.
The kid squints, what's it do?
(25:05):
I don't know.
Yet the kid shrugs and ridesoff.
He watches the boy go untilhe's gone.
Then he places the night besidehim on the bench.
Just for a moment he closes hiseyes.
For the first time in weeks hebreathes Deep, real, like.
(25:25):
Maybe, just maybe he can stayhere for a while, not because
the pain is gone, because helearned how to carry it.
He doesn't stay long.
It's long enough to know he'llcome back, not here, but to
himself.
Eventually.
When he does, he'll know why,even if there's no map.
(25:50):
Part 6 the Moment that Held,this moment doesn't simmer.
It sits Heavy, quiet, present.
The air feels thick, like it'sholding its breath, like even
the city has paused, waiting tosee what he'll do next.
(26:11):
He stands in the middle of thealleyway.
His shadow splits across thewet ground by flickering light
above One bulb.
One moment, one breath, and inhis pocket two pieces the knight
and the bishop.
He doesn't know what they meanyet, doesn't know why he was
(26:31):
given them what he's supposed todo.
But you know one thing hehasn't let go, not once, not
even when it got hard, not evenwhen it got pointless, not even
when no one believed.
Because some part of him, apart he can't explain, knows
this means something.
He tried throwing them away.
(26:52):
Tried, forgetting.
Tried walking in the otherdirection.
And still they hum, theyvibrate against each other in
his coat like a quiet signal,like two frequencies slowly
tuning into the same channel.
He's not sure if they'recalling him forward or reminding
him not to go back.
(27:14):
Tonight he stood on the corner,forgetting and remembering.
He almost turned around on thecorner of forgetting and
remembering.
He almost turned around, almostgave in, almost let the street
swallow him, like many othersbefore.
But something, someone stoppedhim, and it wasn't the old man,
(27:40):
wasn't the girl, wasn't thesilence.
It was him, the part of himthat still wants to know, the
part of him that still wants toknow, the part of him that still
cares, not about being great,not about being seen, but about
being real.
And now this is as real as itgets.
A man with no answers, no map,no promise of reward, just two
pieces in his palm.
(28:01):
Two choices stay or vanish.
Tonight he stayed, and thatchanges everything, because
there is a moment every mancomes to, the one where running
stops feeling like an escape andstarts feeling like a betrayal.
Like an escape and startsfeeling like a betrayal.
This is that moment.
(28:21):
He's not brave, he's not ready,but he's here and maybe, just
maybe, that's enough.
He turns the knight in his hand.
Then the bishop, each carvededge, cutting the silence.
He doesn't look for signsanymore.
(28:41):
He is the sign.
He doesn't wait for the voiceto tell him.
He decides.
And that's the beginning ofsomething.
Not a legend, not a miracle,but a man, finally.
A man standing in the ruins ofwho he was, holding, the first
(29:05):
pieces of who he will become.
So now let's go ahead and getinto the monologue.
So let's talk about what justhappened.
If you felt uncomfortable duringthis episode, good, you were
supposed to See.
This was the episode whereeverything turned, but not
upward, not yet.
This was the final gasp of theold life before it suffocates.
(29:26):
You've watched a man with nosafety net, no identity left to
retreat into and no illusions tohide behind.
He stood in a hallway toonarrow for comfort, pressed
between two selves, and what wasleft of the lesser man is
something else, somethingunformed, something waiting, and
(29:50):
in that space he did somethingmost never do.
He chose Not because he feltstrong, chose Not because he
felt strong, but because he hadno other direction to crawl in.
That's how power is born Notwhen we feel ready, but when we
feel abandoned by every optionbut truth, when the costume
(30:12):
we've been wearing starts toburn on our skin and when the
silence becomes so loud we can'tpretend anymore.
There's a reason.
We made this part ugly, bleak,claustrophobic Because every man
glamorized the moment he tookhis life back.
But they never tell you aboutthe roaches in the corner, the
(30:34):
smell of mold in your pillow orthe way the shower doesn't work.
They don't tell you about themoment you start becoming new.
It's the moment you feel likeyou might die.
This episode was about choice,without applause.
There were no cheers, there'sno signs, there's no angels,
(30:55):
just a man alone in the weightin his pocket that won't stop
humming.
Did you notice that?
The night still hums, but nolonger responds to desperation.
It responds to stillness, topresence, to resolve.
This is the key that peace,just like your potential,
(31:15):
doesn't get activated by panic,it gets activated by stillness.
Under pressure, you probablymissed how subtle that shift was
.
He didn't stand tall or hedidn't roar right, he just
stopped looking back.
And that's what the choicelooks like.
And for you, if you'relistening to this, it means one
(31:38):
thing.
You're standing in that hallwaytoo, and I'll tell you what no
one else will.
You won't get clarity first.
You won't get proof, you won'teven get a guarantee that it'll
work honestly.
All you'll get is a choice Tostay invisible or to become
(32:00):
unseen.
If you don't know what thatmeans yet, don't worry.
By the end you will.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto our reflection questions.
Number one what decision inyour life have you been avoiding
?
Because it doesn't come withcertainty.
That right there, I'm going totell you this People with that
(32:24):
question, people stay inrelationships longer than they
should.
They stay at jobs longer thanthey should because of that
question, because that answer isscary.
Number two when was the lasttime you were alone in silence,
and what did that reveal.
Number three have you mistakennoise for power?
(32:45):
What would stillness look likeif it looked as your strength
right?
If you're still, and you madethat your strength right, that
your strength right?
Number four what old version ofyourself do you still feed with
(33:07):
your attention or habits?
And number five, if you're everI always say this if no one
ever applauded you again, wouldyou still choose the rise?
You know?
To kind of tack on to thatquestion, I'll just say this for
me personally you know thething about, like personal
(33:27):
development, self-improvement,these things.
Your biggest moments don't comewith applause.
They're usually by yourself.
When you make that choice, thatchange, and you decide to put
yourself in front of everythingelse, when you decide to move
away from that relationship,when you decide to quit that job
that's been soul-crushing youfor years.
(33:49):
There's no applause in thosethings, but those are the
moments in your life where yourlife changes for the better,
usually.
So just remember that as you'regoing through this.
Okay, now, as I said, this is avery heavy series, but, as you
can see, you got another piece.
You got a bishop.
Things are starting to turn forhim.
(34:10):
He's starting to take what wealways talk about accountability
and responsibility.
Once you take accountabilityand responsibility for your life
, that's where your life changes.
That's what he's doing here.
Okay, as we're talking aboutthis, I've been getting a lot of
feedback on this series and Ijust want to thank you guys so
(34:32):
much for your feedback and justyour support.
I got an email today fromsomebody and they told me I was
doing good and to keep it up,and it just meant the world to
(34:52):
me.
I just want to just thank youguys for your support.
So, as we're talking about that, if you want to to support the
show, really the best way to doit is doing one of two things,
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If you could first leave areview of the show right, you
know, talk about how great theshow is, leave stars, that'd be
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Second way is just share thiswith a family member or a friend
(35:16):
, right, we're trying to do thisorganically.
We're not trying to payalgorithms.
We're trying to do thisorganically.
So if you could do that, Iwould sincerely appreciate it.
Now, as we're talking about that, if you want to get a hold of
me, you want to have aconversation about this episode,
this show, this series or the270 plus episodes that are out
(35:37):
there.
There's three ways you can geta hold of me.
First way is going to beactually in the podcast
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You click on that, then you andI can have a conversation about
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(36:02):
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Again, guys, thank you so muchfrom the bottom of my heart for
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And remember this you createyour reality.
(36:24):
Take care.
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode six
of Grandeur.
So let's just go ahead andlet's get into it, cold, open,
(00:22):
one way out.
It starts with motion, notforward but down.
He slips off the curb and landstoo hard gravel scraping the
skin through his worn jeans.
It's not the first time he'sfallen, but it might be the
first time.
He doesn't bother getting upquickly.
(00:43):
He just lays there On the sideof the street.
No one stops Above him.
The sky is too clear, almostsurgical in its indifference.
It doesn't rain, it doesn'tthreaten to.
It just watches A bus roarspast.
(01:05):
The wind lifts the edge of hiscoat.
He's too thin now.
His shoes are held together bydesperation and duct tape.
He finally sits up, just enoughto check if the night's still
there.
It is Still cold, still heavy,still his.
(01:26):
The same hand that once held aring now clutches a relic.
That's what he's named it now Arelic, not a symbol of hope,
just a marker of what was lost.
He limps towards the shelteragain.
Same cracked brick, sameflickering light above the door.
(01:49):
Inside, someone's screaming,someone's crying, someone's
praying.
The three sounds blend togetherso perfectly it could be a
choir.
He signs in without making eyecontact.
They don't ask his name anymore.
They know the weight of it.
(02:11):
Back in his bunk he lies on hisside, doesn't sleep Not really.
He turns the light over in hishand.
It doesn't hum.
That's what scares him the most, because now even the silence
feels like abandonment.
Part One no Way Back.
(02:34):
The night clings to him likeguilt Thick, heavy, unrelenting.
Every sound on the street feelslike a question he can't answer
.
A bottle breaks somewherebehind him, a woman screams from
a second-story window.
Tires peel from a nearby alley.
(02:55):
The city's orchestra of chaoscontinues, but he moves through
it like a ghost with nowhere tohaunt.
There's a man asleep on thestairs of a boarded-up pawn shop
.
Another is talking to himself,yelling at memories.
No one else can see but him.
He's the silent one now.
He stopped asking for help,stopped explaining the smell,
(03:21):
stopped trying to appear okay.
He showers once a week now, onTuesdays.
That's the only time theshelter water isn't ice.
His skin always smells faintlyof rot and steel.
He carries his belongings in atorn backpack that squeaks when
he moves.
There's one pair of socks,inside a crumpled photo of her
(03:48):
and the night, the night.
Some nights he tries to forgetit's there, pretends it's just a
trinket, but it pulses quietlylike breath, like something
asleep that dreams.
He doesn't understand it, buthe started talking to it.
Why me?
He whispered two nights ago,and the shelter's half-light.
(04:12):
No answer.
But it was warm in his hand.
That was the night he didn'tsleep, not even the kind of
shallow sleep he's come to relyon, not even the kind of shallow
sleep he's come to rely on.
He lay there staring at theceiling, tiles, warning if it
was purgatory and if this iswhat it feels like Never
(04:37):
punished, never saved, justsuspended.
This morning he wakes on a bench, not even remembering how he
got there.
The air is damp, cold enough tobite.
He rubs his hands together andstands, and the ache in his knee
reminds him how long he's beenwalking.
He passes a cafe.
(04:58):
The reflection in the glassstartles him.
He doesn't recognize himself.
He doesn't recognize himselfbeard, unkempt eyes, bloodshot,
a jawline tightened bystarvation not resolved.
He moves on.
By noon he's back at the bridge, the same one, always this one.
(05:18):
He doesn't know why it pullshim, maybe because it feels like
a moment waiting to happen, aplace suspended in indecision,
somewhere between where he wasor where he'll never return.
He leans against the railing.
The night is cold today, quiet.
He clutches it anyways.
(05:42):
Across the bridge a figureappears, the same man as before
coat, dark face, unreadable.
He steps closer, stopping a fewfeet away.
You haven't dropped it yet, theman says.
The voice cuts through the fog.
Didn't plan on it, he says,says the stranger nods slowly.
(06:06):
Good, that's the only piecethat knows the way forward.
What?
What does that mean?
The man doesn't answer.
Instead he reaches into his owncoat.
You don't give a man the wholeboard at once, he says.
He wouldn't know what to dowith it.
A hand emerges, finger curledaround something small, another
(06:31):
piece, the bishop.
He doesn't move.
He asks what if I don't want it?
The stranger tilts his head.
Then don't take it.
But know this Refusal Is stilla move.
Silence.
(06:53):
Then a soft click, the sound ofa porcelain Against stone.
The bishop is left on therailing.
When the broken man finallylooks up, the stranger is left
on the railing.
When the broken man finallylooks up, the stranger is gone.
The city feels quieter, eventhe wind stills.
He reaches for the piece.
(07:14):
It's warm.
The moment he touches it,something sharp runs up his
spine.
Not pain, not pleasure,something else like alignment,
like something deep in themorrow.
Waking up, he doesn't cry, butthe muscles behind his eyes
(07:37):
twitch as if his soul is tryingto remember what tears are.
He pockets the bishop.
He walks on, no direction, justmovement.
But for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he walks with
something more than despair.
(07:57):
He walks with intent.
Part 2.
The Wait Between.
He wakes in the shelter, but itdoesn't feel like waking more,
like surfacing from underneathsomething heavy, something that
didn't want to let him go.
There's a bruise on his wrist,a new one.
(08:19):
He doesn't remember how it gotthere.
The night is still in his coat.
It's silent.
Now it's cold.
He sits up, scans the room.
A fight must have broken outsometime after he dozed.
The man in the corner has bloodon his shirt.
The air reeks of sweat, smokeand something synthetic.
(08:43):
Whatever pills they passedaround the hour before midnight.
He doesn't ask, he just stands,steps over a boot that isn't
his and makes his way out.
The morning isn't morning.
It's gray, washed out like thecity forgot to color it in.
By the time he's outside, hisstomach's already aching.
He hasn't eaten since twonights ago Half a sandwich left
(09:08):
by the church bends.
He checks the pocket for coinsnothing.
So he walks, not because hewants to but because movement is
easier than hunger.
The sidewalk knows him now.
Its cracks and patterns almostfeel familiar.
He knows where not to step toavoid the puddle that never
(09:30):
dries.
He nods at the old woman whoalways mutters to herself by the
bus stop.
She never looks up.
He passes a man with a signsaying spare what you can.
They make eye contact.
The man looks away.
He keeps walking.
Eventually he finds himself backat the corner of the
(09:50):
convenience store.
He doesn't know why he justalways ends up there.
There's a girl handing out soup.
Her jacket is too thin, herhands are red with cold, but
she's smiling at everyone, evenat him.
When it's his turn he almostsays no, shame, curls up his
(10:13):
spine like it wants to wear hisface, but she says you look like
you need it and hands him abowl.
He doesn't remember the lasttime someone looked at him like
that, like he wasn't fading.
He eats slowly.
It's not the soup that warmshim, it's the moment and the
(10:33):
moment after, when she pressessomething into his hand before
he leaves.
It's not a piece, it's a foldednote, four words, you're still
there.
Part 3.
The Wall.
Beneath the Wall he hasn't seena mirror in days.
(10:55):
There are shards of reflections, windows, puddles, the back of
a bent soup spoon, but nothingdirect.
And maybe that was the point.
If he could just see himselfclearly, it might confirm what
he's already beginning tosuspect.
He didn't look like him anymore,the man walking these streets
(11:18):
in the early gray morning lightwore the same coat but hung
inside it differently now.
Shoulders curled inwards, faceslacked from nights spent
chasing sleep and morningswaking up with someone else's
cold breath in the room.
A man who started flinching atkindness more than cruelty.
It's freezing again.
(11:40):
Chicago's winters are brutal.
But he got inside, where youwere still still, and he's been
here still too long.
His fingers ached.
Eve Wynn shoved it deep in hispockets.
His feet's blistered soles hecouldn't afford to replace.
(12:00):
Hunger sharpened the corner ofhis thoughts.
The only thing not deterringwas the night.
It was still there, tucked intothat same chest pocket, the
lining worn thin around it.
It pulsed every now and then,not electrically, but like it
was breathing, like it knew.
(12:21):
He found himself staring at itsome mornings, not out of
curiosity anymore, but out ofresentment.
What do you want?
He whispered at once.
What do you want from me?
Of course it didn't answer.
(12:43):
It never does because itdoesn't have to.
It kept dragging him places,not physically, just
rhythmically, like his bodymoved in cadence with something
older than instinct.
His feet turned corners beforehis brain processed the sidewalk
, his eyes locked onto buildingsbefore his neck turned.
(13:05):
He'd walked this city for years,but not like this.
Today was one of those days.
It started with a womanscreaming, not in terror, just
fury, a guttural, exhaustedscream from the alley near the
shelter.
When he peeked his head aroundthe corner, he saw her Small
(13:27):
frame, tangled hair, too manycoats, kicking a metal trash bin
, screaming I was someone.
No one else looked, no one everdid, but he did.
He saw her, but he did.
He saw her and for the firsttime in days, the night warmed.
(13:49):
Later he sat on the curb acrossfrom the train tracks, not
because he needed to be there,just because something told him
that this was a place to stop.
He had six dollars and a halfpack of gum in his pocket.
The night stayed quiet.
A man approached Older, wearyskin, like someone who lived too
(14:11):
many summers in a tent and toomany winters beneath bridges.
But his eyes were sharp, toosharp for someone who was truly
gone.
Gone you caring?
The man asked Shook his head.
The man didn't believe him butdidn't press.
Good, he muttered, there'sstill a chance.
(14:40):
Then what do you mean?
The man just smiled and walkedoff.
That night he stood in front ofthe church again, not the one
from the shelter, the other one,the small brick one with a
crooked cross and fading mural.
He hadn't gone in since thefuneral.
He didn't even believe anymore.
But tonight he needed to standnear something.
(15:01):
He gripped both pieces in hiscoat pocket the knight and the
bishop opposite sides of theboard one for the move, one for
the protection.
He didn't know how he knew that, but he did Suddenly.
He wanted a mirror, not to seehimself but to prove he hadn't
(15:23):
vanished completely.
Part 4, where the Fog Breaks.
He's tired of walking.
That's the first honest thoughthe's had in days.
Not hungry, not angry, justtired.
His legs feel like they're madeof soaked denim.
(15:43):
His thoughts are slower too,like he's been breathing
underwater without realizing it.
The city blurs past him infaceless patterns.
Streets he's walked for weeksnow feel foreign.
Familiar corners twist justslightly out of place.
A mural he's passed everymorning for a month now has a
(16:05):
different face on it, or maybeit was always that way.
He couldn't tell and he stoppedasking.
It's better to let things slide.
He just toured a small diner onthe corner Not to go in, just to
sit outside.
There's a concrete barrier justbeneath the boarded window that
(16:27):
holds his weight like it knowshim.
Inside, two men are arguing,not loudly but enough.
One wears a suit, the otherlooks like he hasn't slept in
days.
He catches fragments.
You said I'd get the rest.
That's not how this works.
The suited man adjusts his tieand leaves the other man stays
(16:49):
head in his hands.
A waitress his tie and leavesthe other man stays head in his
hands.
A waitress walks over andleaves a cup in front of him.
No words, just presence.
He watches that.
It stings more than expected.
He's never been good at beingcomforted.
Even when she tried, she alwaysreached for his hand when he
(17:10):
was angry.
Never said anything, justplaced her finger over his.
At the time it made him feelexposed, like she saw something
he hadn't decided to show.
Now he'd trade everything forthat touch again.
A boy approaches him eight maybenine, holding a handful of
(17:34):
crushed wildflowers in an oldpaper cup.
Spare some change.
He stares then laughs, notcruelly, just strangely Funny.
I was about to ask you for thesame thing.
The boy shrugs.
You look like you have a lotless to lose.
(17:56):
He smiles Smart kid.
The boy walks away.
He watches him disappear aroundthe corner, then looks down at
his coat.
The bishop is still there.
He can still feel it like apresence, not just an object,
object.
It's not humming at this time,it's just warm.
It's waiting like it's watching.
(18:21):
He makes his way back to thecemetery, not for her, well, not
entirely.
It's the only place he stillfeels time, moving normally,
where silence doesn't feel likepunishment.
He steps between the rows ofstones like he's navigating a
conversation he doesn't want tohave.
At our grave he sitscross-legged.
(18:43):
No ceremony, just exhaustion.
I don't know what I'm doing.
He says aloud.
The wind responds.
A low whistle through the irongate Got another one.
The bishop it's.
It's heavier.
No reply.
I thought they'd give meanswers.
(19:05):
He pauses, but it's just moreweight.
His fingers dig into the grass,cold and damp.
Why am I still here?
Behind him a church bell rings.
He turns, but the chapel isempty, but the chapel is empty.
(19:30):
Back at the shelter there's afight, not with him, not about
him, but it rattles him anyways.
Two men yelling about a stolencoat, someone gets shoves, a
bottle breaks.
He backs into the hallway andfinds a corner.
He doesn't want to be hereanymore.
(19:52):
He doesn't want to be hereanymore.
He doesn't want to be anywhere.
He pulls off the bishop.
It's glowing just slightly, asoft pulse like breath.
He doesn't understand what itmeans, but he knows this.
He's not the same man who tookthe knight.
Something shifted, somethingmoved.
He didn't ask for permission.
(20:13):
He slides the bishop back intohis coat and in that moment, for
the first time in a long time,he stops asking for permission
too.
Part 5.
The One Without a Map.
He didn't plan to walk this far.
His shoes are damp with therain from three days ago.
(20:34):
Blisters have formed in placeswhere blisters have already
formed.
The skin on his heels feel likepaper thinned by too much
folding.
But still he walks becausestanding feels like drowning.
The city, whatever it used tomean to him, now stretches and
grays, doesn't welcome him,doesn't warn him, it doesn't
(20:58):
even acknowledge him.
It just breathes Asphalt andalley, glash and shadow.
Another man without a map.
He crosses a neighborhood hedoesn't recognize, though he's
sure he's been here before.
Everything's familiar in a kindof blurry way, like remembering
(21:19):
someone else's dream.
The trash bins overflow, an oldman coughs something wet into
the street.
A teenage girl yells at herboyfriend while holding a baby
on her hip.
No one sees him, or they seehim, but it registers as
furniture Something you expectto be there, something easily
(21:41):
ignored.
That used to break him.
Now it's kind of a relief.
There's a corner bodega with asteel gate.
Halfway down A singleflickering neon letter.
Oh, the rest of the sign hasdied.
He stands there for too long,not sure why.
He's not shopping, he's notresting, he's just standing
(22:07):
Until the Kirk yells at himthrough the crack in the gate,
tells him to move.
He does Down two more blocks,past a graffitied payphone.
There's a man handing outnewspaper.
No one buys.
The man doesn't say anything,he just shoves one into his
chest, he takes it, walks away.
He reads nothing on the front,but the back page is blank.
(22:31):
That stops him.
He turns it over again, checksthe other pages All fine
Headlines, smudged ink, ads forbail bonds and car washes, but
the back is empty.
He rips it off and folds intohis pocket, not for any reason,
just he doesn't want to throw itaway.
(22:53):
He walks until he hits thetunnel underpass.
It's one of those places wherelight doesn't behave, where the
day doesn't quite reach.
There's a rhythm of drippingwater, a low echo of cards.
Overhead, something else, faint, humming like electricity, with
(23:13):
a voice.
He steps inside.
Halfway through there's afigure Seated Hood up, hands out
, not just begging, just restingtheir fingers trace circles on
the concrete floor, slow,deliberate.
The humming stops when heenters.
The figure doesn't move,doesn't look.
(23:35):
Still, he nods as he passes,not out of fear, because
something about this personfeels Fixed, like they belong
here and he doesn't Not.
Yet On the other side of thetunnel, a boy tries to sell him
a cracked iPhone, tells him itworks great.
(23:57):
He smiles, hands the phone backand keeps walking.
His body is sore, the kind ofsore that goes past muscle, bone
sore, spirit sore.
He feels like a man who lost awar.
No one else knew was happening.
He finds a bench.
The wood is warped but it holdshim.
(24:19):
He takes off his shoes, looksat his feet, smiles bitterly.
Becoming something new alwayscosts something old.
He says aloud to no one.
He pulls off the night.
It's heavier now, or maybe he'sweaker.
He doesn't hold it up likebefore, just rested on his lap,
(24:43):
looks at it like you'd look atan old photo, something that
once mattered more than anythingand now it hurts to remember.
A kid on a bike stops in frontof him, points at the piece Is
that a horse?
He nods Kind of.
The kid squints, what's it do?
(25:05):
I don't know.
Yet the kid shrugs and ridesoff.
He watches the boy go untilhe's gone.
Then he places the night besidehim on the bench.
Just for a moment he closes hiseyes.
For the first time in weeks hebreathes Deep, real, like.
(25:25):
Maybe, just maybe he can stayhere for a while, not because
the pain is gone, because helearned how to carry it.
He doesn't stay long.
It's long enough to know he'llcome back, not here, but to
himself.
Eventually.
When he does, he'll know why,even if there's no map.
(25:50):
Part 6 the Moment that Held,this moment doesn't simmer.
It sits Heavy, quiet, present.
The air feels thick, like it'sholding its breath, like even
the city has paused, waiting tosee what he'll do next.
(26:11):
He stands in the middle of thealleyway.
His shadow splits across thewet ground by flickering light
above One bulb.
One moment, one breath, and inhis pocket two pieces the knight
and the bishop.
He doesn't know what they meanyet, doesn't know why he was
(26:31):
given them what he's supposed todo.
But you know one thing hehasn't let go, not once, not
even when it got hard, not evenwhen it got pointless, not even
when no one believed.
Because some part of him, apart he can't explain, knows
this means something.
He tried throwing them away.
(26:52):
Tried, forgetting.
Tried walking in the otherdirection.
And still they hum, theyvibrate against each other in
his coat like a quiet signal,like two frequencies slowly
tuning into the same channel.
He's not sure if they'recalling him forward or reminding
him not to go back.
(27:14):
Tonight he stood on the corner,forgetting and remembering.
He almost turned around on thecorner of forgetting and
remembering.
He almost turned around, almostgave in, almost let the street
swallow him, like many othersbefore.
But something, someone stoppedhim, and it wasn't the old man,
(27:40):
wasn't the girl, wasn't thesilence.
It was him, the part of himthat still wants to know, the
part of him that still wants toknow, the part of him that still
cares, not about being great,not about being seen, but about
being real.
And now this is as real as itgets.
A man with no answers, no map,no promise of reward, just two
pieces in his palm.
(28:01):
Two choices stay or vanish.
Tonight he stayed, and thatchanges everything, because
there is a moment every mancomes to, the one where running
stops feeling like an escape andstarts feeling like a betrayal.
Like an escape and startsfeeling like a betrayal.
This is that moment.
(28:21):
He's not brave, he's not ready,but he's here and maybe, just
maybe, that's enough.
He turns the knight in his hand.
Then the bishop, each carvededge, cutting the silence.
He doesn't look for signsanymore.
(28:41):
He is the sign.
He doesn't wait for the voiceto tell him.
He decides.
And that's the beginning ofsomething.
Not a legend, not a miracle,but a man, finally.
A man standing in the ruins ofwho he was, holding, the first
(29:05):
pieces of who he will become.
So now let's go ahead and getinto the monologue.
So let's talk about what justhappened.
If you felt uncomfortable duringthis episode, good, you were
supposed to See.
This was the episode whereeverything turned, but not
upward, not yet.
This was the final gasp of theold life before it suffocates.
(29:26):
You've watched a man with nosafety net, no identity left to
retreat into and no illusions tohide behind.
He stood in a hallway toonarrow for comfort, pressed
between two selves, and what wasleft of the lesser man is
something else, somethingunformed, something waiting, and
(29:50):
in that space he did somethingmost never do.
He chose Not because he feltstrong, chose Not because he
felt strong, but because he hadno other direction to crawl in.
That's how power is born Notwhen we feel ready, but when we
feel abandoned by every optionbut truth, when the costume
(30:12):
we've been wearing starts toburn on our skin and when the
silence becomes so loud we can'tpretend anymore.
There's a reason.
We made this part ugly, bleak,claustrophobic Because every man
glamorized the moment he tookhis life back.
But they never tell you aboutthe roaches in the corner, the
(30:34):
smell of mold in your pillow orthe way the shower doesn't work.
They don't tell you about themoment you start becoming new.
It's the moment you feel likeyou might die.
This episode was about choice,without applause.
There were no cheers, there'sno signs, there's no angels,
(30:55):
just a man alone in the weightin his pocket that won't stop
humming.
Did you notice that?
The night still hums, but nolonger responds to desperation.
It responds to stillness, topresence, to resolve.
This is the key that peace,just like your potential,
(31:15):
doesn't get activated by panic,it gets activated by stillness.
Under pressure, you probablymissed how subtle that shift was
.
He didn't stand tall or hedidn't roar right, he just
stopped looking back.
And that's what the choicelooks like.
And for you, if you'relistening to this, it means one
(31:38):
thing.
You're standing in that hallwaytoo, and I'll tell you what no
one else will.
You won't get clarity first.
You won't get proof, you won'teven get a guarantee that it'll
work honestly.
All you'll get is a choice Tostay invisible or to become
(32:00):
unseen.
If you don't know what thatmeans yet, don't worry.
By the end you will.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto our reflection questions.
Number one what decision inyour life have you been avoiding
?
Because it doesn't come withcertainty.
That right there, I'm going totell you this People with that
(32:24):
question, people stay inrelationships longer than they
should.
They stay at jobs longer thanthey should because of that
question, because that answer isscary.
Number two when was the lasttime you were alone in silence,
and what did that reveal.
Number three have you mistakennoise for power?
(32:45):
What would stillness look likeif it looked as your strength
right?
If you're still, and you madethat your strength right, that
your strength right?
Number four what old version ofyourself do you still feed with
(33:07):
your attention or habits?
And number five, if you're everI always say this if no one
ever applauded you again, wouldyou still choose the rise?
You know?
To kind of tack on to thatquestion, I'll just say this for
me personally you know thething about, like personal
(33:27):
development, self-improvement,these things.
Your biggest moments don't comewith applause.
They're usually by yourself.
When you make that choice, thatchange, and you decide to put
yourself in front of everythingelse, when you decide to move
away from that relationship,when you decide to quit that job
that's been soul-crushing youfor years.
(33:49):
There's no applause in thosethings, but those are the
moments in your life where yourlife changes for the better,
usually.
So just remember that as you'regoing through this.
Okay, now, as I said, this is avery heavy series, but, as you
can see, you got another piece.
You got a bishop.
Things are starting to turn forhim.
(34:10):
He's starting to take what wealways talk about accountability
and responsibility.
Once you take accountabilityand responsibility for your life
, that's where your life changes.
That's what he's doing here.
Okay, as we're talking aboutthis, I've been getting a lot of
feedback on this series and Ijust want to thank you guys so
(34:32):
much for your feedback and justyour support.
I got an email today fromsomebody and they told me I was
doing good and to keep it up,and it just meant the world to
(34:52):
me.
I just want to just thank youguys for your support.
So, as we're talking about that, if you want to to support the
show, really the best way to doit is doing one of two things,
two things.
If you could first leave areview of the show right, you
know, talk about how great theshow is, leave stars, that'd be
awesome.
Second way is just share thiswith a family member or a friend
(35:16):
, right, we're trying to do thisorganically.
We're not trying to payalgorithms.
We're trying to do thisorganically.
So if you could do that, Iwould sincerely appreciate it.
Now, as we're talking about that, if you want to get a hold of
me, you want to have aconversation about this episode,
this show, this series or the270 plus episodes that are out
(35:37):
there.
There's three ways you can geta hold of me.
First way is going to beactually in the podcast
description of this episode.
It'll say let's chat.
You click on that, then you andI can have a conversation about
this series, this episode or,like I said, the 270 plus
episodes that are on GentsJourney.
Second way is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
(36:02):
please, please, please, feelfree to reach out to me there.
And then, last but not least,you can always go to my
Instagram.
My Instagram is mygentsjourney.
Again, guys, thank you so muchfrom the bottom of my heart for
listening today.
And remember this you createyour reality.
(36:24):
Take care.
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