August 2, 2025 • 40 mins
Have you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in a broken mirror and failed to recognize the reflection staring back? Grand Jewel Episode 5 plunges into the raw, unfiltered experience of a man who's hit rock bottom, sleeping in shelters, wandering city streets, and gradually disappearing from both society and himself.
Through haunting prose and visceral imagery, we follow our protagonist's confrontation with his fractured identity. The cracked mirror in the shelter bathroom becomes more than a plot device—it's the dividing line between who he once was and who he's become. As he navigates the invisible existence of homelessness, a mysterious figure appears repeatedly in his peripheral vision, eventually revealing itself as another version of himself—one that knows truths he's been hiding from.
What makes this episode particularly powerful is its unflinching examination of the difference between survival and healing. Many of us push forward, believing that simply continuing to function means we're recovering, when in reality we're merely existing in a state of suspended grief. The protagonist's journey illustrates how true healing begins not with escape but with acceptance—sitting with discomfort long enough to recognize what it's trying to teach us.
The reflection questions posed at the episode's conclusion invite you into your own reckoning: Where are you trying to return to a version of yourself that no longer exists? What are you afraid will happen if you admit you're not okay? What painful moments have you never truly sat with? These aren't just philosophical musings—they're gateways to transformation.
As I mention in the closing monologue, "The moment you stop trying to look back to who you were, you make space for who you really are to show up." This isn't about becoming someone new; it's about honestly acknowledging who you are now.
Connect with me to continue this conversation—reach out at anthony@gentsjourney.com, find me on Instagram @mygentsjourney, or click "Let's Chat" in the episode description. Your support continues to overwhelm me, and I'm grateful for each of you joining this journey.
"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 five
of Grand Jewel.
So let's go ahead and let'sjust get into the cold opening.
The mirror in the shelterbathroom is cracked, not
(00:24):
shattered, just split.
Top to bottom A jagged linethat divides his reflection like
a wound that never scabbed overthe lighting in here is a dull
yellow, the kind that makeseverything look worse.
He stares at the mirror anyways, toothbrush hanging from his
(00:49):
mouth, foam clinging to thecorner of his lip like spit from
a punched mouth.
He doesn't recognize the manstaring back.
Not completely.
The beard is thicker than itused to be, patchy in places,
eyes have sunken in a littledeeper in their sockets.
Cheekbones are sharper, thecollarbone visible beneath the
(01:09):
stretched out collar of a shirthe's worn for four days straight
.
The only thing that still lookslike him is the way he avoids
his own eyes.
He spits into the sink, thesound echoing off talic and
accusation.
A man walks in behind him,younger.
He spits into the sink, thesound echoing off talic and
accusation.
A man walks in behind him,younger, maybe 25, tatted neck
(01:35):
hoodie too clean to belong, oneof the new ones.
The man glances at him in themirror.
He doesn't nod, doesn't say hi,just keeps walking like the
reflection was easier to look atthan the man himself.
He showers once a week now Twiceif the water runs hot and no
one's waiting.
But today isn't one of thosedays.
(01:56):
He strips down and steps in,ignoring the mildew in the
corners, the graffiti scrawledand sharpie above the shower
handle Only the weak.
Get clean.
The water is cold, always is,but it wakes him up or punishes
him, he isn't sure which.
(02:18):
He stands under the spray untilhis skin numbs, until the dirt
pooling at his feet stopsrunning dark.
There's a scab forming behindhis right ear where he fell last
week, slipped on the curbtrying to get a sandwich.
Someone left on a bench Didn'teven get the sandwich.
Some teenager beat him to it,laughed as he ran off.
(02:39):
He didn't chase him, he didn'tyell, just sat on the curb and
held the knife in his pocketlike it might warm his hand up.
It didn't.
He gets dressed slow.
Same clothes, same smell,doesn't matter.
Nobody notices anymore, noteven the security guard at the
(03:04):
bodega where he steals packetsof honey mustard and eats them
like snacks.
Not even the woman at the postoffice who used to hand him a
dollar every Tuesday but hasn'tlooked his way in weeks.
He walks with his hands deep inhis coat, hood pulled low.
It's ringing again, but only alittle, not enough to clean
(03:28):
anything.
He steps over a needle by thecurb, nods at a man sleeping
beneath an overhang with a signthat says I'm still here.
They don't know each other, butthey nod.
That's the rule you nod if youwant to stay human.
He ends up at the library, notto read, just to be indoors.
(03:52):
They don't kick you out if youprint in and look like you
belong.
So he grabs a book off theshelf something about military
history and plants himself in acorner chair near the back.
It smells like dust and paper,paper and stale heater breath.
He breathes it in like a drug.
(04:13):
The night isn't, his coatalways is, but he doesn't touch
it.
Hasn't touched it in two days.
He's afraid of it, what itmight does if he does touch it,
not in words, but in that hum,in that response, because lately
(04:40):
it's been quiet, not dead, justindifferent, like it's still
waiting to see if he's worthcaring.
He flips the book open, staresat the page Part One, the Smirk
Behind the Glass he hasn'tshowered in seven days.
Not that it matters, not in aplace where smells blend
(05:02):
together like old regrets Urine,sweat, cigarette, ash, wet
concrete.
He scrapes what stubble he canoff his jaw with a chipped razor
he found behind the shelterlast week.
His hands shake while he doesit, not from the cold, from the
exhaustion that never ends, onlyshifts weight.
(05:24):
It's not about being tiredanymore, it's about disappearing
in degrees, from the exhaustionthat never ends, only shifts
weight.
It's not about being tiredanymore, it's about disappearing
in degrees.
He eats stale crackers behind avending machine.
They're free because someonesmashed a glass and no one
bothered to fix it.
The shelter's full tonight.
Fights broke out earlier.
One guy was dragged off by thecops screaming about voices.
(05:45):
Another offered him pills forhalf a sandwich.
He said no, not because ofprinciple, but because he
doesn't want to lose what littlehe has of himself left.
He just threw the downtown likea ghost wearing old boots.
The city doesn't look at him,doesn't even blink.
(06:05):
He could walk naked throughtraffic and it would be part
like smoke.
There's a danger in beingignored long enough you start to
believe you were never here atall.
It's just past midnight whereyou find the broken bus stop
Glass, panes shattered on oneside, sharp teeth still clinging
to its edges.
One flickering lightbulboverhead casts just enough light
(06:29):
to make the dark feel personal.
He sits, the bench groansbeneath him, everything does
lately.
Then he sees it Through thebroken plane.
Across the reflection cast inangles by the leftover glass, he
sees someone, a man, sittingopposite of him.
(06:50):
Same bench, same posture, sameface.
But this version is clean, it'sshaven, its hair is combed,
wearing a coat that fits.
Eyes are awake, sharp, thejawline isn't gaunt, there's
color in the cheeks, there'sweight in the chest.
This version smirks, doesn'tsay anything, doesn't move, just
(07:17):
smirks.
And for one breathless,paralyzed second he doesn't feel
like a man sitting alone, hefeels like the reflection.
Then a city bus screeches bybreaks, screaming on wet
concrete.
When it passes, the reflectionis gone and the bench across
(07:40):
from him is empty.
The night is burning in hiscoat pocket.
He doesn't touch it, doesn'tbreathe, just sits Still Alone
and wonders if, maybe, justmaybe, he saw who he used to be,
or worse, who he could havebeen Part 2.
(08:05):
Shadows Don't Lie.
He didn't eat today, didn'tforget, just couldn't.
There's a difference.
The stomach still growls, sure,but it's a dull ache now, a
background hum Like theelectrical buzz in a shelter's
(08:27):
busted ceiling light.
He's gotten used to it.
Sometimes he imagines it's hisbody, chewing through old
versions of himself, strippingaway whatever's left of the man
who thought love could save him.
Today he sat outside the samegas station for nearly three
hours, plastic cup in one hand,head low, trying not to look
(08:49):
like he was begging, even thoughhe was.
There's an art to askingwithout appearing to.
You learn fast.
When pride costs more than asandwich, people pass
differently.
Now.
Cost more than a sandwich.
People pass differently now.
Some glance, some flinch, a fewpretend to smile like it makes
(09:15):
them good, but most don't evensee them.
That's what cuts, not thehunger, not the cold, not the
shame of not being able to washyour own socks.
It's being passed by hundredsof lives and realizing yours no
longer counts.
Among them, a man dropped adollar today, Didn't hand it to
(09:40):
him, just dropped it Liketossing feed at a bird.
He muttered something aboutgetting clean and walked off
like he'd done his good deed.
The dollar sat between them fora few seconds before he picked
it up and pocketed it, notbecause he wanted to, but
(10:00):
because he had to, but becausehe had to, because that's what
it means to be invisible yourdignity.
It becomes optional.
Back at the shelter it's worsethan usual.
Somebody got jumped over ablanket.
Blood on the linoleum Smellslike piss and bleach.
Whatever drug.
(10:21):
Someone's cooking in the backhallway again, he knows the
sound of crack lighters now Cantell which ones burn fast and
which ones stall.
He doesn't use.
But it doesn't matter.
You breathe the same air longenough.
It stains your soul.
(10:41):
He sleeps next to a man whotalks to shadows, not
metaphorically fullconversations.
Last night was about someonenamed Marcy who apparently
betrayed him in 1984.
The man's voice cracked in themiddle of the story like he was
reliving it, like it washappening right there Again.
(11:01):
He told her he forgave her,then started crying Deep broken
sobs.
He almost put a hand on theman's shoulder Almost, but
didn't, because he isn't sure ifhe even exists enough to offer
comfort.
What would he say?
(11:21):
It's okay, that would be a lie,nothing's okay.
And lying even in kindnessfeels like putting paint on a
gravestone.
Later that night he stands inthe shelter's bathroom, if you
can call it that, looking athimself in a cracked mirror.
(11:43):
The light above flickers.
Half his face is in shadow.
The other half, well, looksworse.
Eyes sunken, jaws thinner thanit used to be, hair has grown
uneven, beard scruffy, but notintentional.
He looks like a man halfwaybetween who he was and who he
fears he's becoming.
(12:04):
He lifts his shirt.
His ribs are sharper.
Bruises from the fall down theshelter stairs two weeks ago are
still yellow and purple.
No one helped him up.
He leans closer to the mirror.
He whispers I don't know whoyou are anymore, but you're not
(12:28):
him.
And that's when it hits.
Not a breakdown, not a scream,just silence.
Not a scream, just silence.
Deep, aching silence.
Not outside.
Inside, the part of him thatused to hope has gone quiet.
(12:53):
Not dead, not yet, but buriedunder too many nights of cold
air and colder glances.
He watches his own mouth movelike a puppet.
Words fall out like ash.
You're losing.
He says to himself, not asjudgment, as a fact, like
(13:16):
reading the score of a game.
You know you didn't play hardenough to win.
You're losing.
He splashes water on his face.
It's freezing Tap only runscold now.
He doesn't flinch, Just stares,because pain at this stage
(13:37):
isn't punishment, it'sconfirmation you're still
tethered to something.
He wipes his face with hissleeve and leaves the mirror
behind.
The version of him in themirror still lingers after he's
gone.
He ends up outside again, underthe bridge.
It's past midnight, no B-Ron,except the rats in the wind.
(13:57):
There's a pile of trash bagsstacked near the wall.
One of them moves.
He steps closer and a kid stirsawake.
No older than 16.
Wrapped in a coat four sizestoo big, eyes already hollowed
(14:21):
out.
He doesn't ask the kid's name,doesn't ask if he's okay,
because he knows the answersalready.
Instead, he pulls the lastgranola bar from his coat and
drops it beside him.
The kid doesn't say thank you,he doesn't need to.
In the dark he walks until hisfeet splister.
The night in his coat pocket issilent again, not cold, not
(14:45):
warm.
It's just there like an olddebt no one ever collected.
He reaches the top of a smallhill overlooking the city.
It's beautiful from here Neonlights, moving traffic, the
skyline silhouetted likesomething sacred.
And it's not his.
It was once.
(15:07):
He remembers the bar where sheleft too loud, the corner store
that sold the milk she liked,the apartment window.
They used to look out on rainynights.
Used to look out on rainynights.
All of it below him now, all ofit unreachable.
He kneels, not for reverence butbecause his legs gave out and
(15:33):
under that sky, with nowhereleft to climb, he finally admits
it.
This is bottom.
He says it to the wind, to theworld, to whatever God still
listens.
I've hit it.
The words echo back with noanswer.
But it doesn't matter, becausenaming it, calling it what it is
(15:58):
, somehow feels like the firstreal thing he's done in weeks.
He curls up beneath a bench, nopillow, no cover, just the night
.
For the first time, he doesn'task for anything, because
(16:18):
tonight there's nothing left toask for Part 3.
The Light that Refused you.
There's nothing left to ask forpart three, the light that
refused you.
He's not sure what time it iswhen he wakes up or if he ever
really slept at all.
Time doesn't move in theshelter the way it does in the
world outside.
It stalls, it limps, it forgetsto breathe.
(16:40):
His back aches from the cotSomeone vomited in the corner
and there's a new guy acrossfrom him with a twitch that
won't stop.
Every few seconds a spasm joltshis leg like electricity.
It makes a sound, a rhythm Tap,tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
(17:01):
A rhythm, tap, tap, tap, tap,tap, tap.
It's maddening, but he doesn'tmove.
There's something different inhim today not cleaner, not
clearer, but louder, like, likethe thing inside of him that's
been whispering finally decidedto stop being polite.
(17:22):
He rises slow, doesn't greetanyone, doesn't make eye contact
.
He puts on his coat like armor,the night's weight still in his
pocket.
Outside the city is colder thanusual, that wet kind of cold
that soaks through your clothes.
(17:44):
It makes your teeth ache.
He likes it.
Pain feels like a signpost.
He walks.
This part of the city isn'tmapped for people like him.
It's coffee shops and glassoffices and gyms where no one
sweats.
But no one stops him.
They don't even look.
(18:05):
Invisibility isn't a trick,it's a symptom.
He ends up in front of a pawnshop windows full of things that
used to matter to someoneGuitars, gold chains, a wedding
dress on a mannequin with onearm missing.
He steps inside.
(18:26):
The man behind the counterlooks up, sees the coat, the
eyes and doesn't ask anyquestion, just goes back to his
magazine.
He pulls the night from hispocket and places it gently on
the counter.
The man stares at it, then backat him.
What is it?
The man asks.
(18:48):
It's a piece, he replies, froma set.
The man picks it up, flips it,knocks it against the glass
Nothing, no gold, no weight.
I don't know.
You want 20 bucks.
He takes it back.
No, I just wanted to see whatit looked like when it wasn't
(19:09):
mine.
The man says I'm sorry, what?
But he's already walking outBack in the street.
He pulls his notebook, writes weonly think something is ours
when we're afraid to lose it.
He walks into his feet hurt,ends up in the park, cold
(19:30):
benches, bare trees.
He finds a spot beneath an oldiron lamp and just sits.
He watches people A boy feedingpigeons, a woman yelling into
her phone, a man playing chessagainst himself.
That one catches his eye.
(19:52):
The man's pieces are different.
They're handmade and the boardisn't checkered, it's spiral
like a labyrinth.
He gets closer.
Board isn't checkered, it'sspiral like a labyrinth.
He gets closer.
The man doesn't look up, justmoves another piece and says
you're early.
He freezes what.
The man smiles, still doesn'tmeet his eyes.
(20:14):
I said you're early For what.
The man moves a black bishop inthe center, spiral For
remembering.
He walks away, doesn't ask more, doesn't look back.
But the airfield's charged now,like he's walking through a
(20:36):
wire he ends up back at thecemetery or grave.
Same unmarked patch of earth.
This time he sits, pulls out thenight, places it on the dirt,
(20:56):
not as an offering, not as asurrender, just just because
he's tired of carrying it.
He talks to her Did you everfeel like you were supposed to
be someone else?
He asks, like the real, you wasjust watching, you know,
waiting for you to catch up.
The wind moves through thetrees, the night doesn't hum.
(21:21):
He picks it back up, brushesoff the dirt, pockets it and
says the words that will haunthim later.
I think I'm ready to rememberPart 4.
Memory bleeds in silence.
He doesn't remember fallingasleep, but he remembers waking
(21:45):
up Because it didn't feel likewaking at all.
It felt like being thrown intoa body that didn't quite fit
anymore.
The cot is damp, the sheltersmells like sweat and vinegar
and old regret.
Someone's coughing harder inthe corner.
Someone else is alreadywhispering for pills in exchange
(22:06):
for their sandwich.
He stares at the ceiling andtries to find something to hold
on to.
But even gravity feelsuncertain now.
The night hasn't hummed In days.
It's still in his pocket, stillwrapped in the same cloth, but
(22:28):
it feels quiet, not gone, justwatching.
He doesn't speak all day, not tothe volunteers, not to the men
who bumped into him and doesn'tapologize.
Not to the little girl outsidewho drops her glove in front of
him.
He wants to pick it up, but hedoesn't.
(22:50):
He wants to matter, but heknows he doesn't, so he just
keeps walking.
He ends up in the alley behindthe dive bar, their bar, the one
with the jukebox that neverworked and the owner who used to
call her Red even though herhair was brown.
There's a man passed out by thedumpster, another lighting up,
(23:14):
with hands too shaky for a match.
He feels nothing.
He leans against the wall andlets the cold brick press
against the back of his skull,closes his eyes.
He tries to go backward in time, tries to hear her laugh in the
way only she could make it.
Shoulders forward, eyessquinting, hand on his thigh
(23:37):
like they shared a secret of theworld.
Hand on his thigh like theyshared a secret of the world.
But all he hears is a buspulling away and the sound of
someone vomiting.
Three feet from him, he openshis eyes and sees the reflection
of himself in the window.
For a moment, just a breath.
(24:01):
He doesn't recognize the manstaring back.
Not because he looks different,but because he looks like
someone who's already given up.
He doesn't even flinch, he juststares and writes a single
sentence into the notebookwithout opening it.
I think I've alreadydisappeared.
He gets up and walks in silence.
(24:25):
The night doesn't hum, part 5.
The Unseen Witness.
He never meant to follow theman, at least that's what he
tells himself that he was justwalking, just heading back to
the shelter, just keeping hishead down like every other night
.
But the moment he turned thecorner and saw the figure again,
(24:49):
the one from the church steps,the rooftop, the corner of his
eye, something inside him didn'tpause.
It moved.
This part of the city isn't onthe map, it's not exactly
abandoned, it's worse than that.
It's forgotten.
Stores with no names, buildingswith windows papered over in
(25:12):
thick black tape, no music, novoices, only the sound of shoes
against broken pavement and theoccasional cough behind locked
doors.
And the man.
He walks with purpose coat,trailing behind him, like it
doesn't belong to this place,shoulders square, hands empty.
(25:32):
But he moves like someone who'scarrying something you can't
see, like someone who knowswhere he's going.
He follows, not close, not far,just enough to stand the draft
of his motion, like a birdcatching wind off a larger wing,
they pass a diner with nolights, a bookstore that's been
(25:56):
closed for years but still has asale sign in the window, and
finally a gate, iron chained,locked.
The man walks straight through,not around through, and that's
(26:17):
when he hesitates, becausenothing makes sense anymore, not
the pieces, not the voice, notthe dreams he doesn't remember
having.
And now, now he's following aghost through locked metal.
He presses his hand against thegate.
It opens, not creaks, notshifts Opens, opens.
(26:40):
The alley behind the gatesmells like rain and rust.
There's something on the walls,words maybe, but he doesn't
stop to read them, he just moves.
The man is still ahead, notwalking, now, standing waiting,
and when he steps into theclearing, it hits him.
Silence, not quiet.
(27:05):
Silence, not quiet.
Silence, the kind that presseson your skin, that makes your
ears ring because there'snothing else to hear.
The man turns and he sees hisown face.
Well, not exactly, but close,like a photo taken through
cracked glass.
The same bones, the same eyes,but close Like a photo taken
(27:28):
through cracked glass.
The same bones, the same eyes,but older, hungrier and, beneath
it all, cruel.
The man speaks first.
You're late.
He doesn't answer, he can't.
The man tilts his head andsmiles.
You thought this was about thepeace.
You thought you were chosen.
(27:51):
It's not you.
I'm watching, it's what watchesyou.
He steps forward just once, notthreatening, just real.
You ever feel it, that itch inyour chest?
You can't scratch that part ofyou that knows something is
(28:13):
wrong, not because it's broken,but it feels unfinished.
He swallows and nods, almostwithout meaning to.
The man smiles wider.
That's me.
Then he turns and walks away,vanishes into shadow.
(28:35):
He doesn't follow, becausesomething is now following him.
He can feel it not a person,not a thing.
Because something is nowfollowing him.
He can feel it.
Not a person, not a thing, amemory, just out of reach, like
the smell of smoke long afterthe fire's been put out.
(28:57):
Back at the shelter, the cot isgone, not taken, just not there.
The room is too full.
New people, new noises.
Someone argues in the corner,someone else is curled into
themselves, twitching.
The air is thick with sweat andhopelessness.
He backs out, sleeps outside.
(29:18):
It rains, of course it rains.
He dreams Not of her, not ofthe past, but of the man, of a
chess checkerboard, black andwhite squares stretching into
the mist and a hand, not his,moving.
The night.
(29:38):
Only it's not the night anymore.
It's a mirror, and when helooks into it he sees nothing
because he's not there.
And when he wakes up he'sscreaming into the wet dawn,
unsure what he left behind was adream or was it a prophecy?
(30:03):
Part six the man you can't unsee.
He almost doesn't recognizehimself.
There's a mirror in a bathroom.
It's cracked, streaked, halfcovered by torn flyer for a
recovery meeting.
That happened weeks ago.
He passes it every day andnever looked, not really Not on
(30:28):
purpose.
But tonight something orsomeone holds him there.
He stops in front of him andsees the man looking back.
He's thinner, darker under theeyes, beard, uneven, hair
pressed to one side like he'sbeen sleeping wrong for weeks.
(30:49):
His clothes hang differentlynow, not looser, just less
filled, like there's a versionof him that shrink.
He studies the eyes.
That's where the fracture lives.
That's one place.
He can't fake it anymore.
(31:09):
Not rage, not grief, just loss.
But loss doesn't feel likeabsence anymore, it feels like
weight.
And then something strangehappens.
He lifts his hand to touch theglass, to trace the line in the
mirror where the crack cutsacross his cheek and the
(31:32):
reflection doesn't follow.
It's a millisecond, maybe less,but he sees it.
The reflection hand doesn'tmove.
The reflection hand doesn'tmove.
He stumbles back, shakes hishead, looks again.
Now it's normal, it's syncedHands where they should be, eyes
following, but the damage isdone.
(31:53):
He felt it, he saw it.
Someone's watching through him.
He turns quickly, expecting tosee someone behind.
But the hallway is empty, justthe mirror, just him.
He walks back to his cot like aman running from his own shadow
.
The night is silent in his coat, but not dead.
(32:18):
He can still feel it waiting,not humming anymore, but
listening.
Then the man in the mirrordidn't follow him out of the
hallway.
He stayed there in the glass,still watching, still waiting.
For the first time he wondersif that man is who he has to
(32:41):
face next.
Not the world, not the loss,not even the future, but the
reflection, because maybe, justmaybe, that's the only man who
knows what really happened andwhat he's still hiding from.
All right, guys, let's get intothe monologue here.
(33:09):
You know this was the episodewhere he finally saw himself,
not in a reflection, but in theconsequences of what he'd become
right.
You may not have caught it, butevery step he took in this
chapter wasn't forward, it wasinward.
This wasn't about ghosts orgraves or supernatural signs.
(33:33):
It was about the way painsettles in a man's bones when he
stops pretending everything isfine.
It's about how isolation canstart to feel familiar, even
wholly.
We don't think anyone's lookingfor you, you know.
He didn't say it out loud, butthis was the first time he
(33:53):
really asked himself whathappened to me.
The answer doesn't come fromoutside, because he didn't need
to, because deep down he alreadyknows this entire episode was a
confrontation, not with ashadow or a villain, but with
the quiet lie he's been tellinghimself that he's still who he
(34:19):
used to be.
He's not the version of himthat existed before everything
broke.
That man's not walking thesestreets and if he is, he's doing
it in silence, in shame, insurvival.
But here's what matters.
He didn't run from that.
(34:39):
He sat in it, walked through it, looked it in the eye and
stayed.
And maybe that's the beginningof truth.
Not the shiny, motivational kind, the raw kind, the real kind,
the kind that starts when you'resleeping in a cot that smells
(34:59):
like mold and piss, when youronly conversation is with a
journal and when you don'tremember the last time someone
used your name.
This isn't transformation.
This is the stripping, thepeeling away.
And for anyone who's listening,maybe you're there too.
Maybe you've been measuringyour life and losses and
(35:20):
unanswered messages and missedcalls and missed chances.
Maybe you've got your ownversion of that bench, that
corner, that bridge.
So here's what I want you totake from this the moment you
stop trying to look back to whoyou were, you make space for who
you really really are, to showup, not the polished version,
(35:45):
the present version, not the manyou promised you'd become, the
man who's still standing evenwhen no one's clapping.
This is your mirror and whatyou do with it, what you see.
That's your power.
You don't need a rescue, youneed a reck power.
(36:05):
You don't need a rescue, youneed a reckoning.
You don't need magic.
You need to mourn.
You don't need the next bigthing.
You need to sit long enough toremember the old truth you
buried.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto our reflection questions.
Number one where in your lifeare you trying to return to a
(36:30):
version of yourself that nolonger exists?
I'm willing to bet you thatquestion right.
There is about half of us rightnow.
Number two what are you afraidof?
Or I should say, what are youafraid will happen if you admit
(36:50):
that you're not okay.
So much of us live in thischurn and burn society right,
we're okay, we're okay.
We're okay until it'scompletely evident that we're
not okay.
The sooner you can get ahead ofthat curve, the faster you can
heal.
Number three have you evermissed a mistake?
Survival for healing.
That is probably the biggestquestion on here.
(37:12):
Number four what moment in yourlife have you never truly sat
with because it hurts too much?
Because it hurts too much.
That's a massive question.
And number five if this wasyour mirror, what would you see
(37:35):
that you've been avoiding?
That's another massive question.
Those last three questions arelife-changing questions.
I'm just going to put that outthere right now.
So you know, guys, and I'll andI'll explain this more tomorrow
(37:56):
, you know, in our review forthis this week's episodes, but
I'll just say this like doingthis series so far especially,
we have 20 episodes.
We're just got done with fivehere.
This is going to be a verytransformational series for a
lot of people.
You know, we're literallyseeing a guy pretty much on the
(38:16):
verge of giving up.
He's accepting being who he isand what you're going to see in
the next 15 episodes is how thatstarts to change in him.
And if he takes this and runswith it and knows that he can do
(38:37):
this, he can be better, thatthis is just a choice, more than
anything that he's making, thatthis is just a choice more than
anything that he's making.
And before we go and before Iget into everything else, I
really just need to say this toeverybody your guys' support has
(38:58):
been I don't know I almost getemotional as I say this.
It's been incredible.
Honestly, these are the biggestnumbers I've ever done on this,
we've ever done on this podcast.
It's the show, I mean it'sgrowing and it's because of you
guys.
I mean it's not because ofadvertising, I can tell you that
, but it's because of you guys.
I can see that you areresponding to this show, that
(39:20):
you're sharing, you know, yourthoughts with me, you're sharing
this with other people.
So I just want to just thankyou so much from the bottom of
my heart for doing that.
Now, as we were talking aboutjust a couple seconds ago about
sharing, you know, havingconversation about this series,
there's three ways that you cando that.
The first way is on thedescription of this podcast.
(39:42):
It'll say let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this episode, this series, the14 other series that are out
there and the 200, almost 70plus episodes now that we have
on Gents Journey.
Okay, second way is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom.
(40:03):
Going to be through my email.
My email is anthony atgentsjourneycom, 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 again, guys, thank you, so,so, so, very much for listening
today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode five
of Grand Jewel.
So let's go ahead and let'sjust get into the cold opening.
The mirror in the shelterbathroom is cracked, not
(00:24):
shattered, just split.
Top to bottom A jagged linethat divides his reflection like
a wound that never scabbed overthe lighting in here is a dull
yellow, the kind that makeseverything look worse.
He stares at the mirror anyways, toothbrush hanging from his
(00:49):
mouth, foam clinging to thecorner of his lip like spit from
a punched mouth.
He doesn't recognize the manstaring back.
Not completely.
The beard is thicker than itused to be, patchy in places,
eyes have sunken in a littledeeper in their sockets.
Cheekbones are sharper, thecollarbone visible beneath the
(01:09):
stretched out collar of a shirthe's worn for four days straight
.
The only thing that still lookslike him is the way he avoids
his own eyes.
He spits into the sink, thesound echoing off talic and
accusation.
A man walks in behind him,younger.
He spits into the sink, thesound echoing off talic and
accusation.
A man walks in behind him,younger, maybe 25, tatted neck
(01:35):
hoodie too clean to belong, oneof the new ones.
The man glances at him in themirror.
He doesn't nod, doesn't say hi,just keeps walking like the
reflection was easier to look atthan the man himself.
He showers once a week now Twiceif the water runs hot and no
one's waiting.
But today isn't one of thosedays.
(01:56):
He strips down and steps in,ignoring the mildew in the
corners, the graffiti scrawledand sharpie above the shower
handle Only the weak.
Get clean.
The water is cold, always is,but it wakes him up or punishes
him, he isn't sure which.
(02:18):
He stands under the spray untilhis skin numbs, until the dirt
pooling at his feet stopsrunning dark.
There's a scab forming behindhis right ear where he fell last
week, slipped on the curbtrying to get a sandwich.
Someone left on a bench Didn'teven get the sandwich.
Some teenager beat him to it,laughed as he ran off.
(02:39):
He didn't chase him, he didn'tyell, just sat on the curb and
held the knife in his pocketlike it might warm his hand up.
It didn't.
He gets dressed slow.
Same clothes, same smell,doesn't matter.
Nobody notices anymore, noteven the security guard at the
(03:04):
bodega where he steals packetsof honey mustard and eats them
like snacks.
Not even the woman at the postoffice who used to hand him a
dollar every Tuesday but hasn'tlooked his way in weeks.
He walks with his hands deep inhis coat, hood pulled low.
It's ringing again, but only alittle, not enough to clean
(03:28):
anything.
He steps over a needle by thecurb, nods at a man sleeping
beneath an overhang with a signthat says I'm still here.
They don't know each other, butthey nod.
That's the rule you nod if youwant to stay human.
He ends up at the library, notto read, just to be indoors.
(03:52):
They don't kick you out if youprint in and look like you
belong.
So he grabs a book off theshelf something about military
history and plants himself in acorner chair near the back.
It smells like dust and paper,paper and stale heater breath.
He breathes it in like a drug.
(04:13):
The night isn't, his coatalways is, but he doesn't touch
it.
Hasn't touched it in two days.
He's afraid of it, what itmight does if he does touch it,
not in words, but in that hum,in that response, because lately
(04:40):
it's been quiet, not dead, justindifferent, like it's still
waiting to see if he's worthcaring.
He flips the book open, staresat the page Part One, the Smirk
Behind the Glass he hasn'tshowered in seven days.
Not that it matters, not in aplace where smells blend
(05:02):
together like old regrets Urine,sweat, cigarette, ash, wet
concrete.
He scrapes what stubble he canoff his jaw with a chipped razor
he found behind the shelterlast week.
His hands shake while he doesit, not from the cold, from the
exhaustion that never ends, onlyshifts weight.
(05:24):
It's not about being tiredanymore, it's about disappearing
in degrees, from the exhaustionthat never ends, only shifts
weight.
It's not about being tiredanymore, it's about disappearing
in degrees.
He eats stale crackers behind avending machine.
They're free because someonesmashed a glass and no one
bothered to fix it.
The shelter's full tonight.
Fights broke out earlier.
One guy was dragged off by thecops screaming about voices.
(05:45):
Another offered him pills forhalf a sandwich.
He said no, not because ofprinciple, but because he
doesn't want to lose what littlehe has of himself left.
He just threw the downtown likea ghost wearing old boots.
The city doesn't look at him,doesn't even blink.
(06:05):
He could walk naked throughtraffic and it would be part
like smoke.
There's a danger in beingignored long enough you start to
believe you were never here atall.
It's just past midnight whereyou find the broken bus stop
Glass, panes shattered on oneside, sharp teeth still clinging
to its edges.
One flickering lightbulboverhead casts just enough light
(06:29):
to make the dark feel personal.
He sits, the bench groansbeneath him, everything does
lately.
Then he sees it Through thebroken plane.
Across the reflection cast inangles by the leftover glass, he
sees someone, a man, sittingopposite of him.
(06:50):
Same bench, same posture, sameface.
But this version is clean, it'sshaven, its hair is combed,
wearing a coat that fits.
Eyes are awake, sharp, thejawline isn't gaunt, there's
color in the cheeks, there'sweight in the chest.
This version smirks, doesn'tsay anything, doesn't move, just
(07:17):
smirks.
And for one breathless,paralyzed second he doesn't feel
like a man sitting alone, hefeels like the reflection.
Then a city bus screeches bybreaks, screaming on wet
concrete.
When it passes, the reflectionis gone and the bench across
(07:40):
from him is empty.
The night is burning in hiscoat pocket.
He doesn't touch it, doesn'tbreathe, just sits Still Alone
and wonders if, maybe, justmaybe, he saw who he used to be,
or worse, who he could havebeen Part 2.
(08:05):
Shadows Don't Lie.
He didn't eat today, didn'tforget, just couldn't.
There's a difference.
The stomach still growls, sure,but it's a dull ache now, a
background hum Like theelectrical buzz in a shelter's
(08:27):
busted ceiling light.
He's gotten used to it.
Sometimes he imagines it's hisbody, chewing through old
versions of himself, strippingaway whatever's left of the man
who thought love could save him.
Today he sat outside the samegas station for nearly three
hours, plastic cup in one hand,head low, trying not to look
(08:49):
like he was begging, even thoughhe was.
There's an art to askingwithout appearing to.
You learn fast.
When pride costs more than asandwich, people pass
differently.
Now.
Cost more than a sandwich.
People pass differently now.
Some glance, some flinch, a fewpretend to smile like it makes
(09:15):
them good, but most don't evensee them.
That's what cuts, not thehunger, not the cold, not the
shame of not being able to washyour own socks.
It's being passed by hundredsof lives and realizing yours no
longer counts.
Among them, a man dropped adollar today, Didn't hand it to
(09:40):
him, just dropped it Liketossing feed at a bird.
He muttered something aboutgetting clean and walked off
like he'd done his good deed.
The dollar sat between them fora few seconds before he picked
it up and pocketed it, notbecause he wanted to, but
(10:00):
because he had to, but becausehe had to, because that's what
it means to be invisible yourdignity.
It becomes optional.
Back at the shelter it's worsethan usual.
Somebody got jumped over ablanket.
Blood on the linoleum Smellslike piss and bleach.
Whatever drug.
(10:21):
Someone's cooking in the backhallway again, he knows the
sound of crack lighters now Cantell which ones burn fast and
which ones stall.
He doesn't use.
But it doesn't matter.
You breathe the same air longenough.
It stains your soul.
(10:41):
He sleeps next to a man whotalks to shadows, not
metaphorically fullconversations.
Last night was about someonenamed Marcy who apparently
betrayed him in 1984.
The man's voice cracked in themiddle of the story like he was
reliving it, like it washappening right there Again.
(11:01):
He told her he forgave her,then started crying Deep broken
sobs.
He almost put a hand on theman's shoulder Almost, but
didn't, because he isn't sure ifhe even exists enough to offer
comfort.
What would he say?
(11:21):
It's okay, that would be a lie,nothing's okay.
And lying even in kindnessfeels like putting paint on a
gravestone.
Later that night he stands inthe shelter's bathroom, if you
can call it that, looking athimself in a cracked mirror.
(11:43):
The light above flickers.
Half his face is in shadow.
The other half, well, looksworse.
Eyes sunken, jaws thinner thanit used to be, hair has grown
uneven, beard scruffy, but notintentional.
He looks like a man halfwaybetween who he was and who he
fears he's becoming.
(12:04):
He lifts his shirt.
His ribs are sharper.
Bruises from the fall down theshelter stairs two weeks ago are
still yellow and purple.
No one helped him up.
He leans closer to the mirror.
He whispers I don't know whoyou are anymore, but you're not
(12:28):
him.
And that's when it hits.
Not a breakdown, not a scream,just silence.
Not a scream, just silence.
Deep, aching silence.
Not outside.
Inside, the part of him thatused to hope has gone quiet.
(12:53):
Not dead, not yet, but buriedunder too many nights of cold
air and colder glances.
He watches his own mouth movelike a puppet.
Words fall out like ash.
You're losing.
He says to himself, not asjudgment, as a fact, like
(13:16):
reading the score of a game.
You know you didn't play hardenough to win.
You're losing.
He splashes water on his face.
It's freezing Tap only runscold now.
He doesn't flinch, Just stares,because pain at this stage
(13:37):
isn't punishment, it'sconfirmation you're still
tethered to something.
He wipes his face with hissleeve and leaves the mirror
behind.
The version of him in themirror still lingers after he's
gone.
He ends up outside again, underthe bridge.
It's past midnight, no B-Ron,except the rats in the wind.
(13:57):
There's a pile of trash bagsstacked near the wall.
One of them moves.
He steps closer and a kid stirsawake.
No older than 16.
Wrapped in a coat four sizestoo big, eyes already hollowed
(14:21):
out.
He doesn't ask the kid's name,doesn't ask if he's okay,
because he knows the answersalready.
Instead, he pulls the lastgranola bar from his coat and
drops it beside him.
The kid doesn't say thank you,he doesn't need to.
In the dark he walks until hisfeet splister.
The night in his coat pocket issilent again, not cold, not
(14:45):
warm.
It's just there like an olddebt no one ever collected.
He reaches the top of a smallhill overlooking the city.
It's beautiful from here Neonlights, moving traffic, the
skyline silhouetted likesomething sacred.
And it's not his.
It was once.
(15:07):
He remembers the bar where sheleft too loud, the corner store
that sold the milk she liked,the apartment window.
They used to look out on rainynights.
Used to look out on rainynights.
All of it below him now, all ofit unreachable.
He kneels, not for reverence butbecause his legs gave out and
(15:33):
under that sky, with nowhereleft to climb, he finally admits
it.
This is bottom.
He says it to the wind, to theworld, to whatever God still
listens.
I've hit it.
The words echo back with noanswer.
But it doesn't matter, becausenaming it, calling it what it is
(15:58):
, somehow feels like the firstreal thing he's done in weeks.
He curls up beneath a bench, nopillow, no cover, just the night
.
For the first time, he doesn'task for anything, because
(16:18):
tonight there's nothing left toask for Part 3.
The Light that Refused you.
There's nothing left to ask forpart three, the light that
refused you.
He's not sure what time it iswhen he wakes up or if he ever
really slept at all.
Time doesn't move in theshelter the way it does in the
world outside.
It stalls, it limps, it forgetsto breathe.
(16:40):
His back aches from the cotSomeone vomited in the corner
and there's a new guy acrossfrom him with a twitch that
won't stop.
Every few seconds a spasm joltshis leg like electricity.
It makes a sound, a rhythm Tap,tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
(17:01):
A rhythm, tap, tap, tap, tap,tap, tap.
It's maddening, but he doesn'tmove.
There's something different inhim today not cleaner, not
clearer, but louder, like, likethe thing inside of him that's
been whispering finally decidedto stop being polite.
(17:22):
He rises slow, doesn't greetanyone, doesn't make eye contact
.
He puts on his coat like armor,the night's weight still in his
pocket.
Outside the city is colder thanusual, that wet kind of cold
that soaks through your clothes.
(17:44):
It makes your teeth ache.
He likes it.
Pain feels like a signpost.
He walks.
This part of the city isn'tmapped for people like him.
It's coffee shops and glassoffices and gyms where no one
sweats.
But no one stops him.
They don't even look.
(18:05):
Invisibility isn't a trick,it's a symptom.
He ends up in front of a pawnshop windows full of things that
used to matter to someoneGuitars, gold chains, a wedding
dress on a mannequin with onearm missing.
He steps inside.
(18:26):
The man behind the counterlooks up, sees the coat, the
eyes and doesn't ask anyquestion, just goes back to his
magazine.
He pulls the night from hispocket and places it gently on
the counter.
The man stares at it, then backat him.
What is it?
The man asks.
(18:48):
It's a piece, he replies, froma set.
The man picks it up, flips it,knocks it against the glass
Nothing, no gold, no weight.
I don't know.
You want 20 bucks.
He takes it back.
No, I just wanted to see whatit looked like when it wasn't
(19:09):
mine.
The man says I'm sorry, what?
But he's already walking outBack in the street.
He pulls his notebook, writes weonly think something is ours
when we're afraid to lose it.
He walks into his feet hurt,ends up in the park, cold
(19:30):
benches, bare trees.
He finds a spot beneath an oldiron lamp and just sits.
He watches people A boy feedingpigeons, a woman yelling into
her phone, a man playing chessagainst himself.
That one catches his eye.
(19:52):
The man's pieces are different.
They're handmade and the boardisn't checkered, it's spiral
like a labyrinth.
He gets closer.
Board isn't checkered, it'sspiral like a labyrinth.
He gets closer.
The man doesn't look up, justmoves another piece and says
you're early.
He freezes what.
The man smiles, still doesn'tmeet his eyes.
(20:14):
I said you're early For what.
The man moves a black bishop inthe center, spiral For
remembering.
He walks away, doesn't ask more, doesn't look back.
But the airfield's charged now,like he's walking through a
(20:36):
wire he ends up back at thecemetery or grave.
Same unmarked patch of earth.
This time he sits, pulls out thenight, places it on the dirt,
(20:56):
not as an offering, not as asurrender, just just because
he's tired of carrying it.
He talks to her Did you everfeel like you were supposed to
be someone else?
He asks, like the real, you wasjust watching, you know,
waiting for you to catch up.
The wind moves through thetrees, the night doesn't hum.
(21:21):
He picks it back up, brushesoff the dirt, pockets it and
says the words that will haunthim later.
I think I'm ready to rememberPart 4.
Memory bleeds in silence.
He doesn't remember fallingasleep, but he remembers waking
(21:45):
up Because it didn't feel likewaking at all.
It felt like being thrown intoa body that didn't quite fit
anymore.
The cot is damp, the sheltersmells like sweat and vinegar
and old regret.
Someone's coughing harder inthe corner.
Someone else is alreadywhispering for pills in exchange
(22:06):
for their sandwich.
He stares at the ceiling andtries to find something to hold
on to.
But even gravity feelsuncertain now.
The night hasn't hummed In days.
It's still in his pocket, stillwrapped in the same cloth, but
(22:28):
it feels quiet, not gone, justwatching.
He doesn't speak all day, not tothe volunteers, not to the men
who bumped into him and doesn'tapologize.
Not to the little girl outsidewho drops her glove in front of
him.
He wants to pick it up, but hedoesn't.
(22:50):
He wants to matter, but heknows he doesn't, so he just
keeps walking.
He ends up in the alley behindthe dive bar, their bar, the one
with the jukebox that neverworked and the owner who used to
call her Red even though herhair was brown.
There's a man passed out by thedumpster, another lighting up,
(23:14):
with hands too shaky for a match.
He feels nothing.
He leans against the wall andlets the cold brick press
against the back of his skull,closes his eyes.
He tries to go backward in time, tries to hear her laugh in the
way only she could make it.
Shoulders forward, eyessquinting, hand on his thigh
(23:37):
like they shared a secret of theworld.
Hand on his thigh like theyshared a secret of the world.
But all he hears is a buspulling away and the sound of
someone vomiting.
Three feet from him, he openshis eyes and sees the reflection
of himself in the window.
For a moment, just a breath.
(24:01):
He doesn't recognize the manstaring back.
Not because he looks different,but because he looks like
someone who's already given up.
He doesn't even flinch, he juststares and writes a single
sentence into the notebookwithout opening it.
I think I've alreadydisappeared.
He gets up and walks in silence.
(24:25):
The night doesn't hum, part 5.
The Unseen Witness.
He never meant to follow theman, at least that's what he
tells himself that he was justwalking, just heading back to
the shelter, just keeping hishead down like every other night
.
But the moment he turned thecorner and saw the figure again,
(24:49):
the one from the church steps,the rooftop, the corner of his
eye, something inside him didn'tpause.
It moved.
This part of the city isn't onthe map, it's not exactly
abandoned, it's worse than that.
It's forgotten.
Stores with no names, buildingswith windows papered over in
(25:12):
thick black tape, no music, novoices, only the sound of shoes
against broken pavement and theoccasional cough behind locked
doors.
And the man.
He walks with purpose coat,trailing behind him, like it
doesn't belong to this place,shoulders square, hands empty.
(25:32):
But he moves like someone who'scarrying something you can't
see, like someone who knowswhere he's going.
He follows, not close, not far,just enough to stand the draft
of his motion, like a birdcatching wind off a larger wing,
they pass a diner with nolights, a bookstore that's been
(25:56):
closed for years but still has asale sign in the window, and
finally a gate, iron chained,locked.
The man walks straight through,not around through, and that's
(26:17):
when he hesitates, becausenothing makes sense anymore, not
the pieces, not the voice, notthe dreams he doesn't remember
having.
And now, now he's following aghost through locked metal.
He presses his hand against thegate.
It opens, not creaks, notshifts Opens, opens.
(26:40):
The alley behind the gatesmells like rain and rust.
There's something on the walls,words maybe, but he doesn't
stop to read them, he just moves.
The man is still ahead, notwalking, now, standing waiting,
and when he steps into theclearing, it hits him.
Silence, not quiet.
(27:05):
Silence, not quiet.
Silence, the kind that presseson your skin, that makes your
ears ring because there'snothing else to hear.
The man turns and he sees hisown face.
Well, not exactly, but close,like a photo taken through
cracked glass.
The same bones, the same eyes,but close Like a photo taken
(27:28):
through cracked glass.
The same bones, the same eyes,but older, hungrier and, beneath
it all, cruel.
The man speaks first.
You're late.
He doesn't answer, he can't.
The man tilts his head andsmiles.
You thought this was about thepeace.
You thought you were chosen.
(27:51):
It's not you.
I'm watching, it's what watchesyou.
He steps forward just once, notthreatening, just real.
You ever feel it, that itch inyour chest?
You can't scratch that part ofyou that knows something is
(28:13):
wrong, not because it's broken,but it feels unfinished.
He swallows and nods, almostwithout meaning to.
The man smiles wider.
That's me.
Then he turns and walks away,vanishes into shadow.
(28:35):
He doesn't follow, becausesomething is now following him.
He can feel it not a person,not a thing.
Because something is nowfollowing him.
He can feel it.
Not a person, not a thing, amemory, just out of reach, like
the smell of smoke long afterthe fire's been put out.
(28:57):
Back at the shelter, the cot isgone, not taken, just not there.
The room is too full.
New people, new noises.
Someone argues in the corner,someone else is curled into
themselves, twitching.
The air is thick with sweat andhopelessness.
He backs out, sleeps outside.
(29:18):
It rains, of course it rains.
He dreams Not of her, not ofthe past, but of the man, of a
chess checkerboard, black andwhite squares stretching into
the mist and a hand, not his,moving.
The night.
(29:38):
Only it's not the night anymore.
It's a mirror, and when helooks into it he sees nothing
because he's not there.
And when he wakes up he'sscreaming into the wet dawn,
unsure what he left behind was adream or was it a prophecy?
(30:03):
Part six the man you can't unsee.
He almost doesn't recognizehimself.
There's a mirror in a bathroom.
It's cracked, streaked, halfcovered by torn flyer for a
recovery meeting.
That happened weeks ago.
He passes it every day andnever looked, not really Not on
(30:28):
purpose.
But tonight something orsomeone holds him there.
He stops in front of him andsees the man looking back.
He's thinner, darker under theeyes, beard, uneven, hair
pressed to one side like he'sbeen sleeping wrong for weeks.
(30:49):
His clothes hang differentlynow, not looser, just less
filled, like there's a versionof him that shrink.
He studies the eyes.
That's where the fracture lives.
That's one place.
He can't fake it anymore.
(31:09):
Not rage, not grief, just loss.
But loss doesn't feel likeabsence anymore, it feels like
weight.
And then something strangehappens.
He lifts his hand to touch theglass, to trace the line in the
mirror where the crack cutsacross his cheek and the
(31:32):
reflection doesn't follow.
It's a millisecond, maybe less,but he sees it.
The reflection hand doesn'tmove.
The reflection hand doesn'tmove.
He stumbles back, shakes hishead, looks again.
Now it's normal, it's syncedHands where they should be, eyes
following, but the damage isdone.
(31:53):
He felt it, he saw it.
Someone's watching through him.
He turns quickly, expecting tosee someone behind.
But the hallway is empty, justthe mirror, just him.
He walks back to his cot like aman running from his own shadow
.
The night is silent in his coat, but not dead.
(32:18):
He can still feel it waiting,not humming anymore, but
listening.
Then the man in the mirrordidn't follow him out of the
hallway.
He stayed there in the glass,still watching, still waiting.
For the first time he wondersif that man is who he has to
(32:41):
face next.
Not the world, not the loss,not even the future, but the
reflection, because maybe, justmaybe, that's the only man who
knows what really happened andwhat he's still hiding from.
All right, guys, let's get intothe monologue here.
(33:09):
You know this was the episodewhere he finally saw himself,
not in a reflection, but in theconsequences of what he'd become
right.
You may not have caught it, butevery step he took in this
chapter wasn't forward, it wasinward.
This wasn't about ghosts orgraves or supernatural signs.
(33:33):
It was about the way painsettles in a man's bones when he
stops pretending everything isfine.
It's about how isolation canstart to feel familiar, even
wholly.
We don't think anyone's lookingfor you, you know.
He didn't say it out loud, butthis was the first time he
(33:53):
really asked himself whathappened to me.
The answer doesn't come fromoutside, because he didn't need
to, because deep down he alreadyknows this entire episode was a
confrontation, not with ashadow or a villain, but with
the quiet lie he's been tellinghimself that he's still who he
(34:19):
used to be.
He's not the version of himthat existed before everything
broke.
That man's not walking thesestreets and if he is, he's doing
it in silence, in shame, insurvival.
But here's what matters.
He didn't run from that.
(34:39):
He sat in it, walked through it, looked it in the eye and
stayed.
And maybe that's the beginningof truth.
Not the shiny, motivational kind, the raw kind, the real kind,
the kind that starts when you'resleeping in a cot that smells
(34:59):
like mold and piss, when youronly conversation is with a
journal and when you don'tremember the last time someone
used your name.
This isn't transformation.
This is the stripping, thepeeling away.
And for anyone who's listening,maybe you're there too.
Maybe you've been measuringyour life and losses and
(35:20):
unanswered messages and missedcalls and missed chances.
Maybe you've got your ownversion of that bench, that
corner, that bridge.
So here's what I want you totake from this the moment you
stop trying to look back to whoyou were, you make space for who
you really really are, to showup, not the polished version,
(35:45):
the present version, not the manyou promised you'd become, the
man who's still standing evenwhen no one's clapping.
This is your mirror and whatyou do with it, what you see.
That's your power.
You don't need a rescue, youneed a reck power.
(36:05):
You don't need a rescue, youneed a reckoning.
You don't need magic.
You need to mourn.
You don't need the next bigthing.
You need to sit long enough toremember the old truth you
buried.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto our reflection questions.
Number one where in your lifeare you trying to return to a
(36:30):
version of yourself that nolonger exists?
I'm willing to bet you thatquestion right.
There is about half of us rightnow.
Number two what are you afraidof?
Or I should say, what are youafraid will happen if you admit
(36:50):
that you're not okay.
So much of us live in thischurn and burn society right,
we're okay, we're okay.
We're okay until it'scompletely evident that we're
not okay.
The sooner you can get ahead ofthat curve, the faster you can
heal.
Number three have you evermissed a mistake?
Survival for healing.
That is probably the biggestquestion on here.
(37:12):
Number four what moment in yourlife have you never truly sat
with because it hurts too much?
Because it hurts too much.
That's a massive question.
And number five if this wasyour mirror, what would you see
(37:35):
that you've been avoiding?
That's another massive question.
Those last three questions arelife-changing questions.
I'm just going to put that outthere right now.
So you know, guys, and I'll andI'll explain this more tomorrow
(37:56):
, you know, in our review forthis this week's episodes, but
I'll just say this like doingthis series so far especially,
we have 20 episodes.
We're just got done with fivehere.
This is going to be a verytransformational series for a
lot of people.
You know, we're literallyseeing a guy pretty much on the
(38:16):
verge of giving up.
He's accepting being who he isand what you're going to see in
the next 15 episodes is how thatstarts to change in him.
And if he takes this and runswith it and knows that he can do
(38:37):
this, he can be better, thatthis is just a choice, more than
anything that he's making, thatthis is just a choice more than
anything that he's making.
And before we go and before Iget into everything else, I
really just need to say this toeverybody your guys' support has
(38:58):
been I don't know I almost getemotional as I say this.
It's been incredible.
Honestly, these are the biggestnumbers I've ever done on this,
we've ever done on this podcast.
It's the show, I mean it'sgrowing and it's because of you
guys.
I mean it's not because ofadvertising, I can tell you that
, but it's because of you guys.
I can see that you areresponding to this show, that
(39:20):
you're sharing, you know, yourthoughts with me, you're sharing
this with other people.
So I just want to just thankyou so much from the bottom of
my heart for doing that.
Now, as we were talking aboutjust a couple seconds ago about
sharing, you know, havingconversation about this series,
there's three ways that you cando that.
The first way is on thedescription of this podcast.
(39:42):
It'll say let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this episode, this series, the14 other series that are out
there and the 200, almost 70plus episodes now that we have
on Gents Journey.
Okay, second way is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom.
(40:03):
Going to be through my email.
My email is anthony atgentsjourneycom, 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 again, guys, thank you, so,so, so, very much for listening
today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
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