July 19, 2025 • 48 mins
What happens when you finally get everything you've worked for, only to discover it's not what you expected? In this deeply reflective episode, we unravel the hidden price of success and recognition – the gradual disconnection from our authentic selves and those who knew us before we became "someone."
Through a compelling narrative, we follow the journey of a man whose words become sought-after wisdom, whose presence fills rooms, and whose insights earn standing ovations. Yet beneath this external validation lurks a growing emptiness as he realizes he's become fluent in performance while forgetting the sound of his own voice. Most painfully, he watches his connection with Lena – the one person who truly saw him before fame – slip away not through conflict but through quiet distance.
This episode examines the subtle ways we begin performing versions of ourselves that others applaud, crafting answers before questions are asked and polishing our rough edges until we become unrecognizable even to ourselves. "You never know you've been performing until the clapping doesn't land anymore," becomes a haunting realization as our protagonist confronts the difference between being surrounded by attention versus being surrounded by love.
Whether you're chasing success or already standing in its spotlight, this episode offers crucial reflection questions: Who saw you before you were polished? Who do you no longer share your wins with? Are you showing up authentically or merely arriving where others expect you to be? And perhaps most importantly – can you still recognize yourself beneath the applause?
Join me for this powerful exploration of what we risk losing when we become everything we thought we wanted. Connect with me through the podcast chat, email anthony@gentsjourney.com, or find me on Instagram @mygentsjourney – I'd love to hear your thoughts on this journey we're all navigating together.
"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
with the key to everything.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto the cold opening.
There are mornings where thelight just lands perfectly,
(00:26):
where the coffee is still warmafter the meeting ends, where
the shoes match the tone, wherethe inbox doesn't feel like
weight, just motion.
Today is one of those mornings.
He wakes up before the alarm,not because he's anxious, but
because there's nothing to runfrom.
(00:47):
He's slept well, dreamless,clean.
He showers, shaves, buttons,the white shirt he used to save
for important days, but nowevery day is important, or at
least they look like it.
He's never looked better.
The mirror agrees.
There's a precision toeverything now the haircut, the
(01:12):
collar, the scent that trailshim into rooms.
His calendar is full but notcrowded.
It's curated like an artgallery.
Curated like an art gallery.
Breakfast is protein and quiet,no scroll, no distractions.
He doesn't need to check themetrics.
Today His name is already inthe newsletter.
(01:35):
As he steps outside, thedoorman calls him by name.
They used to catch him offguard.
Now it feels earned.
A car pulls up, black tinted,waiting for him.
He didn't ask for it.
Someone sent it, someone whowants to meet, who wants to
(01:55):
quote him, wants to say theyknew him.
Before the driver opens thedoor, he slides in Leather,
silence, success.
He doesn't look out the window,he already knows the city will
reflect him well At that venue.
His name is printed on glass,white letters, all caps His name
(02:16):
and conversation with.
He reads it with the calm ofsomeone who's been here before
and he has Three times thismonth.
The security guard recognizeshim.
The assistant waves him throughBackstage.
Someone hands him a card, aschedule.
Someone offers him tea, water,ginger juice for his throat.
(02:37):
There's a chair with his nameon it, next to a ring light and
a small table of hair productshe's never used but he owns.
He sits, looks at himself inthe mirror, not to fix anything,
just to check if he's still him.
And for that moment hehesitates, not from fear, from
(03:03):
something quieter.
It's like a draft in a sealedroom, a shift that shouldn't be
there, a silence inside theapplause.
He blinks, shakes it off,checks his notes, talking points
(03:23):
, quotes the sentence he wantsto land at the end.
Success isn't clarity, it's thereward for surviving your
confusion.
He knows they'll love that oneOutside the door, the
moderator's voice warms up.
Coming up next is a man who'schanged the way we think about
identity.
The crowd claps Louder than heexpects.
He stands, adjusts his jacketand in that stands, adjusts his
(03:46):
jacket and in that moment, justfor a second, he thinks of Lena
Not her face, just the tone ofher voice.
When she once said be carefulwho you clap for, you might
start performing for them.
He never wrote it down, but itstayed somewhere.
Now it echoes Careful who youclap for, you might start
performing for them.
(04:07):
He never wrote it down, but itstayed somewhere.
Now it echoes, not out loud buthonest.
He steps into the light.
The applause finds him againand he smiles like someone who
believes that this is what he'salways wanted.
But something in the back ofhis chest whispers.
Then why does it feel like I'velost something?
(04:29):
Now?
Part one the rise that feltdeserved.
He wasn't chasing anymore.
Now they chased him.
His inbox used to sit quiet fordays.
Now it refreshed itself withmomentum A new podcast request,
(04:50):
a collaborative invite, akeynote panel next spring, A
university reach-out, a limitedseries featurette All in the
last 48 hours.
They weren't just asking if hewas available 48 hours.
They weren't just asking if hewas available, they were asking
(05:11):
when that was new.
He found himself walkingdifferently now, more centered,
less urgency, not because he waspretending, but because he'd
arrived.
The things he used to explainnow explained him.
He didn't tell stories aboutbecoming anymore.
Now he was the story.
It felt earned.
He bled for this in silence.
Years of writing things no onewould read, of whispering
(05:35):
sentences in notebooks thatnever left the drawer, of
standing in corners while otherpeople talked louder, while
other people looked shinier.
But now, now they quoted himword for word, he'd see pieces
of himself in other people'sposts, phrases he only ever used
(05:58):
in the dark, now recycled inheadlines.
Clarity isn't found, it'sremembered.
Identity is a negotiationbetween memory and performance.
Stop chasing peace in thehouses built by noise.
He used to write these linesfor himself.
Now they were branded.
He smiled when he saw them,mostly Not because he needed
(06:20):
credit, mostly Not because heneeded credit, but because it
meant they were listening.
Finally, he was getting paid forhis voice, now Flown out for
panels, lodged in hotels wheresomeone else unpacked the
suitcase.
There was a rhythm to it all.
Now he knew how to wear thesuit, how to start the talk, how
(06:44):
to pause before the punchline.
He wasn't playing a character,he was the character and people
loved him for it.
Even the way he drank coffeechanged no longer in paper cups,
now came in glass mugs, servedin lounges where everything
(07:04):
echoed softly.
He told himself it didn't changehim, that he was still grounded
, still aware.
He still woke up early, stillread every morning, still kept
the same notebook by the bed,though he hadn't written it
(07:25):
lately, not because he forgot,just because the sentences
didn't come the same way anymore.
He was using his voice all daynow, selling it, sharing it,
structuring it into digestiblestories.
That made people nod At night.
There wasn't much left, but hedidn't question that yet because
(07:45):
things were, they were working.
Every headline that mentionedhim had a version of the same
subtext how he built quietly thefuture of influence.
He didn't like that wordinfluence, but he didn't correct
them.
You don't correct a wave whenit's carrying you.
(08:07):
The invitations came faster.
He was booked two months out.
Every other day he was on stageor behind a mic telling people
how he found himself, how hebuilt his clarity, how he let go
of performance and stepped intopresence.
He believed it Well, mostly.
(08:29):
There were moments, though, inthe car between cities or in the
hotel bathroom, brushing histeeth under the white LED lights
, and he'd catch his own eyes inthe mirror and not know what to
say to them.
Not because he didn't recognizethe face.
And he'd catch his own eyes inthe mirror and not know what to
say to them.
Not because he didn't recognizethe face, but because the face
(08:53):
didn't feel like it neededanything.
And that's what scared him.
See, need was what used to makehim real, what used to drive
the words, the ache, the reach,the want.
Now things were smooth, andsmooth didn't write very well,
(09:15):
but that wasn't a problem.
Yet.
The panels went well, thepodcasts were tight, the metrics
were growing, his name wasspoken in rooms he hadn't
entered yet, and he wasn't tired, not yet.
He smiled when people askedwhat's next, because, for the
first time in his life, hedidn't know.
(09:40):
And that used to scare him.
But now it felt like a luxury.
He was learning how to pause,to let the room breathe, to let
the silence say something.
Before he did, he had forgottenhow powerful that was the
(10:06):
ability to not need to fill themoment.
And yet there was a smalldetail, small enough he could
ignore it.
But still there, in every greenroom, on every couch, in every
call, he was always the onetalking, he was always the one
(10:27):
being heard, he was always theone giving presents, but no one
in these rooms knew him beforehe wore the suit.
No one remembered when hissentences were messy, when he
showed up late, when he didn'tknow who he was becoming.
No one ever asked what hissilence sounded like.
Only Lena did, and that thought.
(10:50):
He tucked it away, filed itunder later, under return.
There was still so much to do,so many rooms to be in, so many
names to be remembered by.
He had arrived, but somethingabout the way the light landed
(11:12):
on his hands that night made himfeel like he was becoming
someone he wouldn't recognize ifhe passed himself in the street
and he didn't know why.
That felt more like a warningthan a win.
There was a stretch of days four, maybe five where he didn't
(11:34):
speak to anyone without a cameraon Zoom boxes, microphones,
clean lighting, questions he'dalready answered before the
interview even started.
He'd become a voice, not aperson, but a tone, a presence.
They could fit betweencommercial breaks.
He wasn't bitter about it.
It was what he asked for and,honestly, it was working.
(11:58):
The segments ran clean.
The host smiled at hissoundbites.
Clarity isn't something youfind, it's what happens when you
stop performing.
That one always landed.
They asked how he got here, whatshifted, what his routine was
like, how he stayed so centered.
(12:19):
He answered like he was readingfrom a script they all wanted
to believe in Mornings alone, nonotifications before breakfast,
journaling every day, presence,intention, silence.
Some of it was still true, mostof it was once true.
(12:39):
But what he didn't say, whatthey didn't say, what they
didn't ask, was how often hefelt like he was impersonating
someone who figured it out,because that's what people
wanted to know now.
They didn't want the man whowas still searching, they wanted
the man who already found.
They wanted the version of himthat sounded like closure.
(13:02):
So that's what he gave them.
It wasn't dishonest, it justwasn't complete.
And that difference wasstarting to show, not in his
answers but in the echo after hespoke.
He used to finish a sentenceand feel like something shift.
(13:26):
Now he finished a sentence andfelt delivery.
There was applause in theireyes even before he spoke, and
that's the kind that makes youforget how to pause.
In one interview the host saidyou're so confident.
Has it always been this easyfor you?
He smiled, that polished,camera-trained smile.
(13:46):
No, not always.
But clarity feels easy onceyou've lived through confusion
long enough.
That line was rehearsed.
He didn't mean it unkindly, butwhen he watched it back later
he didn't see himself.
He saw a performance, someonewho knew how to land the insight
(14:07):
, not someone who wrestled withit.
That scared him quietly, Notenough to stop, just enough to
notice.
He began describing momentsmore than he was living them.
His answers were efficient, hismetaphors were crisp, his
cadence perfectly broken up forreals, and somewhere deep
(14:30):
underneath the rhythm of all, hemissed the part of himself that
used to speak slowly, not for afact, but because he was still
figuring it out.
Now he figured it out.
Before the question came.
He had lines for everything,even silence.
In a winter interview, whenasked what he missed most before
(14:53):
the rise, he paused.
He looked down, furrowed hisbow, just stopped to look
thoughtful and said I miss beingunknown.
There's something sacred aboutanonymity it forces honesty.
It was a good answer, abeautiful one even.
But in the silence thatfollowed he realized something
(15:17):
brutal.
He didn't miss being unknown.
He missed being seen by someonewho knew him when he was.
And that person was gone, Notdead, not angry, just graduated
Without ceremony.
Lena hadn't posted in a while.
(15:38):
He checked Her rating accountQuiet, no new underlines, no new
napkins.
And that silence felt sharperthan any headline.
Her reading account quiet, nonew underlines, no new napkins.
And that silence felt sharperthan any headline.
Because now everyone was askingwhat made him special.
But the only person who neverasked was the one who already
(16:00):
saw it before it worked.
That night, after back-to-backrecordings, he sat at the edge
of the hotel bed, suit jacketstill on, shoes kicked off, but
not far.
He looked at the room Softlight, designer furniture,
curated emptiness Picked up hisphone, typed her name in the
messages Scrolled he sentsomething months ago, just a
(16:22):
photo of a page, a quote fromthe feeling of what happens,
no-transcript.
He never replied.
He screenshotted it now and puthis phone down and in that
(16:43):
silence he felt something tear,not loudly, not all at once,
just enough.
He walked to the mirror Stillwearing his shirt from the
interview.
He looked good, like the kindof man you'd quote, but
(17:06):
something behind his eyes lookedlike he was waiting to come
home.
He walked in with his phonestill in his hand, not on a call
, not this time but stillholding it, still in orbit
around it.
He slipped it into his pocketas he approached the counter,
(17:30):
like the act of putting it awaywas enough to mean he was
present.
Lena didn't look up right away.
There was no second cup waitingbeside the register, no fresh
quote scribbled on the cupsleeve, just her hands quietly
moving, cleaning somethingalready clean.
(17:50):
When she finally glanced up, itwas brief morning.
Hey, he said smiling.
Still remember my order?
That earned the faintest look.
One corner of her mouthtwitched, unfortunately.
He smirked, tried to meet hereyes again.
She didn't offer more, justpoured the coffee, set it down.
(18:14):
No napkin, no linger.
He waited a beat.
Hey, you okay, she shrugged.
I'm good, I'm just Tired.
Tired of me, he joked.
This time she smiled for real,but faint like muscle memory,
tired of talking to people whoaren't fully there.
(18:36):
He opened his mouth and closedit, not at once, like he was
taking it in then pivotedbecause the truth was
uncomfortable.
Hey, did I tell you I gotnominated for something?
He said pulling out his phone.
Thought you'd find this funny.
She leaned slightly towards thescreen, saw the email.
(18:58):
Emerging voice of the year.
She leaned slightly towards thescreen, saw the email Emerging
voice of the year.
She didn't roll her eyes.
She didn't smile either.
Hey, that's great.
She said.
You'll be everywhere soon.
He chuckled.
Already feels like I am.
There was something in herexpression, a pause.
(19:19):
That's the thing she said.
People who are everywheresometimes forget how to be
somewhere.
He blinked.
Is that a quote or a?
She shook her head.
No napkin for that one.
He took the cup, walked to thewindow seat.
(19:45):
It was still empty, still his,but it didn't feel like it had
been saved.
He sat, sipped the coffee wasright, perfect even, but it
didn't land.
She came by a minute laterclearing a table near him.
He watched her a little toolong.
Hey, are you still reading that?
(20:06):
You know that consciousnessstuff, he asked.
She looked over, took a breakWorking on other things.
Like she didn't answer rightaway but then simply said Finish
the paper, couple months left.
He nodded casually.
Oh, tight deadline.
(20:27):
She looked at him for a beat.
No, I mean a couple months lefthere.
He paused.
Oh, like a break.
She didn't correct him, justturned back to the counter.
He didn't ask again, didn'trealize what she was saying,
(20:50):
didn't register that.
The tone she used was the samewhen people speak and when
they're trying to tell yousomething without having to say
it twice.
Instead, he picked up his phone, swiped through notifications,
a podcast invite, a write-up insome digital magazine, another
panel ask, another mention.
He let the screen reflect backto him a version of himself.
(21:13):
He wanted to keep believing inthe one who finally made it.
She brought a plate back to theback.
He watched her disappearthrough the swinging door.
He felt something pull insideof him, but he didn't name it.
He didn't lean in, didn't saywhat do you mean you're leaving?
(21:33):
Because in that momenteverything else was clapping.
He wasn't ready to hear silenceagain.
When she came back, she didn'tstop near him, didn't ask what
he was writing, didn't offer anarticle, didn't drop a line like
a gift.
She just moved around him likesomeone already practicing
(21:53):
absence.
He checked the time.
Oh hey, gotta run Meeting witha brand thing.
They want me to help design amessage series or something.
She nodded.
Of course they do.
He smiled you gonna miss mewhen I'm gone.
She raised her eyebrows.
You're already halfway gone.
Then she walked behind thecounter, didn't wait for a reply
(22:17):
.
He didn't give one.
The lights were perfect, theyshould walk behind the counter.
Didn't wait for a reply.
He didn't give one.
The lights were perfect, soft,clean, indirect, the kind that
made your skin look rested andmade doubt feel far away.
The room was already full whenhe arrived VIP badges, fluted
glasses, soft jazz dripping fromnowhere.
(22:38):
Conversation sounded likeconsensus.
His name was on the card by thestage, keynote Becoming the
voice.
He almost laughed when he sawit, not because it wasn't true,
but because they made it soundfinished, as if becoming had an
(22:59):
end point, as if there was aformula, as if he'd written one.
A woman in a charcoal blazergreeted him, hand already
extended.
You must be him.
He nodded, then corrected her.
They guided him toward thegreen room bottled water with
his name printed on the label.
Toward the green room Bottledwater, with his name printed on
(23:23):
the label.
A platter of berries, smokedalmonds, something that looked
like luxury but tasted likenothing.
He sat down.
The chair felt firmer than itlooked.
Across the table was a digitalevent guide with his face on it.
Same headshot, same words,pulled from the same quote.
They always clipped.
Clarity is what happens whenyou stop trying to look like
(23:43):
you've arrived.
They loved that one.
He didn't remember writing it.
Not really.
It came from a morning whereLena had something small and
sharp about people who mistakeconfidence for peace.
He had it scribbled in hisnotebook, then shaped it into a
sentence people could post.
Now it belonged to them.
(24:04):
There was a knock, showtime.
The walk to the stage felt likea glide.
Everything was velvet and quiet.
Shoes.
A stage manager touched hisshoulder like a prayer and
whispered Whenever you're ready?
He stepped into the spotlightand he smiled.
The first sentence was musclememory.
(24:26):
Now, years ago, I used to sitin cafes hoping someone would
see me.
The room leaned in.
He told the story, the version,with the right rise, the
tension, the clarity, and then Iremembered who I was.
They laughed at the right lines.
They wrote down things.
(24:47):
One man in the back wiped atear.
A woman in the front mouthedone of his quotes before he
finished saying it.
He hit every note, every shift,every crafted pause, and for 15
minutes the room believed.
He closed with the same line healways did.
(25:10):
Now, don't become so fluent inperformance that you forget the
sound of your own voice.
Standing ovation, photos,flashes and reverence.
A man asked for a signature.
Someone asked said he was themirror they didn't know they
(25:30):
needed.
And still, as he stepped offthe stage, all he felt was empty
air, no napkin, no scribbledquote waiting, no eyes that
asked how he really felt aboutany of it Just that girl.
People saw him now, but no onelooked at him like he wasn't
(25:54):
trying.
Lena never clapped, not becauseshe didn't believe in him, but
because she saw him, and whenyou're fully seen, applause
feels unnecessary.
Back in the green room, he tookthe mic pack off, pulled out
(26:15):
his phone, thumbed through openmessages nothing from her of, of
course not.
She hadn't texted in days.
No quotes, no links, no silenceshaped like care.
He wanted to send something,something honest, like you were
(26:36):
right about all of it, but hedidn't.
Instead, he opened up Instagram, posted a photo of the back of
the room blurred heads, softlighting.
Caption the echo is the loudestwhen the room agrees.
No one would know what it meant, but they'd think it was wise.
That night, back in the hotelroom, he stared at the ceiling.
(26:59):
The applause still vibrated inhis chest, but they'd think it
was wise.
That night, back in the hotelroom, he stared at the ceiling.
The applause still vibrated inhis chest, but not in a way that
soothed, in a way that made ithard to sleep.
He reached for his notebook,opened it back to a blank page,
wrote one sentence you neverknow you've been performing
(27:19):
until the clapping doesn't landanymore.
Then closed it again and for abrief second he thought he heard
her voice, not in the room butin the silence, and it said
nothing Because he hadn't earnedwords yet.
Only distance.
The hotel suite was perfect,one of those high floor rooms
(27:44):
with too much air and nopersonality.
It smelled like eucalyptus andfiltered water, the kind of
place meant for people who passthrough too often to belong
anywhere.
He slipped off his jacket, hungit on the brass hook, like it
was made for it, loosen hiscollar, kicked off his shoes,
still high from the event, thatstrange humming silence that
(28:05):
always follows applause, not sad, not joyful, just swollen.
He walked to the mirror.
The lighting was museum, soft,warm, but not golden, just
enough to make you look like abetter version of yourself.
He stared the suit fit himperfectly, the shirt hugged his
(28:26):
frame just right.
The posture, the way he stoodnow looked like success.
He looked like the kind of manpeople quoted, the kind of man
he used to imagine when he satat the cafe and wondered what
was possible.
And yet the longer he stared,the less familiar it felt.
(28:48):
Not broken, not wrong, justforeign.
Like someone had handed him themask of a better man and he
forgot to take it off.
He tilted his head slightly.
He tried to smile.
It looked practiced Even to him.
He whispered You're him now.
(29:09):
Then he waited to feelsomething, but nothing landed.
Because that's what they don'ttell you about becoming is this
if you rehearse long enough,you'll forget you were ever
unscripted.
He looked down at the bathroomsink.
(29:30):
On the counter was a littlecard from the event keynote.
Becoming the voice, he pickedit up, turned it over.
Someone had written a note onthe back in clean handwriting.
Becoming the voice, he pickedit up, turned it over.
Someone had written a note onthe back in clean handwriting.
You made me believe again.
He wanted to feel proud, wantedto feel like he had returned
the favor to someone.
(29:50):
But it didn't land because noone had believed in him the way
Lena did, not before thebookings, not before the polish.
She never needed him really tobe on.
She liked him most when hewasn't ready, when his thoughts
came out messy, when hisquestions outnumbered his
(30:12):
answers when he asked her whatrecuser meant, and listened like
the world was built out of onesound of her voice.
But now he was the answer.
That's what they wanted.
People booked him to summarizetheir own unspoken truths, to
(30:33):
name things they couldn't holdon long enough to say out loud.
He didn't mind, but it meant hehad nowhere to go and he was
the one who needed naming.
He set the card down,unbuttoned the shirt, pulled the
tie off, looked in the mirrorreally looked in the mirror Bare
(30:57):
chest lines of muscle, posturestill perfect.
And yet it felt like he waslooking at someone
mid-performance, like he'd builta man the world could love and
lost track of who he wasbuilding it for.
He turned off the light.
The room went soft, silent.
(31:19):
He walked barefoot to the edgeof the light.
The room went soft, silent.
He walked barefoot to the edgeof the bed, sat down, picked up
his notebook, flipped throughthe pages.
The early ones felt alive messy, honest Quotes from her notes
to self, the kind of questionsthat don't belong on podcasts.
He flipped to the latest page,one line written after the event
(31:43):
the echo is the loudest whenthe room agrees.
He stared at it.
Then, beneath it he wrote butwhat if the only thing echoing
is a version of me I don'tbelieve in anymore.
He closed the book, laid back,looked up at the ceiling and
whispered Would she evenrecognize me?
(32:05):
Now?
And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel like
stillness, it felt like distance.
The car dropped him off justbefore midnight.
The driver said something aboutthe speech, called it powerful.
He smiled, nodded, said thanks,but his voice didn't match his
(32:26):
face.
He stepped inside the apartmentlight still dimmed from before,
the kind of stillness that feltsterile, not peaceful.
He didn't take off his shoes,he just stood there, looked at
everything the, the couch, thebookshelves, the unopened mail,
the cornery where the key satstill buried in the drawer,
(32:48):
still untouched.
He moved slowly, not exhausted,just slow in the way people
move when the momentum finallystops.
He poured a glass of water,drank half, sat it down, then
walked out to the window, lookedout.
(33:09):
The city wasn't asleep, but itwas quieter than usual, like it
knew something had shifted.
He pulled out his phone, openedhis messages, scrolled no, lena
, of course not.
It had been days, maybe weeksnow, maybe more.
(33:30):
She stopped texting entirely,not out of anger, just absence.
He clicked into their thread,scrolled back.
The last message she sent was aquote, no explanation, just a
line.
Not everything that quiets youis peace Gant responded.
He stared at it like it mightrearrange itself, say something
(33:55):
new.
But it didn't.
He typed something, deleted it,typed again you around, deleted
that too, then just sat, phonestill in hand, watching the
notification screen stay empty.
(34:15):
He thought about calling, buthe already knew what silence
sounded like and calling wouldonly confirm it.
He opened his email instead,just to feel needed.
Three new invitations, two newtestimonies.
Someone wrote that the lastpost felt like a sermon for
their younger self.
He didn't smile, justbookmarked the message and
(34:40):
closed the app.
He walked to the drawer, openedit.
There was the key, right wherehe left it, still heavy, still
cold.
He picked it up, turned it overin his hand, thought about what
it used to symbolize.
Possibly.
Now it just felt like weight,not bad, just uncharitable.
(35:00):
Because what do you say tosomeone when your dreams come
true and it doesn't save you?
What do you write in yourjournal when there's no enemy
left to blame and stillsomething's missing?
He sat the key on the counter,left it out in the open for the
first time, then sat back down,notebook open, wrote a line
(35:26):
across the top of the page Ithink I've got everything I've
wanted Then stared at it, wrotethe next line slower, but no one
told me how to hold it.
When it arrived, he thoughtabout Lena, about the second cup
that stopped showing up, thenapkin, she stopped writing on
(35:49):
the way her voice had grown morefactual.
She said something a week ago.
He hadn't remembered it untilnow.
Maybe it was longer.
He remembered her saying acouple months left.
She wasn't just talking aboutschool, she was warning him,
preparing him.
And he nodded, smiled andscrolled.
(36:11):
He didn't ask, he didn't leanin, because when everything is
working, you stop looking forthings that don't applaud you.
And now, now it was just him,the notebook, the key.
In the quiet he got up, pulledon a sweater, walked out to the
(36:32):
balcony.
The night wasn't cold, it wasjust honest.
He sat in the dark and let itcover him, didn't think, didn't
analyze, just felt.
Somewhere deep in the quiet,beneath the press releases, the
panels, the praise, he realizedhe never said thank you, not
(36:54):
really, not to her, not tohimself.
He built the stage, but he leftthe parts of him that listened
off of it.
That night he didn't sleep, butfor the first time in a long
time he stopped performing.
(37:16):
You know, he got everything,every yes, every room, every
quote he ever wanted someone tosay about him and for a while it
felt like proof, proof that hewas enough, proof that you know,
(37:39):
he'd finally done it, arrivedsomewhere real.
But tonight he sat in a quietapartment holding a glass of
water, staring at a notebookfull of truths.
He didn't live anymore and forthe first seven months he told
himself the truth, you know, notout loud, not to the room, but
(38:01):
to himself.
He whispered I don't know whoI'm performing for anymore,
because the rooms are still full, right, the panels are still
clapping, but something shifted.
The applause didn't land, notbecause they're lying, but
because he is right.
Not intentionally, notmaliciously, just slowly, like
(38:25):
someone putting on a costumethat fit too well and forgetting
to take it off.
See, that's the danger nobodytalks about Not failure, not
rejection, not obscurity, butsuccess without witness.
See, the kind of success thatarrives when the only person who
(38:47):
really knew you already stoppedwatching.
You know, when Lena poured himcoffee, there was no stage,
there was no booking, there wasno badge, just a table, a second
cup and a woman who asked whyhe was chasing anything at all.
And now, now she's quiet.
(39:09):
You know she's still here,technically still reachable, but
she doesn't reach.
And he hasn't called, becauseto tell her about the last
speech would be to admit thatshe wasn't in it, that he didn't
(39:31):
quote her, didn't reference her, didn't even think to look for
her.
In the back of the room, hewonders when it started, not the
success, but the loss.
Right, it wasn't a moment, itwasn't a pattern.
It was that second cup thatstopped showing up.
He didn't ask why.
She said a couple months left,right.
He didn't ask what, for it blewright by him, right?
She started speaking in smallersentences.
(39:53):
He didn't realize that hestarted talking louder to fill
the space.
He doesn't realize that either.
You know there was that quoteshe gave him once where.
What does it say?
You know, people who areeverywhere often forget how to
be somewhere.
Right.
And you know, if you thinkabout it, he thought it sounded
poetic, maybe something he could.
You know, if you think about it, he thought it sounded poetic,
(40:15):
maybe something he could, youknow, use in a talk.
But now you know it soundedlike a goodbye.
He wasn't ready to hear.
And now, at the end of this youknow, end of this episode he's
sitting in silence, not punished, not abandoned.
Abandoned, but alone, when youknow all the things he thought
(40:36):
would make him whole, none ofthe people who remembered him
before.
He needed a microphone.
Right, he speaks now, not totell anyone he learned, but to
warn them about how easy it isto become someone people love
while forgetting to love theperson you were before they
noticed you.
How many people you know thatthis happens to?
(40:57):
I know a ton, you know, aswe're talking about that, you
know, there's the version whoasked questions, who wrote
quietly, who listened more thanhe posted, who showed up not to
be seen but to feel somethingreal.
So here's what he's asking now.
You know, in this, you know notjust to himself, but I'll ask
(41:19):
this of you.
You know All of us I don't carewho you are, we're all chasing
our own version of applause.
But something I would like toask and this is a reflection
question, this is a question,right, who saw you before you
were polished?
(41:40):
You know, in that question,I'll ask you another question
who do you no longer share yourwins with, because you're afraid
they'll see what you lost toget to them.
Another question with this, asI'm just thinking about this out
(42:05):
loud honestly are you showingup or are you just arriving
where they expected you to be?
How many people?
I'm going to tell you this.
That's such a huge question,because people think they're
showing up, but they're justarriving where they expect you
to be.
We do that all the time, andespecially in this social media
(42:33):
world.
This is a great question.
Did you write the story or justbecome a headline?
Because, as I'm asking you this, there's a kind of grief that
doesn't cry, it just pulls away.
One sentence at a time, oneunspoken thought, one silent
(42:56):
morning, until all that's leftis distance and the shape of
someone who used to know how youtook your coffee.
You have to remember this, asI'm saying this to you.
He's not broken, he's justremembering.
Sometimes that's harder,because here's what it means
Remembering means you have tosit in the room with a version
(43:19):
of you who still believessuccess would feel like a rival.
I'm going to tell you thisright now, as I'm saying this to
you A lot of the times, I'llsay, in successes that I've had,
you know where I've reallyworked hard for something really
really worked and I got it.
And it didn't feel that greatbecause there was really no one
(43:48):
to share it with or there was noone there or whatever.
It just felt better, better,sweet in a lot of ways,
especially when you look backand you think about how much you
worked hard to get somethingand then, bam, it's there.
Another great way I can explainit is like when you graduate
(44:12):
from junior high, high schooland college, especially college,
where you've done all this work, all these things, and you
graduate right and now you thinkto yourself like okay, now what
?
I mean people there tocelebrate you.
But if you ask what a lotpeople are there to celebrate
(44:34):
you, but if you ask what a lotof people are thinking when
they're graduating college,especially that next day,
everything gets real.
And that's what's happening tohim right now.
Everything is getting real,he's getting everything he wants
, but the one thing that wasstaring him in the face is
(44:54):
leaving him slowly but surelyand he's not going to do
anything about it, not right now.
So let's go into our reflectionprompts.
Reflection one Can you remembera moment where you achieved
something and felt nothing, justkind of talked about it?
(45:16):
Two who did you stop sharingyour small joys with, because
your world got louder?
Number three what version ofyourself still waits to be seen
without applause?
Number four are you surroundedby love or surrounded by
(45:39):
attention?
I'm going to tell you youanswer that question honestly.
That's going to change yourworld, I promise.
And number five when did youstop, or I should say, when did
you last stop, performing?
So, guys, I know this was a bigepisode and you know what
(46:13):
you're going to hear on Sundayor the next episode after this
will obviously be our review,you know, of the week or of
these past five episodes, kindof get you prepared for the next
five.
And uh, it's going to be a lotof fun, as always.
Um, no, this, like I said, knowthis, like I said this, this is
(46:37):
a big episode and there's a lothere.
And yeah, it's, it's definitelyinteresting, for sure.
But again, before we guys go,before I go, as I hit the
microphone, sorry guys I want tothank every single one of you
who listen, who show support,who email me, who text me, you
know, on the, on the, on thechat function here, it means the
(46:58):
absolute world to me that youdo.
That Cause.
A lot of times I'm just doingthis in an empty room, speaking
to myself.
So it's, I see, it's nice tosee that people are listening,
but if you want to talk to me,there's three ways you can do it
.
First way is going to bethrough the chat function on the
podcast.
So say, let's chat.
Once you click on that, you andI can have a conversation about
(47:20):
this series, this episode, orthe 260 plus episodes I have out
there now I think I'm at what?
What series?
Seven, eight series now it'spretty crazy.
Second way you can reach me isthrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
please feel free to reach out tome there.
(47:40):
And then, last but not least,you can always reach me and see
me on my Instagram.
My Instagram is my gentsjourney.
So again, I thank you guys.
So so, so very much forlistening today.
And remember this you createyour reality.
(48:03):
Take care Bye.
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode five
with the key to everything.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto the cold opening.
There are mornings where thelight just lands perfectly,
(00:26):
where the coffee is still warmafter the meeting ends, where
the shoes match the tone, wherethe inbox doesn't feel like
weight, just motion.
Today is one of those mornings.
He wakes up before the alarm,not because he's anxious, but
because there's nothing to runfrom.
(00:47):
He's slept well, dreamless,clean.
He showers, shaves, buttons,the white shirt he used to save
for important days, but nowevery day is important, or at
least they look like it.
He's never looked better.
The mirror agrees.
There's a precision toeverything now the haircut, the
(01:12):
collar, the scent that trailshim into rooms.
His calendar is full but notcrowded.
It's curated like an artgallery.
Curated like an art gallery.
Breakfast is protein and quiet,no scroll, no distractions.
He doesn't need to check themetrics.
Today His name is already inthe newsletter.
(01:35):
As he steps outside, thedoorman calls him by name.
They used to catch him offguard.
Now it feels earned.
A car pulls up, black tinted,waiting for him.
He didn't ask for it.
Someone sent it, someone whowants to meet, who wants to
(01:55):
quote him, wants to say theyknew him.
Before the driver opens thedoor, he slides in Leather,
silence, success.
He doesn't look out the window,he already knows the city will
reflect him well At that venue.
His name is printed on glass,white letters, all caps His name
(02:16):
and conversation with.
He reads it with the calm ofsomeone who's been here before
and he has Three times thismonth.
The security guard recognizeshim.
The assistant waves him throughBackstage.
Someone hands him a card, aschedule.
Someone offers him tea, water,ginger juice for his throat.
(02:37):
There's a chair with his nameon it, next to a ring light and
a small table of hair productshe's never used but he owns.
He sits, looks at himself inthe mirror, not to fix anything,
just to check if he's still him.
And for that moment hehesitates, not from fear, from
(03:03):
something quieter.
It's like a draft in a sealedroom, a shift that shouldn't be
there, a silence inside theapplause.
He blinks, shakes it off,checks his notes, talking points
(03:23):
, quotes the sentence he wantsto land at the end.
Success isn't clarity, it's thereward for surviving your
confusion.
He knows they'll love that oneOutside the door, the
moderator's voice warms up.
Coming up next is a man who'schanged the way we think about
identity.
The crowd claps Louder than heexpects.
He stands, adjusts his jacketand in that stands, adjusts his
(03:46):
jacket and in that moment, justfor a second, he thinks of Lena
Not her face, just the tone ofher voice.
When she once said be carefulwho you clap for, you might
start performing for them.
He never wrote it down, but itstayed somewhere.
Now it echoes Careful who youclap for, you might start
performing for them.
(04:07):
He never wrote it down, but itstayed somewhere.
Now it echoes, not out loud buthonest.
He steps into the light.
The applause finds him againand he smiles like someone who
believes that this is what he'salways wanted.
But something in the back ofhis chest whispers.
Then why does it feel like I'velost something?
(04:29):
Now?
Part one the rise that feltdeserved.
He wasn't chasing anymore.
Now they chased him.
His inbox used to sit quiet fordays.
Now it refreshed itself withmomentum A new podcast request,
(04:50):
a collaborative invite, akeynote panel next spring, A
university reach-out, a limitedseries featurette All in the
last 48 hours.
They weren't just asking if hewas available 48 hours.
They weren't just asking if hewas available, they were asking
(05:11):
when that was new.
He found himself walkingdifferently now, more centered,
less urgency, not because he waspretending, but because he'd
arrived.
The things he used to explainnow explained him.
He didn't tell stories aboutbecoming anymore.
Now he was the story.
It felt earned.
He bled for this in silence.
Years of writing things no onewould read, of whispering
(05:35):
sentences in notebooks thatnever left the drawer, of
standing in corners while otherpeople talked louder, while
other people looked shinier.
But now, now they quoted himword for word, he'd see pieces
of himself in other people'sposts, phrases he only ever used
(05:58):
in the dark, now recycled inheadlines.
Clarity isn't found, it'sremembered.
Identity is a negotiationbetween memory and performance.
Stop chasing peace in thehouses built by noise.
He used to write these linesfor himself.
Now they were branded.
He smiled when he saw them,mostly Not because he needed
(06:20):
credit, mostly Not because heneeded credit, but because it
meant they were listening.
Finally, he was getting paid forhis voice, now Flown out for
panels, lodged in hotels wheresomeone else unpacked the
suitcase.
There was a rhythm to it all.
Now he knew how to wear thesuit, how to start the talk, how
(06:44):
to pause before the punchline.
He wasn't playing a character,he was the character and people
loved him for it.
Even the way he drank coffeechanged no longer in paper cups,
now came in glass mugs, servedin lounges where everything
(07:04):
echoed softly.
He told himself it didn't changehim, that he was still grounded
, still aware.
He still woke up early, stillread every morning, still kept
the same notebook by the bed,though he hadn't written it
(07:25):
lately, not because he forgot,just because the sentences
didn't come the same way anymore.
He was using his voice all daynow, selling it, sharing it,
structuring it into digestiblestories.
That made people nod At night.
There wasn't much left, but hedidn't question that yet because
(07:45):
things were, they were working.
Every headline that mentionedhim had a version of the same
subtext how he built quietly thefuture of influence.
He didn't like that wordinfluence, but he didn't correct
them.
You don't correct a wave whenit's carrying you.
(08:07):
The invitations came faster.
He was booked two months out.
Every other day he was on stageor behind a mic telling people
how he found himself, how hebuilt his clarity, how he let go
of performance and stepped intopresence.
He believed it Well, mostly.
(08:29):
There were moments, though, inthe car between cities or in the
hotel bathroom, brushing histeeth under the white LED lights
, and he'd catch his own eyes inthe mirror and not know what to
say to them.
Not because he didn't recognizethe face.
And he'd catch his own eyes inthe mirror and not know what to
say to them.
Not because he didn't recognizethe face, but because the face
(08:53):
didn't feel like it neededanything.
And that's what scared him.
See, need was what used to makehim real, what used to drive
the words, the ache, the reach,the want.
Now things were smooth, andsmooth didn't write very well,
(09:15):
but that wasn't a problem.
Yet.
The panels went well, thepodcasts were tight, the metrics
were growing, his name wasspoken in rooms he hadn't
entered yet, and he wasn't tired, not yet.
He smiled when people askedwhat's next, because, for the
first time in his life, hedidn't know.
(09:40):
And that used to scare him.
But now it felt like a luxury.
He was learning how to pause,to let the room breathe, to let
the silence say something.
Before he did, he had forgottenhow powerful that was the
(10:06):
ability to not need to fill themoment.
And yet there was a smalldetail, small enough he could
ignore it.
But still there, in every greenroom, on every couch, in every
call, he was always the onetalking, he was always the one
(10:27):
being heard, he was always theone giving presents, but no one
in these rooms knew him beforehe wore the suit.
No one remembered when hissentences were messy, when he
showed up late, when he didn'tknow who he was becoming.
No one ever asked what hissilence sounded like.
Only Lena did, and that thought.
(10:50):
He tucked it away, filed itunder later, under return.
There was still so much to do,so many rooms to be in, so many
names to be remembered by.
He had arrived, but somethingabout the way the light landed
(11:12):
on his hands that night made himfeel like he was becoming
someone he wouldn't recognize ifhe passed himself in the street
and he didn't know why.
That felt more like a warningthan a win.
There was a stretch of days four, maybe five where he didn't
(11:34):
speak to anyone without a cameraon Zoom boxes, microphones,
clean lighting, questions he'dalready answered before the
interview even started.
He'd become a voice, not aperson, but a tone, a presence.
They could fit betweencommercial breaks.
He wasn't bitter about it.
It was what he asked for and,honestly, it was working.
(11:58):
The segments ran clean.
The host smiled at hissoundbites.
Clarity isn't something youfind, it's what happens when you
stop performing.
That one always landed.
They asked how he got here, whatshifted, what his routine was
like, how he stayed so centered.
(12:19):
He answered like he was readingfrom a script they all wanted
to believe in Mornings alone, nonotifications before breakfast,
journaling every day, presence,intention, silence.
Some of it was still true, mostof it was once true.
(12:39):
But what he didn't say, whatthey didn't say, what they
didn't ask, was how often hefelt like he was impersonating
someone who figured it out,because that's what people
wanted to know now.
They didn't want the man whowas still searching, they wanted
the man who already found.
They wanted the version of himthat sounded like closure.
(13:02):
So that's what he gave them.
It wasn't dishonest, it justwasn't complete.
And that difference wasstarting to show, not in his
answers but in the echo after hespoke.
He used to finish a sentenceand feel like something shift.
(13:26):
Now he finished a sentence andfelt delivery.
There was applause in theireyes even before he spoke, and
that's the kind that makes youforget how to pause.
In one interview the host saidyou're so confident.
Has it always been this easyfor you?
He smiled, that polished,camera-trained smile.
(13:46):
No, not always.
But clarity feels easy onceyou've lived through confusion
long enough.
That line was rehearsed.
He didn't mean it unkindly, butwhen he watched it back later
he didn't see himself.
He saw a performance, someonewho knew how to land the insight
(14:07):
, not someone who wrestled withit.
That scared him quietly, Notenough to stop, just enough to
notice.
He began describing momentsmore than he was living them.
His answers were efficient, hismetaphors were crisp, his
cadence perfectly broken up forreals, and somewhere deep
(14:30):
underneath the rhythm of all, hemissed the part of himself that
used to speak slowly, not for afact, but because he was still
figuring it out.
Now he figured it out.
Before the question came.
He had lines for everything,even silence.
In a winter interview, whenasked what he missed most before
(14:53):
the rise, he paused.
He looked down, furrowed hisbow, just stopped to look
thoughtful and said I miss beingunknown.
There's something sacred aboutanonymity it forces honesty.
It was a good answer, abeautiful one even.
But in the silence thatfollowed he realized something
(15:17):
brutal.
He didn't miss being unknown.
He missed being seen by someonewho knew him when he was.
And that person was gone, Notdead, not angry, just graduated
Without ceremony.
Lena hadn't posted in a while.
(15:38):
He checked Her rating accountQuiet, no new underlines, no new
napkins.
And that silence felt sharperthan any headline.
Her reading account quiet, nonew underlines, no new napkins.
And that silence felt sharperthan any headline.
Because now everyone was askingwhat made him special.
But the only person who neverasked was the one who already
(16:00):
saw it before it worked.
That night, after back-to-backrecordings, he sat at the edge
of the hotel bed, suit jacketstill on, shoes kicked off, but
not far.
He looked at the room Softlight, designer furniture,
curated emptiness Picked up hisphone, typed her name in the
messages Scrolled he sentsomething months ago, just a
(16:22):
photo of a page, a quote fromthe feeling of what happens,
no-transcript.
He never replied.
He screenshotted it now and puthis phone down and in that
(16:43):
silence he felt something tear,not loudly, not all at once,
just enough.
He walked to the mirror Stillwearing his shirt from the
interview.
He looked good, like the kindof man you'd quote, but
(17:06):
something behind his eyes lookedlike he was waiting to come
home.
He walked in with his phonestill in his hand, not on a call
, not this time but stillholding it, still in orbit
around it.
He slipped it into his pocketas he approached the counter,
(17:30):
like the act of putting it awaywas enough to mean he was
present.
Lena didn't look up right away.
There was no second cup waitingbeside the register, no fresh
quote scribbled on the cupsleeve, just her hands quietly
moving, cleaning somethingalready clean.
(17:50):
When she finally glanced up, itwas brief morning.
Hey, he said smiling.
Still remember my order?
That earned the faintest look.
One corner of her mouthtwitched, unfortunately.
He smirked, tried to meet hereyes again.
She didn't offer more, justpoured the coffee, set it down.
(18:14):
No napkin, no linger.
He waited a beat.
Hey, you okay, she shrugged.
I'm good, I'm just Tired.
Tired of me, he joked.
This time she smiled for real,but faint like muscle memory,
tired of talking to people whoaren't fully there.
(18:36):
He opened his mouth and closedit, not at once, like he was
taking it in then pivotedbecause the truth was
uncomfortable.
Hey, did I tell you I gotnominated for something?
He said pulling out his phone.
Thought you'd find this funny.
She leaned slightly towards thescreen, saw the email.
(18:58):
Emerging voice of the year.
She leaned slightly towards thescreen, saw the email Emerging
voice of the year.
She didn't roll her eyes.
She didn't smile either.
Hey, that's great.
She said.
You'll be everywhere soon.
He chuckled.
Already feels like I am.
There was something in herexpression, a pause.
(19:19):
That's the thing she said.
People who are everywheresometimes forget how to be
somewhere.
He blinked.
Is that a quote or a?
She shook her head.
No napkin for that one.
He took the cup, walked to thewindow seat.
(19:45):
It was still empty, still his,but it didn't feel like it had
been saved.
He sat, sipped the coffee wasright, perfect even, but it
didn't land.
She came by a minute laterclearing a table near him.
He watched her a little toolong.
Hey, are you still reading that?
(20:06):
You know that consciousnessstuff, he asked.
She looked over, took a breakWorking on other things.
Like she didn't answer rightaway but then simply said Finish
the paper, couple months left.
He nodded casually.
Oh, tight deadline.
(20:27):
She looked at him for a beat.
No, I mean a couple months lefthere.
He paused.
Oh, like a break.
She didn't correct him, justturned back to the counter.
He didn't ask again, didn'trealize what she was saying,
(20:50):
didn't register that.
The tone she used was the samewhen people speak and when
they're trying to tell yousomething without having to say
it twice.
Instead, he picked up his phone, swiped through notifications,
a podcast invite, a write-up insome digital magazine, another
panel ask, another mention.
He let the screen reflect backto him a version of himself.
(21:13):
He wanted to keep believing inthe one who finally made it.
She brought a plate back to theback.
He watched her disappearthrough the swinging door.
He felt something pull insideof him, but he didn't name it.
He didn't lean in, didn't saywhat do you mean you're leaving?
(21:33):
Because in that momenteverything else was clapping.
He wasn't ready to hear silenceagain.
When she came back, she didn'tstop near him, didn't ask what
he was writing, didn't offer anarticle, didn't drop a line like
a gift.
She just moved around him likesomeone already practicing
(21:53):
absence.
He checked the time.
Oh hey, gotta run Meeting witha brand thing.
They want me to help design amessage series or something.
She nodded.
Of course they do.
He smiled you gonna miss mewhen I'm gone.
She raised her eyebrows.
You're already halfway gone.
Then she walked behind thecounter, didn't wait for a reply
(22:17):
.
He didn't give one.
The lights were perfect, theyshould walk behind the counter.
Didn't wait for a reply.
He didn't give one.
The lights were perfect, soft,clean, indirect, the kind that
made your skin look rested andmade doubt feel far away.
The room was already full whenhe arrived VIP badges, fluted
glasses, soft jazz dripping fromnowhere.
(22:38):
Conversation sounded likeconsensus.
His name was on the card by thestage, keynote Becoming the
voice.
He almost laughed when he sawit, not because it wasn't true,
but because they made it soundfinished, as if becoming had an
(22:59):
end point, as if there was aformula, as if he'd written one.
A woman in a charcoal blazergreeted him, hand already
extended.
You must be him.
He nodded, then corrected her.
They guided him toward thegreen room bottled water with
his name printed on the label.
Toward the green room Bottledwater, with his name printed on
(23:23):
the label.
A platter of berries, smokedalmonds, something that looked
like luxury but tasted likenothing.
He sat down.
The chair felt firmer than itlooked.
Across the table was a digitalevent guide with his face on it.
Same headshot, same words,pulled from the same quote.
They always clipped.
Clarity is what happens whenyou stop trying to look like
(23:43):
you've arrived.
They loved that one.
He didn't remember writing it.
Not really.
It came from a morning whereLena had something small and
sharp about people who mistakeconfidence for peace.
He had it scribbled in hisnotebook, then shaped it into a
sentence people could post.
Now it belonged to them.
(24:04):
There was a knock, showtime.
The walk to the stage felt likea glide.
Everything was velvet and quiet.
Shoes.
A stage manager touched hisshoulder like a prayer and
whispered Whenever you're ready?
He stepped into the spotlightand he smiled.
The first sentence was musclememory.
(24:26):
Now, years ago, I used to sitin cafes hoping someone would
see me.
The room leaned in.
He told the story, the version,with the right rise, the
tension, the clarity, and then Iremembered who I was.
They laughed at the right lines.
They wrote down things.
(24:47):
One man in the back wiped atear.
A woman in the front mouthedone of his quotes before he
finished saying it.
He hit every note, every shift,every crafted pause, and for 15
minutes the room believed.
He closed with the same line healways did.
(25:10):
Now, don't become so fluent inperformance that you forget the
sound of your own voice.
Standing ovation, photos,flashes and reverence.
A man asked for a signature.
Someone asked said he was themirror they didn't know they
(25:30):
needed.
And still, as he stepped offthe stage, all he felt was empty
air, no napkin, no scribbledquote waiting, no eyes that
asked how he really felt aboutany of it Just that girl.
People saw him now, but no onelooked at him like he wasn't
(25:54):
trying.
Lena never clapped, not becauseshe didn't believe in him, but
because she saw him, and whenyou're fully seen, applause
feels unnecessary.
Back in the green room, he tookthe mic pack off, pulled out
(26:15):
his phone, thumbed through openmessages nothing from her of, of
course not.
She hadn't texted in days.
No quotes, no links, no silenceshaped like care.
He wanted to send something,something honest, like you were
(26:36):
right about all of it, but hedidn't.
Instead, he opened up Instagram, posted a photo of the back of
the room blurred heads, softlighting.
Caption the echo is the loudestwhen the room agrees.
No one would know what it meant, but they'd think it was wise.
That night, back in the hotelroom, he stared at the ceiling.
(26:59):
The applause still vibrated inhis chest, but they'd think it
was wise.
That night, back in the hotelroom, he stared at the ceiling.
The applause still vibrated inhis chest, but not in a way that
soothed, in a way that made ithard to sleep.
He reached for his notebook,opened it back to a blank page,
wrote one sentence you neverknow you've been performing
(27:19):
until the clapping doesn't landanymore.
Then closed it again and for abrief second he thought he heard
her voice, not in the room butin the silence, and it said
nothing Because he hadn't earnedwords yet.
Only distance.
The hotel suite was perfect,one of those high floor rooms
(27:44):
with too much air and nopersonality.
It smelled like eucalyptus andfiltered water, the kind of
place meant for people who passthrough too often to belong
anywhere.
He slipped off his jacket, hungit on the brass hook, like it
was made for it, loosen hiscollar, kicked off his shoes,
still high from the event, thatstrange humming silence that
(28:05):
always follows applause, not sad, not joyful, just swollen.
He walked to the mirror.
The lighting was museum, soft,warm, but not golden, just
enough to make you look like abetter version of yourself.
He stared the suit fit himperfectly, the shirt hugged his
(28:26):
frame just right.
The posture, the way he stoodnow looked like success.
He looked like the kind of manpeople quoted, the kind of man
he used to imagine when he satat the cafe and wondered what
was possible.
And yet the longer he stared,the less familiar it felt.
(28:48):
Not broken, not wrong, justforeign.
Like someone had handed him themask of a better man and he
forgot to take it off.
He tilted his head slightly.
He tried to smile.
It looked practiced Even to him.
He whispered You're him now.
(29:09):
Then he waited to feelsomething, but nothing landed.
Because that's what they don'ttell you about becoming is this
if you rehearse long enough,you'll forget you were ever
unscripted.
He looked down at the bathroomsink.
(29:30):
On the counter was a littlecard from the event keynote.
Becoming the voice, he pickedit up, turned it over.
Someone had written a note onthe back in clean handwriting.
Becoming the voice, he pickedit up, turned it over.
Someone had written a note onthe back in clean handwriting.
You made me believe again.
He wanted to feel proud, wantedto feel like he had returned
the favor to someone.
(29:50):
But it didn't land because noone had believed in him the way
Lena did, not before thebookings, not before the polish.
She never needed him really tobe on.
She liked him most when hewasn't ready, when his thoughts
came out messy, when hisquestions outnumbered his
(30:12):
answers when he asked her whatrecuser meant, and listened like
the world was built out of onesound of her voice.
But now he was the answer.
That's what they wanted.
People booked him to summarizetheir own unspoken truths, to
(30:33):
name things they couldn't holdon long enough to say out loud.
He didn't mind, but it meant hehad nowhere to go and he was
the one who needed naming.
He set the card down,unbuttoned the shirt, pulled the
tie off, looked in the mirrorreally looked in the mirror Bare
(30:57):
chest lines of muscle, posturestill perfect.
And yet it felt like he waslooking at someone
mid-performance, like he'd builta man the world could love and
lost track of who he wasbuilding it for.
He turned off the light.
The room went soft, silent.
(31:19):
He walked barefoot to the edgeof the light.
The room went soft, silent.
He walked barefoot to the edgeof the bed, sat down, picked up
his notebook, flipped throughthe pages.
The early ones felt alive messy, honest Quotes from her notes
to self, the kind of questionsthat don't belong on podcasts.
He flipped to the latest page,one line written after the event
(31:43):
the echo is the loudest whenthe room agrees.
He stared at it.
Then, beneath it he wrote butwhat if the only thing echoing
is a version of me I don'tbelieve in anymore.
He closed the book, laid back,looked up at the ceiling and
whispered Would she evenrecognize me?
(32:05):
Now?
And for the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel like
stillness, it felt like distance.
The car dropped him off justbefore midnight.
The driver said something aboutthe speech, called it powerful.
He smiled, nodded, said thanks,but his voice didn't match his
(32:26):
face.
He stepped inside the apartmentlight still dimmed from before,
the kind of stillness that feltsterile, not peaceful.
He didn't take off his shoes,he just stood there, looked at
everything the, the couch, thebookshelves, the unopened mail,
the cornery where the key satstill buried in the drawer,
(32:48):
still untouched.
He moved slowly, not exhausted,just slow in the way people
move when the momentum finallystops.
He poured a glass of water,drank half, sat it down, then
walked out to the window, lookedout.
(33:09):
The city wasn't asleep, but itwas quieter than usual, like it
knew something had shifted.
He pulled out his phone, openedhis messages, scrolled no, lena
, of course not.
It had been days, maybe weeksnow, maybe more.
(33:30):
She stopped texting entirely,not out of anger, just absence.
He clicked into their thread,scrolled back.
The last message she sent was aquote, no explanation, just a
line.
Not everything that quiets youis peace Gant responded.
He stared at it like it mightrearrange itself, say something
(33:55):
new.
But it didn't.
He typed something, deleted it,typed again you around, deleted
that too, then just sat, phonestill in hand, watching the
notification screen stay empty.
(34:15):
He thought about calling, buthe already knew what silence
sounded like and calling wouldonly confirm it.
He opened his email instead,just to feel needed.
Three new invitations, two newtestimonies.
Someone wrote that the lastpost felt like a sermon for
their younger self.
He didn't smile, justbookmarked the message and
(34:40):
closed the app.
He walked to the drawer, openedit.
There was the key, right wherehe left it, still heavy, still
cold.
He picked it up, turned it overin his hand, thought about what
it used to symbolize.
Possibly.
Now it just felt like weight,not bad, just uncharitable.
(35:00):
Because what do you say tosomeone when your dreams come
true and it doesn't save you?
What do you write in yourjournal when there's no enemy
left to blame and stillsomething's missing?
He sat the key on the counter,left it out in the open for the
first time, then sat back down,notebook open, wrote a line
(35:26):
across the top of the page Ithink I've got everything I've
wanted Then stared at it, wrotethe next line slower, but no one
told me how to hold it.
When it arrived, he thoughtabout Lena, about the second cup
that stopped showing up, thenapkin, she stopped writing on
(35:49):
the way her voice had grown morefactual.
She said something a week ago.
He hadn't remembered it untilnow.
Maybe it was longer.
He remembered her saying acouple months left.
She wasn't just talking aboutschool, she was warning him,
preparing him.
And he nodded, smiled andscrolled.
(36:11):
He didn't ask, he didn't leanin, because when everything is
working, you stop looking forthings that don't applaud you.
And now, now it was just him,the notebook, the key.
In the quiet he got up, pulledon a sweater, walked out to the
(36:32):
balcony.
The night wasn't cold, it wasjust honest.
He sat in the dark and let itcover him, didn't think, didn't
analyze, just felt.
Somewhere deep in the quiet,beneath the press releases, the
panels, the praise, he realizedhe never said thank you, not
(36:54):
really, not to her, not tohimself.
He built the stage, but he leftthe parts of him that listened
off of it.
That night he didn't sleep, butfor the first time in a long
time he stopped performing.
(37:16):
You know, he got everything,every yes, every room, every
quote he ever wanted someone tosay about him and for a while it
felt like proof, proof that hewas enough, proof that you know,
(37:39):
he'd finally done it, arrivedsomewhere real.
But tonight he sat in a quietapartment holding a glass of
water, staring at a notebookfull of truths.
He didn't live anymore and forthe first seven months he told
himself the truth, you know, notout loud, not to the room, but
(38:01):
to himself.
He whispered I don't know whoI'm performing for anymore,
because the rooms are still full, right, the panels are still
clapping, but something shifted.
The applause didn't land, notbecause they're lying, but
because he is right.
Not intentionally, notmaliciously, just slowly, like
(38:25):
someone putting on a costumethat fit too well and forgetting
to take it off.
See, that's the danger nobodytalks about Not failure, not
rejection, not obscurity, butsuccess without witness.
See, the kind of success thatarrives when the only person who
(38:47):
really knew you already stoppedwatching.
You know, when Lena poured himcoffee, there was no stage,
there was no booking, there wasno badge, just a table, a second
cup and a woman who asked whyhe was chasing anything at all.
And now, now she's quiet.
(39:09):
You know she's still here,technically still reachable, but
she doesn't reach.
And he hasn't called, becauseto tell her about the last
speech would be to admit thatshe wasn't in it, that he didn't
(39:31):
quote her, didn't reference her, didn't even think to look for
her.
In the back of the room, hewonders when it started, not the
success, but the loss.
Right, it wasn't a moment, itwasn't a pattern.
It was that second cup thatstopped showing up.
He didn't ask why.
She said a couple months left,right.
He didn't ask what, for it blewright by him, right?
She started speaking in smallersentences.
(39:53):
He didn't realize that hestarted talking louder to fill
the space.
He doesn't realize that either.
You know there was that quoteshe gave him once where.
What does it say?
You know, people who areeverywhere often forget how to
be somewhere.
Right.
And you know, if you thinkabout it, he thought it sounded
poetic, maybe something he could.
You know, if you think about it, he thought it sounded poetic,
(40:15):
maybe something he could, youknow, use in a talk.
But now you know it soundedlike a goodbye.
He wasn't ready to hear.
And now, at the end of this youknow, end of this episode he's
sitting in silence, not punished, not abandoned.
Abandoned, but alone, when youknow all the things he thought
(40:36):
would make him whole, none ofthe people who remembered him
before.
He needed a microphone.
Right, he speaks now, not totell anyone he learned, but to
warn them about how easy it isto become someone people love
while forgetting to love theperson you were before they
noticed you.
How many people you know thatthis happens to?
(40:57):
I know a ton, you know, aswe're talking about that, you
know, there's the version whoasked questions, who wrote
quietly, who listened more thanhe posted, who showed up not to
be seen but to feel somethingreal.
So here's what he's asking now.
You know, in this, you know notjust to himself, but I'll ask
(41:19):
this of you.
You know All of us I don't carewho you are, we're all chasing
our own version of applause.
But something I would like toask and this is a reflection
question, this is a question,right, who saw you before you
were polished?
(41:40):
You know, in that question,I'll ask you another question
who do you no longer share yourwins with, because you're afraid
they'll see what you lost toget to them.
Another question with this, asI'm just thinking about this out
(42:05):
loud honestly are you showingup or are you just arriving
where they expected you to be?
How many people?
I'm going to tell you this.
That's such a huge question,because people think they're
showing up, but they're justarriving where they expect you
to be.
We do that all the time, andespecially in this social media
(42:33):
world.
This is a great question.
Did you write the story or justbecome a headline?
Because, as I'm asking you this, there's a kind of grief that
doesn't cry, it just pulls away.
One sentence at a time, oneunspoken thought, one silent
(42:56):
morning, until all that's leftis distance and the shape of
someone who used to know how youtook your coffee.
You have to remember this, asI'm saying this to you.
He's not broken, he's justremembering.
Sometimes that's harder,because here's what it means
Remembering means you have tosit in the room with a version
(43:19):
of you who still believessuccess would feel like a rival.
I'm going to tell you thisright now, as I'm saying this to
you A lot of the times, I'llsay, in successes that I've had,
you know where I've reallyworked hard for something really
really worked and I got it.
And it didn't feel that greatbecause there was really no one
(43:48):
to share it with or there was noone there or whatever.
It just felt better, better,sweet in a lot of ways,
especially when you look backand you think about how much you
worked hard to get somethingand then, bam, it's there.
Another great way I can explainit is like when you graduate
(44:12):
from junior high, high schooland college, especially college,
where you've done all this work, all these things, and you
graduate right and now you thinkto yourself like okay, now what
?
I mean people there tocelebrate you.
But if you ask what a lotpeople are there to celebrate
(44:34):
you, but if you ask what a lotof people are thinking when
they're graduating college,especially that next day,
everything gets real.
And that's what's happening tohim right now.
Everything is getting real,he's getting everything he wants
, but the one thing that wasstaring him in the face is
(44:54):
leaving him slowly but surelyand he's not going to do
anything about it, not right now.
So let's go into our reflectionprompts.
Reflection one Can you remembera moment where you achieved
something and felt nothing, justkind of talked about it?
(45:16):
Two who did you stop sharingyour small joys with, because
your world got louder?
Number three what version ofyourself still waits to be seen
without applause?
Number four are you surroundedby love or surrounded by
(45:39):
attention?
I'm going to tell you youanswer that question honestly.
That's going to change yourworld, I promise.
And number five when did youstop, or I should say, when did
you last stop, performing?
So, guys, I know this was a bigepisode and you know what
(46:13):
you're going to hear on Sundayor the next episode after this
will obviously be our review,you know, of the week or of
these past five episodes, kindof get you prepared for the next
five.
And uh, it's going to be a lotof fun, as always.
Um, no, this, like I said, knowthis, like I said this, this is
(46:37):
a big episode and there's a lothere.
And yeah, it's, it's definitelyinteresting, for sure.
But again, before we guys go,before I go, as I hit the
microphone, sorry guys I want tothank every single one of you
who listen, who show support,who email me, who text me, you
know, on the, on the, on thechat function here, it means the
(46:58):
absolute world to me that youdo.
That Cause.
A lot of times I'm just doingthis in an empty room, speaking
to myself.
So it's, I see, it's nice tosee that people are listening,
but if you want to talk to me,there's three ways you can do it
.
First way is going to bethrough the chat function on the
podcast.
So say, let's chat.
Once you click on that, you andI can have a conversation about
(47:20):
this series, this episode, orthe 260 plus episodes I have out
there now I think I'm at what?
What series?
Seven, eight series now it'spretty crazy.
Second way you can reach me isthrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
please feel free to reach out tome there.
(47:40):
And then, last but not least,you can always reach me and see
me on my Instagram.
My Instagram is my gentsjourney.
So again, I thank you guys.
So so, so very much forlistening today.
And remember this you createyour reality.
(48:03):
Take care Bye.
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