July 23, 2025 • 40 mins
Have you ever woken up to find yourself performing a version of your life that feels foreign, even as others applaud? "The Key to Everything" explores this modern dilemma through an intimate story of reconnection and authenticity.
When a man stumbles upon Lena—a woman who once knew him better than he knew himself—in a quiet bookstore after a year apart, something shifts. Their reunion isn't dramatic or orchestrated; it's quiet, tentative, and profoundly real. As they navigate coffee shops, museums, and park benches, they rebuild a connection that challenges everything he thought he had become.
"The denial of death" becomes more than just a book title they share—it becomes the metaphor for how we deny our authentic selves when we curate our lives for others' consumption. Through their conversations, we witness what happens when performance falls away and presence takes its place.
The most powerful revelation comes when we understand that Lena wasn't just a character in his story but a mirror "held steady until he was ready to look without flinching." Their journey reminds us that real connection doesn't demand perfection—it requires honesty.
This episode asks questions that linger long after listening: Who was the last person that made you feel truly seen? What version of yourself are you performing for applause? What would it look like to show up today, not to prove you're better, but simply to be real?
We all have had a "Lena" in our lives—someone who sees us clearly beyond our carefully constructed personas. This story is a gentle reminder to recognize these precious connections before they fade, and to remember who we were before we learned how to perform.
Listen now and rediscover what it means to say someone's name "not as an idea, not as a memory, but as a person, real, alive, and choosing to be seen."
"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
eight with the key to everything.
We are almost done with thisseries.
Wow, it's going by so fast, solet's go ahead and let's jump
(00:25):
into it.
It had been over a year sincehe saw her.
Not just a year of time, but oftexture, a different kind of
living, the kind that scrapesaway what's performative and
leaves only what endures.
He hadn't been in the cafe inmonths.
(00:47):
He heard they changed owners.
He wasn't sure if they kept thewindow seat.
He didn't ask.
Somewhere along the way theapplause stopped being a goal.
Then a memory, then a soundthat felt like someone else's
(01:07):
life.
This morning he wasn't lookingfor it, not for her, not for an
answer, just for a book.
He didn't even remember thetitle of, just the feeling it
(01:27):
gave him and that was enough.
He walked into the bookstorelike someone retracing steps,
not lost, just unfinished.
It was one of those quiet shops, no music, no staff picks
shouting for attention, justshelves that breathed.
(01:50):
He moved slowly Like somethingsacred was buried there.
It wasn't nostalgia, it wasneed, a need to find the thing
that reminded him of a woman whoonce underlined sentences like
there were lifelines.
Who once said distraction isn'tthe opposite of death, it's the
(02:15):
practice for it.
She said that with a half smileback when he still knew how to
listen.
Smile back when he still knewhow to listen.
And now, a year later, he waslistening again.
He walked to the psychologicalsection, not because he
remembered that's where she usedto read, but because his body
(02:39):
did.
There it was the denial ofdeath.
The same cover, the samebinding.
He opened it gently, like itmight speak.
Inside was an old receipt, nothis, it was dated last winter.
(03:01):
Someone else had read it.
Since he turned the page andread a paragraph, he felt
something stir, not her voice,his own, a version of it he
hadn't heard since she left.
And then, before he could putit back, a voice behind him,
soft, certain didn't think youwere the type to read footnotes
(03:28):
he froze.
That voice didn't belong tomemory, it belonged to now.
He turned and there she was.
No ceremony, no music swelling,just Lena Holding her own copy
of the same book.
No ceremony, no music, swelling, just Lena holding her own copy
(03:48):
of the same book.
Looking at him like time wasn'ta straight line anymore.
She didn't smile.
She didn't need to, she wasreal.
In that moment, the quietreturn of something unspoken
felt louder than any stage hestood on.
He didn't try to apologize, hedidn't reach for old jokes,
(04:16):
didn't pretend that nothing hadhappened.
He just looked at her and saidyou were right about me.
She didn't nod, she didn'tgloat, she just gestured to the
page he was holding.
That part right there hitsdifferent.
(04:37):
The second time he looked downthe line underlined in pencil
and said what man really fearsis not so much extinction, but
extinction with insignificance.
He closed the book, held itlike a confession.
(05:00):
For the first time in a year hedidn't feel lost, just returned
, not to her, not yet, but tothe part of himself that still
believed connection wasn'tsomething you chase, it's
something that you return toquietly when the applause stops
(05:25):
and the room goes still.
They walked to the countertogether, didn't say much,
didn't need to.
She ordered coffee, he did too,and when they sat down to drink
it it wasn't a date, it wasn'ta moment, it was something far
(05:50):
more dangerous, it was real.
And real doesn't rush, realdoesn't explain itself, it just
begins again.
They didn't speak much for thefirst hour, not because they
were uncomfortable, but becausethe space between them had
(06:13):
changed shape.
She stirred her coffee slowlyno cream, no sugar.
He remembered that, but thistime he didn't point it out.
Instead he watched her eyesscan the room, not avoiding him,
just observing, like she alwaysdid.
(06:33):
Hey, did you ever finish thepaper?
He finally asked.
She nodded, yeah, it gotpublished actually.
Small journal niche, smalljournal Niche.
He smiled, of course it did.
Then silence again, not cold butaware.
(06:58):
He looked down at the book inhis hands.
I used to think this was yourfavorite because the way you
marked it up.
She glanced at it.
It was my favorite Because ofhow it didn't.
Let me look away from myself,he nodded slowly.
That part hadn't changed.
(07:22):
She still said things that feltlike clean cuts.
You look different, she saidsoftly.
He smirked the beard.
She shook her head.
No, just lighter, like youfinally put the costume down.
That one landed because shedidn't say it to flatter him.
That one landed Because shedidn't say it to flatter him.
(07:48):
He leaned forward, elbows onthe table.
You know he used to see mebetter than I saw myself.
I still do.
That stopped him, not becauseit was a compliment but because
it was a truth that didn'tdemand agreement.
He reached for the coffee, butit had gone cold.
(08:12):
Want to walk, she asked?
He blinked.
Yeah, yeah, I do.
They walked the long side of thecity past old bookstores, a
closed cafe that used to hold arhythm.
She told him about grad school,about a professor who hated her
(08:32):
thesis but cited it anyways.
He told her about silence andhow he started reading aloud to
empty rooms, just to hearsomething true again.
When they reached the park shestopped walking.
I used to come here aftershifts.
She said Back when you weretrying to sound like yourself.
(08:54):
He smiled.
Did I succeed?
You succeeded at something.
They sat on the bench.
Wayne moved through the treeslike a story almost ready to be
told, and he said something he'dbeen holding all day.
I wasn't ready to be known.
(09:15):
Back then I thought being seenwas the same as being loved.
She turned toward him and nowhe paused.
I'd rather be misunderstood bythe right person than be admired
by a thousand strangers.
She nodded For the first timein a long time.
(09:37):
The silence between them didn'tneed translation, it just
breathed.
They met the next day, notplanned but not entirely by
chance either.
He showed up at the samebookstore not to find another
(10:02):
book, just to see if she mightbe there.
She was in the philosophysection, this time cross-legged
on the floor tracing the marginof a paperback with a pen.
He didn't speak, just walkedpast, quietly present.
(10:24):
She didn't look up.
But when he reached the nextaisle she said without turning
you're walking heavier today.
He stopped, smiled to himselfShould I come back with softer
shoes?
No, just less pass.
No, just less pass.
(10:46):
He stepped around the corner,saw her looking up.
She gestured beside her.
He sat down.
The spine of the book in herhand read the Courage to Be.
He looked at it.
He always did pick titles thatsounded like confessions.
She shrugged they are.
(11:13):
They sat there cross-legged likechildren, pretending nothing
had been broken.
After a while she asked Did youmiss me?
He didn't flinch, he didn'tstall.
I missed who I was when I wasaround you.
She nodded slowly.
That's not the same thing.
(11:34):
He looked at her.
Now, fully.
No, but it was enough to findyou again.
Silence again.
But it wasn't awkward, it wasinvestigative.
You ever read something so true?
It made you angry, she asked.
He laughed quietly yeah, mostof my own journal.
(11:58):
She smiled.
Then you're getting closer.
He didn't ask what she meantDidn't need to.
They stood up together.
She brought the book.
He walked her outside.
It was colder today.
It's the kind of cold thatreminds you not everything can
(12:18):
be fixed by being seen At thecounter.
She said you know, for a whileI thought about writing you
letters, but it was just in myhead Every time I finished a
book or found a sentence that Iknew you'd love.
He looked down.
(12:39):
I would have read every one ofthem.
Yeah, but you weren't listening.
He nodded, I wasn't ready.
They didn't say goodbye.
They shared a glance thatcarried the weight of unfinished
(13:00):
years and, for the first timesince their reconnection, he
didn't feel the need to make itpoetic.
He just walked home, quiet,unarmed, real.
They met again.
This time it was her idea Anold garden courtyard behind the
(13:21):
university library, halfforgotten, mostly quiet.
She brought tea and a thermos.
He brought nothing but time.
They sat on a cracked stonebench under a canopy of tangled
vines.
There was no signal, no ambientmusic, no curated lighting,
just wind.
No ambient music, no createdlighting, just wind, and
(13:50):
something between them thatdidn't need performance.
You remember the panel?
You did, she asked.
He nodded you know the oneabout becoming the version of
yourself that feels most true.
Yeah, I was proud of that one.
You didn't look proud when Iwatched it.
He tilted his head.
(14:11):
Wait, you watched it.
Of course I did.
Then why didn't you sayanything?
She took a slow slip Becauseyou weren't really saying
anything either.
That stung, not because it wascruel, but because it wasn't.
(14:32):
He looked down at his hands.
I wanted to believe.
I was still grounded, still me.
She leaned forward.
I think you wanted to believeit so much you forgot to check
(14:53):
if it was true.
He sighed.
He always did make reflectionfeel like an ambush.
She smiled gently.
That's because you confusebeing challenged with being
attacked.
He didn't have a reply for that, so he nodded.
(15:14):
He sat in silence for a while.
She pulled a folded page fromher coat.
It was from a notebook.
She ripped at the edge.
I copied this for you.
He unfolded it.
A passage from a book he hadn'tread, one line underlined.
We return to what feelsunfinished, not because we need
(15:35):
closure, but because part of usstill lives there.
He read it twice.
I don't know what to say.
You don't have to.
It's just something that helpedme when I realized I wasn't
waiting for you to come back.
I was waiting to see if I stillwanted to meet you there.
(15:59):
He looked up and I'm here,aren't I?
He exhaled almost a laugh,almost a prayer Thank you, he
whispered, for the tea, no, fornot making me apologize for
(16:21):
every wrong thing I was.
Before I understood it, sheleaned back watching the clouds
shift between the trees.
You don't have to say sorry forbeing lost, just don't go back
to pretending you're not.
They didn't take a photo,didn't post about it, but he
(16:43):
wrote about it that night in thenotebook he stopped carrying
months ago and for the firsttime since she left.
He didn't write it for anyoneelse to see.
He wrote it just wrote it toremember how it felt to sit
across from someone who stillsaw him, beneath the echo.
(17:09):
A week passed before they saweach other again, not because of
fear, not avoidance, but rhythm.
They had become somethingpatient, like morning light
through tall curtains, notsudden but certain.
This time it was at a museummodern, stark, the kind of place
(17:34):
where people whisper to feelintelligent.
Modern, stark, the kind ofplace where people whisper to
feel intelligent.
He was already inside readingwall text, beside a piece that
looked like broken architecture.
She found him there, hands inhis pockets.
Gaze was soft.
I used to think this place wastrying too hard, she said from
behind.
He turned and smiled.
(17:57):
I think I was the one tryingtoo hard, she said from behind.
He turned and smiled.
I think I was the one tryingtoo hard.
They walked to the exhibit insilence.
Rooms full of almosts, shapesthat implied purpose, a hallway
of photographs no one wassmiling in.
She pointed at one, a black andwhite image of an empty chair
beside a full ashtray.
Tattles called what was left.
(18:20):
He stared.
She always knew when to leave.
Lena added almost to herself helooked at her.
I never did.
They walked a little longer,stopped in front of a sculpture
made of mirrors, but bent justenough to blur the reflection.
(18:40):
You know, he said, I used to beafraid of becoming someone I
didn't recognize.
And now he exhaled, I'm moreafraid of forgetting.
Who taught me to see myself?
Clearly?
She didn't respond right away.
Then I didn't teach you.
(19:03):
I just held the mirror steady.
He looked at her, really lookedat her.
You were always the steadierone.
She tilted her head.
No, I was just the one whodidn't need a stage.
(19:25):
Later, in the museum cafe, theysat with chamomile in silence.
There's no need to fill it.
She finally asked what are youdoing now Work-wise?
He shrugged I do someconsulting, some writing, mostly
trying not to lie to myself.
She nodded that sounds like ajob worth doing.
(19:49):
He chuckled.
I'd hire you to supervise.
I'd be strict, I know I needthat.
They smiled.
No flirtation, it was somethingbetter.
Familiarity without possession,respect without performance.
(20:09):
Before they left, he said Iused to chase meaning.
Now I try to notice it.
She replied Then we're bothdoing better than we were.
And they parted again.
Now finality, but withstillness, the kind that only
(20:32):
exists between two people whofinally stopped pretending that
they didn't miss each other.
It was a small cafe in adifferent part of town, one of
those places with no website, noloyalty program, just
handwritten menus and chairsthat didn't match.
She had picked it, texted themthe address and said this place
(20:56):
doesn't know who you are.
That's why I like it.
He laughed when he picked it,texted him the address and said
this place doesn't know who youare.
That's why I like it.
He laughed when he got it,laughed harder when he realized
when he arrived she was right.
The barista didn't greet himwith recognition.
No one stared.
No one asked what he wasworking on.
(21:16):
They just handed him a mug andpointed him toward the back.
She was already there, windowbehind her, two mugs, a single
notebook between them.
He sat down, still shaking offthe cold you chose well, I
(21:38):
always do.
She poured him some tea fromher mug.
He didn't ask why.
She didn't explain that's howthey were.
Now he looked at her notebookYours.
She nodded.
Want me to read something?
He nodded.
Want me to read something?
(21:59):
He nodded.
She opened a dog-eared page andbegan just a paragraph about
masks, about how some of thembecome skin, about how the
longer you wear them, the moreyou think your reflection owes
you something.
He didn't speak when shefinished, not because he didn't
(22:21):
understand, but because he did.
Did you write that for me?
He asked.
No, she said closing thenotebook.
But you helped me believe Icould.
They sat in the glow of thattruth.
For a moment.
I used to think I had to earnyour respect.
(22:42):
He confessed you didn't.
She said you just had to keepit.
He winced gently.
He looked down.
I know, but you're doing it now.
She added.
So let's not turn this into ahistory lesson.
(23:04):
He grinned.
That's the most gracefulforgiveness I've ever received.
She shrugged.
I'm not forgiving you.
I'm accepting that we bothdidn't know what we were doing.
He nodded.
I was trying to becomesomething and you were trying to
(23:26):
say something.
She smiled.
And now I'm just trying just tobe.
That's all I've ever wantedfrom you.
They finished their tea, didn'tcheck the time, didn't plan
another meeting.
When he left, she stood withhim Before he could speak.
(23:52):
She said I'm not waiting for anapology.
He shook his head.
I'm not waiting for an apology.
He shook his head.
I'm not giving one.
She raised an eyebrow.
Because you don't mean it.
No, because I'd rather show you.
She stared at him, measuringthat, then said then start with
(24:18):
walking me to the train.
He did Not because it wasanything big, but because it
meant something small.
And for once in his life heknew that was enough.
It had been two weeks sincethey started talking again, not
(24:39):
every day, but enough.
Enough that the phone buzzedwith her name and he didn't feel
like he needed to rehearse.
Enough that she laughed withoutcaution, that he didn't
second-guess the silence betweenmessages.
Enough that when she texted him, want to walk?
He answered Always.
They met near the edge of thecity, where the buildings turn
(25:02):
to trees and sidewalks disappear.
He brought nothing.
She brought two apples.
They walked for an hour, maybemore.
She talked about a paper.
She was hopping at it.
He talked about nothing, aboutclouds, about how weird it is
that people saying falling inlove like it's a mistake.
(25:26):
Maybe it is, she said, but notall mistakes are wrong.
He looked at her like he wasseeing the line etched into his
memory already.
And that's when it happened.
He said her name out loud, notdramatic, not emphasized, just
(25:50):
in the middle of a sentenceabout something he read.
And it stopped her, not becauseit was new, because he hadn't
said it in like over a year, notas an idea, not as a memory,
but as a person, real, present,right beside him.
She turned eyes softer thanthey've ever been.
(26:15):
You say it differently now.
He tilted his head.
Say what my name?
He paused.
He thought about it.
I guess.
I guess I mean it now.
She didn't answer with words,just leaned her lightly against
(26:41):
his shoulder as they keptwalking and in that moment he
didn't think about the past orwhat would happen next.
He just felt her name echo inhis chest, not as guilt, not as
regret, but as the one sound healways wanted to carry home.
(27:03):
Later they found a bench on theedge of the hill, the kind of
place where the city feels farenough to forget but close
enough to still mean something.
They sat without speaking for awhile.
Eventually he pulled somethingfrom his coat pocket A folded
(27:23):
napkin, an old, faded one, theone she had given him months ago
before everything changed.
Remember who was listeningbefore the room started clapping
.
He held it in his hands like hemight still offered directions.
I kept this.
(27:46):
She didn't say anything, didn'tneed to.
I didn't know what it meant atfirst he said Thought it was
about fame or noise, or wholiked me.
He looked up.
But now I think it was aboutthis, this silence, this space.
(28:09):
She looked at him, eyes calm.
She looked at him, eyes calm.
You finally stopped performing.
He nodded.
I didn't know how loud I'dbecome.
She smiled a small half curve.
You weren't loud, you were justechoing that word landed.
(28:35):
They watched the light shift onthe buildings far away, like
something important washappening just outside their
reach.
He looked at her again.
I don't want to go back Back towhat To being seen by people
who never really looked.
She took a deep breath, offeredhim the last bite of her apple,
(29:01):
then said I don't think you cango back, but you can choose who
you face forward with.
He took the apple bit once thenwhispered Say your name again'.
She tilted her head.
"'why'?
(29:21):
"'cause I want to feel it inyour voice'.
She looked at him, lookedthrough him, then simply said
Lena, and in that momentsomething in him settled, not
(29:42):
like an answer, but like thequestion finally made sense, and
together they sat, sat with aview, a name and the sound of
something returning that hadnever really left.
You know, there are momentsthat don't need an ending, just
(30:14):
an echo.
That's what this felt like, notlike a rekindling or
reconciliation, but like aremembering, like walking to a
room you forgot was yours andrealizing the furniture hasn't
moved.
It had been over a year sinceshe left, not dramatically, not
(30:38):
with silence or slamming doors,just with time.
And maybe that's the part thatstung the most that she didn't
fight to stay because the truthwas he didn't give her a reason
to, she didn't leave him, shejust graduated and moved forward
.
And he was too busy winning,you know, I guess you could say
(31:02):
he was too busy winning tonotice she was already fading
from the frame, you know, andthat's the.
That's the thing about momentumit feels or I should say it
makes silence feel likebackground noise, right until
(31:22):
it's the only sound left.
And now here.
He was not trying to fix it,not trying to prove anything,
just trying to be the kind ofman who could sit across from
her and not flinch at herhonesty.
(31:42):
If you've been following thestory, you already know where he
came from.
The first episode was barely awhisper.
He was a man walking, you know,I should say waking up,
honestly, without dread, for thefirst time, the small of you
know, he had the smallest ofwins.
And then the calendar startedbeing filled, the applause grew,
(32:03):
the mirror blurred, and then,you know, lena was that quiet
constant in his life.
You know, it was the voice thatnever asked to be center stage
just to be heard.
She never demanded attention,she just watched who he became
when he started getting iteverywhere else really, and when
(32:23):
it got loud, she got quiet, notto punish him, but because she
knew her worth.
And now, after all the stages,the panels, the headlines, the
rooms full of people who didn'tknow his real name, he finds her
again, not in the place sheused to work, not in the room he
(32:45):
left behind, but in the placesyou go when you stop performing,
but on the places you go whenyou stop performing.
And here's the truth.
This wasn't about her, it wasnever about her.
It was about him, about how heforgot to leave room for real
things While he was stillchasing things that looked real
(33:05):
from a distance.
It's not that success ruinedhim, it's that he let it define
him Once he started creating Ishould say, once you start
creating or curating, it's easy,for me to say your life to be
palatable to strangers you stopbeing edible to yourself.
And that's what happened, notin one day, but in hundreds of
(33:31):
small choices.
You know the coffee he didn'tfinish, the message he didn't
send, the silence he filled withnoise, the key he held like a
trophy instead of a reminder.
But now he's different, notbetter, not fully healed, but
he's quieter inside.
He doesn't try to proveanything.
(33:54):
When she looks at him now, andmaybe that's the win, not that
he got her back, but that heshowed up without needing her to
confirm his growth.
He showed up for himself.
He showed up for himself.
And if you're listening to thisnow, really listening.
(34:16):
Ask yourself have you stoppedlong enough to remember who used
to listen to you before youlearned how to perform?
Not just people Talk aboutparts of you.
You know the kid who didn'tneed a platform, the version of
you that didn't curate everymoment, the silence that didn't
(34:41):
ask to be filled.
Who have you become?
And, more importantly, who areyou still afraid to show up as?
Because I'm going to tell yousomething.
Here's the real secret thatreally no one tells you.
Real love won't chase you.
(35:03):
It'll wait at the corner ofpresence and peace and it will
not wave its arms or scream yourname.
It will sit quietly, calmly,warning if you'll ever return to
the part of yourself that knewhow to sit beside it without
(35:25):
looking for applause.
That's what Lena was Not a muse, not a romantic reward, a
mirror held steady until he wasready to look without flinching.
And now, now, he says her namedifferently because it's no
(35:47):
longer an idea, no longer amemory, but a person, real,
alive and choosing to be seen.
Not because he's perfect, butbecause he's honest.
Now he's still learning, stillwaking up some mornings
wondering if the key meantanything at all, but now he's
(36:09):
not chasing what it unlocks.
He meant anything at all.
But now he's not chasing whatit unlocks, he's learning how to
stay in the room withoutneeding the door to be open.
And that might be the real one,not the one he posts about, not
the one they quote him on, butthe one.
He lives quietly when someonesays his name and he answers
(36:33):
with all of himself.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto reflections.
Reflection number one who wasthe last person that made you
feel truly seen, without askingyou to change?
Number two have you ever letsomeone slip away because your
(36:56):
life got louder than yourpresence?
Number three what version ofyourself were you performing for
applause, and is that versionstill worth the cost?
Number four are there any names, memories or places that you
(37:20):
say differently now, because youfully mean them?
And number five what would itlook like to show up today, not
to prove you're better, but tobe real, and that is a massive
question.
So you know, guys, I gotta saysomething before we close this
(37:44):
out.
You know, we've all have hadAlina in our life in some way,
shape or form, either a familymember, a friend or a romantic
partner, and when you lose aLena in your life, you don't
realize how big the gap is untilthey're gone, and a lot of
(38:06):
times we don't get a second Lena.
So I'm going to tell you thisright now If you have a Lena in
your life male or female,romantic or plutonic hold on to
that person.
That person's going to help you.
And if you don't have a Lena,look for one.
But as we talk about that, aboutthat, I have just enjoyed this
(38:38):
series, so so very much.
I mean, it's kind of a littledifferent from what we've been
doing because it doesn't involvekings or anything mythical or
anything, you know, esoteric oranything like that.
This is just an honest togoodness esoteric or anything
like that.
That's just an honest togoodness and a lot of ways, love
story, you know, love storyabout himself and then, as you
can see here, falling in lovewith someone who is great for
(39:01):
him and it's it's a.
It's been a real pleasure towrite and I hope it's been a
pleasure to listen to.
So, as we're talking about that,talking about talking I guess
if you want to chat with meabout this series, this episode,
the 14 other series I have outthere and the 260 plus episodes,
there's three ways you can doit.
(39:22):
The first way is gonna be onthe chat function of this
podcast description.
It'll say let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this episode or this series, orthe 14 other series I have out
there in the 260 plus episodes,right?
Second one is going to bethrough my email.
(39:42):
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom.
Feel free to reach out to methere.
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
(40:02):
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
eight with the key to everything.
We are almost done with thisseries.
Wow, it's going by so fast, solet's go ahead and let's jump
(00:25):
into it.
It had been over a year sincehe saw her.
Not just a year of time, but oftexture, a different kind of
living, the kind that scrapesaway what's performative and
leaves only what endures.
He hadn't been in the cafe inmonths.
(00:47):
He heard they changed owners.
He wasn't sure if they kept thewindow seat.
He didn't ask.
Somewhere along the way theapplause stopped being a goal.
Then a memory, then a soundthat felt like someone else's
(01:07):
life.
This morning he wasn't lookingfor it, not for her, not for an
answer, just for a book.
He didn't even remember thetitle of, just the feeling it
(01:27):
gave him and that was enough.
He walked into the bookstorelike someone retracing steps,
not lost, just unfinished.
It was one of those quiet shops, no music, no staff picks
shouting for attention, justshelves that breathed.
(01:50):
He moved slowly Like somethingsacred was buried there.
It wasn't nostalgia, it wasneed, a need to find the thing
that reminded him of a woman whoonce underlined sentences like
there were lifelines.
Who once said distraction isn'tthe opposite of death, it's the
(02:15):
practice for it.
She said that with a half smileback when he still knew how to
listen.
Smile back when he still knewhow to listen.
And now, a year later, he waslistening again.
He walked to the psychologicalsection, not because he
remembered that's where she usedto read, but because his body
(02:39):
did.
There it was the denial ofdeath.
The same cover, the samebinding.
He opened it gently, like itmight speak.
Inside was an old receipt, nothis, it was dated last winter.
(03:01):
Someone else had read it.
Since he turned the page andread a paragraph, he felt
something stir, not her voice,his own, a version of it he
hadn't heard since she left.
And then, before he could putit back, a voice behind him,
soft, certain didn't think youwere the type to read footnotes
(03:28):
he froze.
That voice didn't belong tomemory, it belonged to now.
He turned and there she was.
No ceremony, no music swelling,just Lena Holding her own copy
of the same book.
No ceremony, no music, swelling, just Lena holding her own copy
(03:48):
of the same book.
Looking at him like time wasn'ta straight line anymore.
She didn't smile.
She didn't need to, she wasreal.
In that moment, the quietreturn of something unspoken
felt louder than any stage hestood on.
He didn't try to apologize, hedidn't reach for old jokes,
(04:16):
didn't pretend that nothing hadhappened.
He just looked at her and saidyou were right about me.
She didn't nod, she didn'tgloat, she just gestured to the
page he was holding.
That part right there hitsdifferent.
(04:37):
The second time he looked downthe line underlined in pencil
and said what man really fearsis not so much extinction, but
extinction with insignificance.
He closed the book, held itlike a confession.
(05:00):
For the first time in a year hedidn't feel lost, just returned
, not to her, not yet, but tothe part of himself that still
believed connection wasn'tsomething you chase, it's
something that you return toquietly when the applause stops
(05:25):
and the room goes still.
They walked to the countertogether, didn't say much,
didn't need to.
She ordered coffee, he did too,and when they sat down to drink
it it wasn't a date, it wasn'ta moment, it was something far
(05:50):
more dangerous, it was real.
And real doesn't rush, realdoesn't explain itself, it just
begins again.
They didn't speak much for thefirst hour, not because they
were uncomfortable, but becausethe space between them had
(06:13):
changed shape.
She stirred her coffee slowlyno cream, no sugar.
He remembered that, but thistime he didn't point it out.
Instead he watched her eyesscan the room, not avoiding him,
just observing, like she alwaysdid.
(06:33):
Hey, did you ever finish thepaper?
He finally asked.
She nodded, yeah, it gotpublished actually.
Small journal niche, smalljournal Niche.
He smiled, of course it did.
Then silence again, not cold butaware.
(06:58):
He looked down at the book inhis hands.
I used to think this was yourfavorite because the way you
marked it up.
She glanced at it.
It was my favorite Because ofhow it didn't.
Let me look away from myself,he nodded slowly.
That part hadn't changed.
(07:22):
She still said things that feltlike clean cuts.
You look different, she saidsoftly.
He smirked the beard.
She shook her head.
No, just lighter, like youfinally put the costume down.
That one landed because shedidn't say it to flatter him.
That one landed Because shedidn't say it to flatter him.
(07:48):
He leaned forward, elbows onthe table.
You know he used to see mebetter than I saw myself.
I still do.
That stopped him, not becauseit was a compliment but because
it was a truth that didn'tdemand agreement.
He reached for the coffee, butit had gone cold.
(08:12):
Want to walk, she asked?
He blinked.
Yeah, yeah, I do.
They walked the long side of thecity past old bookstores, a
closed cafe that used to hold arhythm.
She told him about grad school,about a professor who hated her
(08:32):
thesis but cited it anyways.
He told her about silence andhow he started reading aloud to
empty rooms, just to hearsomething true again.
When they reached the park shestopped walking.
I used to come here aftershifts.
She said Back when you weretrying to sound like yourself.
(08:54):
He smiled.
Did I succeed?
You succeeded at something.
They sat on the bench.
Wayne moved through the treeslike a story almost ready to be
told, and he said something he'dbeen holding all day.
I wasn't ready to be known.
(09:15):
Back then I thought being seenwas the same as being loved.
She turned toward him and nowhe paused.
I'd rather be misunderstood bythe right person than be admired
by a thousand strangers.
She nodded For the first timein a long time.
(09:37):
The silence between them didn'tneed translation, it just
breathed.
They met the next day, notplanned but not entirely by
chance either.
He showed up at the samebookstore not to find another
(10:02):
book, just to see if she mightbe there.
She was in the philosophysection, this time cross-legged
on the floor tracing the marginof a paperback with a pen.
He didn't speak, just walkedpast, quietly present.
(10:24):
She didn't look up.
But when he reached the nextaisle she said without turning
you're walking heavier today.
He stopped, smiled to himselfShould I come back with softer
shoes?
No, just less pass.
No, just less pass.
(10:46):
He stepped around the corner,saw her looking up.
She gestured beside her.
He sat down.
The spine of the book in herhand read the Courage to Be.
He looked at it.
He always did pick titles thatsounded like confessions.
She shrugged they are.
(11:13):
They sat there cross-legged likechildren, pretending nothing
had been broken.
After a while she asked Did youmiss me?
He didn't flinch, he didn'tstall.
I missed who I was when I wasaround you.
She nodded slowly.
That's not the same thing.
(11:34):
He looked at her.
Now, fully.
No, but it was enough to findyou again.
Silence again.
But it wasn't awkward, it wasinvestigative.
You ever read something so true?
It made you angry, she asked.
He laughed quietly yeah, mostof my own journal.
(11:58):
She smiled.
Then you're getting closer.
He didn't ask what she meantDidn't need to.
They stood up together.
She brought the book.
He walked her outside.
It was colder today.
It's the kind of cold thatreminds you not everything can
(12:18):
be fixed by being seen At thecounter.
She said you know, for a whileI thought about writing you
letters, but it was just in myhead Every time I finished a
book or found a sentence that Iknew you'd love.
He looked down.
(12:39):
I would have read every one ofthem.
Yeah, but you weren't listening.
He nodded, I wasn't ready.
They didn't say goodbye.
They shared a glance thatcarried the weight of unfinished
(13:00):
years and, for the first timesince their reconnection, he
didn't feel the need to make itpoetic.
He just walked home, quiet,unarmed, real.
They met again.
This time it was her idea Anold garden courtyard behind the
(13:21):
university library, halfforgotten, mostly quiet.
She brought tea and a thermos.
He brought nothing but time.
They sat on a cracked stonebench under a canopy of tangled
vines.
There was no signal, no ambientmusic, no curated lighting,
just wind.
No ambient music, no createdlighting, just wind, and
(13:50):
something between them thatdidn't need performance.
You remember the panel?
You did, she asked.
He nodded you know the oneabout becoming the version of
yourself that feels most true.
Yeah, I was proud of that one.
You didn't look proud when Iwatched it.
He tilted his head.
(14:11):
Wait, you watched it.
Of course I did.
Then why didn't you sayanything?
She took a slow slip Becauseyou weren't really saying
anything either.
That stung, not because it wascruel, but because it wasn't.
(14:32):
He looked down at his hands.
I wanted to believe.
I was still grounded, still me.
She leaned forward.
I think you wanted to believeit so much you forgot to check
(14:53):
if it was true.
He sighed.
He always did make reflectionfeel like an ambush.
She smiled gently.
That's because you confusebeing challenged with being
attacked.
He didn't have a reply for that, so he nodded.
(15:14):
He sat in silence for a while.
She pulled a folded page fromher coat.
It was from a notebook.
She ripped at the edge.
I copied this for you.
He unfolded it.
A passage from a book he hadn'tread, one line underlined.
We return to what feelsunfinished, not because we need
(15:35):
closure, but because part of usstill lives there.
He read it twice.
I don't know what to say.
You don't have to.
It's just something that helpedme when I realized I wasn't
waiting for you to come back.
I was waiting to see if I stillwanted to meet you there.
(15:59):
He looked up and I'm here,aren't I?
He exhaled almost a laugh,almost a prayer Thank you, he
whispered, for the tea, no, fornot making me apologize for
(16:21):
every wrong thing I was.
Before I understood it, sheleaned back watching the clouds
shift between the trees.
You don't have to say sorry forbeing lost, just don't go back
to pretending you're not.
They didn't take a photo,didn't post about it, but he
(16:43):
wrote about it that night in thenotebook he stopped carrying
months ago and for the firsttime since she left.
He didn't write it for anyoneelse to see.
He wrote it just wrote it toremember how it felt to sit
across from someone who stillsaw him, beneath the echo.
(17:09):
A week passed before they saweach other again, not because of
fear, not avoidance, but rhythm.
They had become somethingpatient, like morning light
through tall curtains, notsudden but certain.
This time it was at a museummodern, stark, the kind of place
(17:34):
where people whisper to feelintelligent.
Modern, stark, the kind ofplace where people whisper to
feel intelligent.
He was already inside readingwall text, beside a piece that
looked like broken architecture.
She found him there, hands inhis pockets.
Gaze was soft.
I used to think this place wastrying too hard, she said from
behind.
He turned and smiled.
(17:57):
I think I was the one tryingtoo hard, she said from behind.
He turned and smiled.
I think I was the one tryingtoo hard.
They walked to the exhibit insilence.
Rooms full of almosts, shapesthat implied purpose, a hallway
of photographs no one wassmiling in.
She pointed at one, a black andwhite image of an empty chair
beside a full ashtray.
Tattles called what was left.
(18:20):
He stared.
She always knew when to leave.
Lena added almost to herself helooked at her.
I never did.
They walked a little longer,stopped in front of a sculpture
made of mirrors, but bent justenough to blur the reflection.
(18:40):
You know, he said, I used to beafraid of becoming someone I
didn't recognize.
And now he exhaled, I'm moreafraid of forgetting.
Who taught me to see myself?
Clearly?
She didn't respond right away.
Then I didn't teach you.
(19:03):
I just held the mirror steady.
He looked at her, really lookedat her.
You were always the steadierone.
She tilted her head.
No, I was just the one whodidn't need a stage.
(19:25):
Later, in the museum cafe, theysat with chamomile in silence.
There's no need to fill it.
She finally asked what are youdoing now Work-wise?
He shrugged I do someconsulting, some writing, mostly
trying not to lie to myself.
She nodded that sounds like ajob worth doing.
(19:49):
He chuckled.
I'd hire you to supervise.
I'd be strict, I know I needthat.
They smiled.
No flirtation, it was somethingbetter.
Familiarity without possession,respect without performance.
(20:09):
Before they left, he said Iused to chase meaning.
Now I try to notice it.
She replied Then we're bothdoing better than we were.
And they parted again.
Now finality, but withstillness, the kind that only
(20:32):
exists between two people whofinally stopped pretending that
they didn't miss each other.
It was a small cafe in adifferent part of town, one of
those places with no website, noloyalty program, just
handwritten menus and chairsthat didn't match.
She had picked it, texted themthe address and said this place
(20:56):
doesn't know who you are.
That's why I like it.
He laughed when he picked it,texted him the address and said
this place doesn't know who youare.
That's why I like it.
He laughed when he got it,laughed harder when he realized
when he arrived she was right.
The barista didn't greet himwith recognition.
No one stared.
No one asked what he wasworking on.
(21:16):
They just handed him a mug andpointed him toward the back.
She was already there, windowbehind her, two mugs, a single
notebook between them.
He sat down, still shaking offthe cold you chose well, I
(21:38):
always do.
She poured him some tea fromher mug.
He didn't ask why.
She didn't explain that's howthey were.
Now he looked at her notebookYours.
She nodded.
Want me to read something?
He nodded.
Want me to read something?
(21:59):
He nodded.
She opened a dog-eared page andbegan just a paragraph about
masks, about how some of thembecome skin, about how the
longer you wear them, the moreyou think your reflection owes
you something.
He didn't speak when shefinished, not because he didn't
(22:21):
understand, but because he did.
Did you write that for me?
He asked.
No, she said closing thenotebook.
But you helped me believe Icould.
They sat in the glow of thattruth.
For a moment.
I used to think I had to earnyour respect.
(22:42):
He confessed you didn't.
She said you just had to keepit.
He winced gently.
He looked down.
I know, but you're doing it now.
She added.
So let's not turn this into ahistory lesson.
(23:04):
He grinned.
That's the most gracefulforgiveness I've ever received.
She shrugged.
I'm not forgiving you.
I'm accepting that we bothdidn't know what we were doing.
He nodded.
I was trying to becomesomething and you were trying to
(23:26):
say something.
She smiled.
And now I'm just trying just tobe.
That's all I've ever wantedfrom you.
They finished their tea, didn'tcheck the time, didn't plan
another meeting.
When he left, she stood withhim Before he could speak.
(23:52):
She said I'm not waiting for anapology.
He shook his head.
I'm not waiting for an apology.
He shook his head.
I'm not giving one.
She raised an eyebrow.
Because you don't mean it.
No, because I'd rather show you.
She stared at him, measuringthat, then said then start with
(24:18):
walking me to the train.
He did Not because it wasanything big, but because it
meant something small.
And for once in his life heknew that was enough.
It had been two weeks sincethey started talking again, not
(24:39):
every day, but enough.
Enough that the phone buzzedwith her name and he didn't feel
like he needed to rehearse.
Enough that she laughed withoutcaution, that he didn't
second-guess the silence betweenmessages.
Enough that when she texted him, want to walk?
He answered Always.
They met near the edge of thecity, where the buildings turn
(25:02):
to trees and sidewalks disappear.
He brought nothing.
She brought two apples.
They walked for an hour, maybemore.
She talked about a paper.
She was hopping at it.
He talked about nothing, aboutclouds, about how weird it is
that people saying falling inlove like it's a mistake.
(25:26):
Maybe it is, she said, but notall mistakes are wrong.
He looked at her like he wasseeing the line etched into his
memory already.
And that's when it happened.
He said her name out loud, notdramatic, not emphasized, just
(25:50):
in the middle of a sentenceabout something he read.
And it stopped her, not becauseit was new, because he hadn't
said it in like over a year, notas an idea, not as a memory,
but as a person, real, present,right beside him.
She turned eyes softer thanthey've ever been.
(26:15):
You say it differently now.
He tilted his head.
Say what my name?
He paused.
He thought about it.
I guess.
I guess I mean it now.
She didn't answer with words,just leaned her lightly against
(26:41):
his shoulder as they keptwalking and in that moment he
didn't think about the past orwhat would happen next.
He just felt her name echo inhis chest, not as guilt, not as
regret, but as the one sound healways wanted to carry home.
(27:03):
Later they found a bench on theedge of the hill, the kind of
place where the city feels farenough to forget but close
enough to still mean something.
They sat without speaking for awhile.
Eventually he pulled somethingfrom his coat pocket A folded
(27:23):
napkin, an old, faded one, theone she had given him months ago
before everything changed.
Remember who was listeningbefore the room started clapping
.
He held it in his hands like hemight still offered directions.
I kept this.
(27:46):
She didn't say anything, didn'tneed to.
I didn't know what it meant atfirst he said Thought it was
about fame or noise, or wholiked me.
He looked up.
But now I think it was aboutthis, this silence, this space.
(28:09):
She looked at him, eyes calm.
She looked at him, eyes calm.
You finally stopped performing.
He nodded.
I didn't know how loud I'dbecome.
She smiled a small half curve.
You weren't loud, you were justechoing that word landed.
(28:35):
They watched the light shift onthe buildings far away, like
something important washappening just outside their
reach.
He looked at her again.
I don't want to go back Back towhat To being seen by people
who never really looked.
She took a deep breath, offeredhim the last bite of her apple,
(29:01):
then said I don't think you cango back, but you can choose who
you face forward with.
He took the apple bit once thenwhispered Say your name again'.
She tilted her head.
"'why'?
(29:21):
"'cause I want to feel it inyour voice'.
She looked at him, lookedthrough him, then simply said
Lena, and in that momentsomething in him settled, not
(29:42):
like an answer, but like thequestion finally made sense, and
together they sat, sat with aview, a name and the sound of
something returning that hadnever really left.
You know, there are momentsthat don't need an ending, just
(30:14):
an echo.
That's what this felt like, notlike a rekindling or
reconciliation, but like aremembering, like walking to a
room you forgot was yours andrealizing the furniture hasn't
moved.
It had been over a year sinceshe left, not dramatically, not
(30:38):
with silence or slamming doors,just with time.
And maybe that's the part thatstung the most that she didn't
fight to stay because the truthwas he didn't give her a reason
to, she didn't leave him, shejust graduated and moved forward
.
And he was too busy winning,you know, I guess you could say
(31:02):
he was too busy winning tonotice she was already fading
from the frame, you know, andthat's the.
That's the thing about momentumit feels or I should say it
makes silence feel likebackground noise, right until
(31:22):
it's the only sound left.
And now here.
He was not trying to fix it,not trying to prove anything,
just trying to be the kind ofman who could sit across from
her and not flinch at herhonesty.
(31:42):
If you've been following thestory, you already know where he
came from.
The first episode was barely awhisper.
He was a man walking, you know,I should say waking up,
honestly, without dread, for thefirst time, the small of you
know, he had the smallest ofwins.
And then the calendar startedbeing filled, the applause grew,
(32:03):
the mirror blurred, and then,you know, lena was that quiet
constant in his life.
You know, it was the voice thatnever asked to be center stage
just to be heard.
She never demanded attention,she just watched who he became
when he started getting iteverywhere else really, and when
(32:23):
it got loud, she got quiet, notto punish him, but because she
knew her worth.
And now, after all the stages,the panels, the headlines, the
rooms full of people who didn'tknow his real name, he finds her
again, not in the place sheused to work, not in the room he
(32:45):
left behind, but in the placesyou go when you stop performing,
but on the places you go whenyou stop performing.
And here's the truth.
This wasn't about her, it wasnever about her.
It was about him, about how heforgot to leave room for real
things While he was stillchasing things that looked real
(33:05):
from a distance.
It's not that success ruinedhim, it's that he let it define
him Once he started creating Ishould say, once you start
creating or curating, it's easy,for me to say your life to be
palatable to strangers you stopbeing edible to yourself.
And that's what happened, notin one day, but in hundreds of
(33:31):
small choices.
You know the coffee he didn'tfinish, the message he didn't
send, the silence he filled withnoise, the key he held like a
trophy instead of a reminder.
But now he's different, notbetter, not fully healed, but
he's quieter inside.
He doesn't try to proveanything.
(33:54):
When she looks at him now, andmaybe that's the win, not that
he got her back, but that heshowed up without needing her to
confirm his growth.
He showed up for himself.
He showed up for himself.
And if you're listening to thisnow, really listening.
(34:16):
Ask yourself have you stoppedlong enough to remember who used
to listen to you before youlearned how to perform?
Not just people Talk aboutparts of you.
You know the kid who didn'tneed a platform, the version of
you that didn't curate everymoment, the silence that didn't
(34:41):
ask to be filled.
Who have you become?
And, more importantly, who areyou still afraid to show up as?
Because I'm going to tell yousomething.
Here's the real secret thatreally no one tells you.
Real love won't chase you.
(35:03):
It'll wait at the corner ofpresence and peace and it will
not wave its arms or scream yourname.
It will sit quietly, calmly,warning if you'll ever return to
the part of yourself that knewhow to sit beside it without
(35:25):
looking for applause.
That's what Lena was Not a muse, not a romantic reward, a
mirror held steady until he wasready to look without flinching.
And now, now, he says her namedifferently because it's no
(35:47):
longer an idea, no longer amemory, but a person, real,
alive and choosing to be seen.
Not because he's perfect, butbecause he's honest.
Now he's still learning, stillwaking up some mornings
wondering if the key meantanything at all, but now he's
(36:09):
not chasing what it unlocks.
He meant anything at all.
But now he's not chasing whatit unlocks, he's learning how to
stay in the room withoutneeding the door to be open.
And that might be the real one,not the one he posts about, not
the one they quote him on, butthe one.
He lives quietly when someonesays his name and he answers
(36:33):
with all of himself.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto reflections.
Reflection number one who wasthe last person that made you
feel truly seen, without askingyou to change?
Number two have you ever letsomeone slip away because your
(36:56):
life got louder than yourpresence?
Number three what version ofyourself were you performing for
applause, and is that versionstill worth the cost?
Number four are there any names, memories or places that you
(37:20):
say differently now, because youfully mean them?
And number five what would itlook like to show up today, not
to prove you're better, but tobe real, and that is a massive
question.
So you know, guys, I gotta saysomething before we close this
(37:44):
out.
You know, we've all have hadAlina in our life in some way,
shape or form, either a familymember, a friend or a romantic
partner, and when you lose aLena in your life, you don't
realize how big the gap is untilthey're gone, and a lot of
(38:06):
times we don't get a second Lena.
So I'm going to tell you thisright now If you have a Lena in
your life male or female,romantic or plutonic hold on to
that person.
That person's going to help you.
And if you don't have a Lena,look for one.
But as we talk about that, aboutthat, I have just enjoyed this
(38:38):
series, so so very much.
I mean, it's kind of a littledifferent from what we've been
doing because it doesn't involvekings or anything mythical or
anything, you know, esoteric oranything like that.
This is just an honest togoodness esoteric or anything
like that.
That's just an honest togoodness and a lot of ways, love
story, you know, love storyabout himself and then, as you
can see here, falling in lovewith someone who is great for
(39:01):
him and it's it's a.
It's been a real pleasure towrite and I hope it's been a
pleasure to listen to.
So, as we're talking about that,talking about talking I guess
if you want to chat with meabout this series, this episode,
the 14 other series I have outthere and the 260 plus episodes,
there's three ways you can doit.
(39:22):
The first way is gonna be onthe chat function of this
podcast description.
It'll say let's chat.
You click on that and you and Ican have a conversation about
this episode or this series, orthe 14 other series I have out
there in the 260 plus episodes,right?
Second one is going to bethrough my email.
(39:42):
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom.
Feel free to reach out to methere.
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
(40:02):
today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
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