July 23, 2025 • 30 mins
What happens when the applause stops? Not with a dramatic crash, but with a quiet fade—the kind you might not notice until the silence becomes impossible to ignore?
Through a compelling narrative, we journey alongside someone experiencing this profound shift—watching as notifications slow, invitations dwindle, and the version of self carefully crafted for public consumption begins to feel hollow. This isn't a story about catastrophic failure. It's about something more subtle and universal: the drift that happens when we've built our identity around external validation, and that validation begins to evaporate.
We've all experienced versions of this drift—those moments when we realize we've been performing rather than being, curating rather than creating, echoing rather than speaking truth. The protagonist's journey mirrors our own struggles with authenticity in a world that rewards performance and personal branding. As they navigate the uncomfortable silence of fading relevance, we're invited to examine our own relationship with success, recognition, and self-worth.
The episode culminates with five powerful reflection questions designed to reconnect you with your authentic self: When were you last celebrated for something you didn't promote? What version of yourself are you still performing to keep applause coming? What places once felt sacred but now feel distant? Who listened to you before you had answers? And perhaps most importantly—if the noise stopped right now, would you still know how to be proud of yourself?
This exploration isn't about rejecting success or refusing recognition—it's about ensuring we don't lose ourselves in pursuit of it. It's about rediscovering the key that unlocks our true voice, not just the echo that gained approval.
Ready to examine your own relationship with authenticity and success? Listen now, and then reach out through the contact information provided. Your journey toward creating your own reality starts with recognizing the difference between the echo and the voice.
"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode six
with the key to everything.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto it.
There's a moment, just beforeyou fall asleep, when the
(00:26):
silence in the room feelsheavier than usual, not darker,
just full, like something iswaiting to be noticed.
That's what it felt like thefirst time he realized he hadn't
been emailed in two days.
Not a long time, but longenough to feel the shift, the
(00:55):
kind of quiet that doesn't knock.
It just sits besides you andwaits for you to admit that
maybe you were only everinteresting because you were
rising.
He replayed old interviews thatnight, listened to himself on
panels, watched a clip wheresomeone called him the voice of
(01:17):
a generation, didn't land thesame, because when you're not
being asked anymore, the echoesstart to sound like
impersonations, and that's thetruth about applause.
It never said it would stay,never signed a contract, never
(01:38):
promised to come back if youchanged the lighting or rewrote
the caption.
It just left quietly, withoutguilt, and in that stillness he
finally asked the question.
He had been too loud to hearbefore.
What happens when no one iswatching?
(02:00):
He woke up to a quieter phone.
No blinking notifications, nocalendar buzz demanding urgency
no one is watching.
He woke up to a quieter phone,no blinking notifications, no
calendar buzz demanding urgency,just the soft blue of the
morning sweeping throughhalf-closed blinds.
He laid there longer than usualand noticed the silence Not as
(02:26):
peace but as absence.
A week ago his mornings beganwith inbox fire drills and slack
pings.
Now nothing.
At first it felt like a glitch.
He refreshed twice, then athird time, but everything still
held.
(02:46):
Stillness was not new to him,but stillness after applause,
that was something else.
He got up anyways.
He showered.
He dressed, chose, the goodshirt, the one he usually
reserved for being seen Out ofhabit more than belief, as if
(03:07):
dressing for momentum mightsummon it again.
He poured his coffee, black,strong.
No Lena to add the second cup.
No notes on napkins, no subtlesmiles waiting to ask him if he
was still pretending.
He missed her presence morethan her voice, the way she had
(03:29):
a habit of looking at him likehe hadn't told the truth that
mattered.
The cafe was quieter now too.
A new barista, kind but notcurious.
The window seat wasn't saved,the cup didn't have a quote and
no one asked how the panel went.
He sat down anyways, watchedthe street like it was trying to
(03:54):
tell him something.
What had changed?
Was it him?
He'd done everything right,said yes at the right times,
smiled the right way, turned histhoughts into phrases people
wanted to quote.
He was supposed to feel full.
Instead he felt paused.
(04:15):
The first invitation hedeclined came a few days ago,
not because he didn't want to go, but because the topic felt
tired same panel, different room.
And he didn't want to go, butbecause the topic felt tired
Same panel, different room.
He didn't want to hear himselfsay the same thing again.
The second was a strategy call.
He didn't even open the link.
(04:36):
He was drifting, but he toldhimself it was rest.
That was a natural exhale afterthe high, but inside a quiet
panic began to set in.
What if it wasn't rest?
What if the applause had simplymoved on?
(04:57):
The days blurred, not in speed,but in sameness.
There were no disasters, no, nodownfalls, just deceleration.
The inbox didn't crash, it justfaded.
A few polite replies, fewer newthreads.
(05:17):
The algorithm that once feltlike an engine began to coast.
And somewhere inside he knewthe applause wasn't just on
pause, it was gone.
He started showing up again tothe cafe to his own thoughts.
But it wasn't presence, it wasrepetition.
(05:38):
The new barista smiled at himlike any other customer.
The coffee tasted the same, butthe ritual felt hollow.
He missed how Lena used to knowwhen he needed silence versus
when he needed a mirror.
He didn't realize how rare thatwas.
Someone who knew how to handyour own voice without
(06:01):
interrupting it.
Hand your own voice withoutinterrupting it.
Now all he heard was an echo.
He posted anyways, wrotecaptions with the kind of glow
people like, but something inhis tone it changed.
It was a little more try, alittle less truth.
(06:27):
One morning he watched someoneelse, tagged in a pose that once
had been his.
A younger voice, a sharper suit, louder certainty.
He told himself it was goodTime to pass the mic, but it
stung anyways.
He tried calling someone fromhis old circle, someone who used
to orbit the same events.
They talked briefly, theconversation felt like it was
(06:48):
written in advance Lines, theysaid too many times before
Nothing landed.
That night he pulled out thefolder, the one filled with old
essays, notes, pages scribbledwith the first version of what
he wanted to become.
He read them like a stranger,and then he saw her handwriting
(07:14):
A note from Lena, tucked betweentwo pages, a quote from a book
he never finished.
It said the self you perform isnot the self you survive.
He sat back, he closed his eyes.
What if this wasn't collapse?
(07:36):
What if this was emergence?
But he didn't write that down,not yet.
He just stared at the wall fora while.
The quiet wasn't hauntinganymore, it was honest, and it
asked him if the audience neverreturns, who do you want to
(07:59):
become anyway?
He used to remember every room,the temperature, the buzz, the
way people leaned in when hespoke, but this one, the one he
walked into today, it feltdifferent.
Same wood floors, same velvetchairs, same lighting.
(08:25):
That made everyone lookintentional, but no one looked
up when he entered.
It wasn't disrespect, it wasneutrality, and that that's what
hurt the most.
They didn't expect anythingfrom him, not because they
didn't believe in him, butbecause they didn't need him,
(08:48):
not anymore.
The panel went fine, not great,not awful, just fine.
He answered questions withpolished pauses, laughed at the
right moments, said things thatfelt true once, but now they
(09:10):
just felt practiced.
Afterward a man came up to him,younger, confident, told him
he'd been a fan for years, saidhis work helped him through a
dark time.
Then he asked if he still wrotelike that anymore him.
Then he asked if he still wrotelike that anymore.
He lied, he said yes.
They shook hands.
(09:36):
The man walked away and he stoodthere feeling like someone had
just handed him the version ofhimself.
He forgot how to be.
He walked outside before thelast talk wrapped, stood in the
alley, checked his phone no newmessages, not even from the team
that booked him.
He looked at his own website,read the bio he wrote two years
ago.
It didn't sound like him.
(09:58):
It was too crisp, too clean,too full of the kind of clarity
that only works in retrospect.
He missed mess, missed the kindof clarity that only works in
retrospect.
He missed mess, missed theversion of himself who still
tumbled towards the truthinstead of branding it.
On the way back to his hotel, hepassed a bookstore, small,
(10:22):
quiet, tucked between a yogastudio and a candle shop.
He almost kept walking, butsomething stopped him.
Not memory, not even hope, justache.
He stepped inside the scent ofold pages, the hush of paper
(10:44):
instead of applause.
He moved slowly.
He noticed a display books thatfound us first, and there it
was the denial of death.
The same worn cover, the oneLena, once anointed with pink
highlighter and side notes.
(11:05):
He picked it up Not to buy,just to hold.
And that's when it hit him.
It was never the applause thatmade him feel real.
It was the one person wholistened before the applause
(11:27):
ever started.
And now the room that clappedfirst was empty, not because
people stopped showing up, butbecause he stopped bringing the
version of himself worth showing.
He sat in the bookstore for along time, didn't buy anything,
didn't post a picture, didn'twrite a caption.
(11:49):
He just sat, held the book andwhispered something he hadn't
said in a long time I miss you.
He wasn't sure who he meant itfor.
Was it her or the version ofhimself?
She once looked at like hemattered, without trying.
Maybe both.
(12:11):
Maybe that's why the applausefaded, because it was never
meant to be followed.
It was meant to be noticed andlet go so he could finally hear
what comes next.
It started like a glitch, so hecould finally hear what comes
next.
It started like a glitch.
(12:32):
He opened his inbox, refreshed,waited Nothing, not even the
junk.
He checked the filters, checkedthe Wi-Fi, checked the clock,
but the silence wasn't technical, it was personal, the kind that
knows your rhythms, yourtriggers and picks the moment
(12:55):
you finally feel stable tovanish.
He sat back in his chair.
He tried to rationalize.
It's the weekend, it's aholiday, somewhere.
Maybe the campaign didn't goout yet.
But beneath the logic,something deeper stirred.
(13:18):
It wasn't just an inbox.
It was proof he was stillwanted, still relevant, still in
orbit.
He left the laptop open andstood up, paced the room like it
might help, pulled out hisnotebook, wrote a title the echo
(13:42):
is not the voice.
Then nothing, not a singlesentence after it.
Even his pen was waiting forsomeone else to speak.
First he tried recording avoice memo, got through 20
seconds before hitting delete.
His voice sounded like it wasimpersonating itself.
(14:04):
He used to have something tosay.
Now he wasn't sure what tothink.
He made coffee.
Then he let it go cold.
Opened his social media,scrolled until his thumb hurt.
Still no mention, no repost, nomessage from someone saying
(14:29):
they needed that today.
But it only had been a few days.
But in this world that's enoughto feel like you died while
still breathing.
He turned off his phone, not todetox, just to test something.
Not to detox, just to testsomething, would anyone notice?
He sat by the window, watchedthe light change and for the
(14:56):
first time in a long time, hefelt it not loneliness but
unrecognition.
He was no longer Not lonelinessbut unrecognition.
He was no longer the version ofhimself People had memorized.
He wasn't even sure herecognized himself anymore.
(15:20):
He opened a drawer, pulled outthe key, held it like it might
vibrate or glow or whisper, butit didn't do anything, just sat
there, cold, familiar, andsuddenly he remembered Lena
(15:41):
saying if the key only workswhen people are looking.
It was never a key, it was justa prop.
He closed his hand around it.
He didn't speak, he didn't cry,he didn't move, he just sat
(16:09):
there, sat there in the quiet,listening to a version of
himself that had finally run outof lines to recite.
He used to check his reflectionbefore walking in a room, not to
(16:29):
admire it, just to make sure itwas the version of him.
People expected the confidentone, the polished one, the one
with answers.
But lately there was noreflection to check, not because
the mirrors were gone, butbecause he stopped looking.
(16:50):
That morning he didn't shave,didn't iron the shirt, didn't
rework the caption beforeposting.
He just left, walked to aco-working space he hadn't
visited in months, a place.
(17:12):
That used to feel like ambition.
Now it just felt like residue.
People still smiled, stillwaved, still asked about his
next big thing.
He lied.
He said something vague, noddedlike he believed it, then found
(17:32):
a desk in the back and sat down.
He opened his laptop, stared atthe blinking cursor.
The thing about being good withwords is that you can hide
behind them.
But today, even that shieldfelt thin.
He opened an old file, one ofthe first essays that got him
(17:53):
noticed.
The voice felt warmer, morehuman, less branded.
He read it like it belonged tosomeone else, someone who hadn't
learned how to be liked.
That version wasn't smarter ormore strategic.
He was just closer to thesource.
(18:13):
The next tab was a keynote deckscheduled for next week.
He was supposed to close theevent Big stage, big spotlight.
He tried rehearsing, but everyline sounded like a parody.
He couldn't remember why any ofit mattered.
That's when he opened a blankdocument and typed one sentence.
(18:36):
I don't know what I'm doinganymore.
And for once it wasn't a crisis.
It was beginning, not the kindyou announce, the kind you
whisper To yourself.
He closed the laptop, walkedoutside.
(18:59):
The air was dry, sky clear, nosigns, no metaphors, just
weather.
On the walk home he passed thebookstore again, paused then
kept walking.
He wasn't ready yet, but heknew something.
Now there's a version ofsuccess that looks like control
(19:21):
and a version of truth thatlooks like letting go, and the
longer he held the former, theharder it was to feel the latter
.
He got home, pulled out thedrawer, held the key again.
This time he didn't ask it foranswers, he just asked himself
(19:42):
one thing what if the version Ibecome was never the one she
believed in?
And that's when the silencestopped feeling empty.
It felt earned.
He didn't realize it, but ithad been a week since anyone
(20:03):
clapped, not metaphorically,literally.
No events, no panels, no callswith applause emojis, just
silence and routine and space.
At first it felt like failure,but now it felt like honesty.
(20:29):
He made eggs that morning.
He made eggs that morning, realones, not protein powder in a
shaker.
He didn't post the plate, hedidn't angle it toward a window,
he just ate it.
He checked his calendar Threethings cancelled, no new invites
and strangely he didn't fillthe space.
(20:49):
He walked instead.
No destination, just a looparound the same block where it
all began.
That cafe Still there, stillopen, same chairs, but the
window seat was empty, he didn'tgo in, didn't want to see
someone else sitting there,didn't want to test if they
(21:13):
remembered his order.
He thought about her.
Of course he did.
He thought about the way sheasked questions that didn't land
until days later, about how sheused to slide napkins across
the table like they were secrets, and the one time she said the
applause isn't bad, it's justnot proof.
(21:33):
He hadn't understood it then,but he did now.
He spent the afternoonorganizing files, the folder of
quotes she used to give him,some typed, some handwritten.
He read them like a map, notback to her but back to himself.
(21:55):
One of them read when the showends, the lights don't go off,
they just change rooms.
He sat with that one the longestthat night.
He made tea, real tea, looseleaf, boiled the water, let it
seep.
He watched the steam rise inthe quiet.
(22:17):
He didn't think about captions,didn't think of legacy, he
thought about breath, the kindyou don't notice when you're
pretending to be certain.
He hadn't written anything indays, hadn't felt the need, and
that too felt honest.
But as he reached for hisnotebook that night just to see
(22:41):
if something wanted to come out,he didn't write a plan.
He wrote a sentence when no oneis watching, do I still show up
?
And for once he wasn't askingthe audience, he was asking
himself and for the first timein a long time he didn't need
(23:08):
the applause to answer, applauseto answer.
You know, there's something thatno one tells you about the
applause, not that it fades, orjust fades, I should say, but
(23:38):
that it echoes Long after theroom has emptied, long after the
lights have dimmed.
You still hear it in yourhabits, in your choices, in the
way you tell stories to yourself.
This week you watched it fade,not because he failed, but
because success can be its ownkind of forgetting.
See, he remembered the versionof himself that got noticed.
He just couldn't remember whythat version was built in the
(24:03):
first place.
He stopped showing up to thepage, stopped opening the cafe
door, stopped sitting in thechair while the truth used to
wait for him.
And maybe you've done that too.
Maybe there was a time when youwere present fully, when the
(24:24):
silence didn't scare you, whenyour words weren't curated for
consumption, when the person youwere becoming still felt like
someone you could trust.
But then momentum arrived, orvalidation, or an opportunity so
big you had to pretend you wereready, even if you weren't.
(24:48):
So you became good at the echo,the applause, the brand and
slowly, quietly, you stoppedasking, you stopped asking who I
was before this worked.
And see, that's the moment wemiss, not the moment of collapse
(25:15):
, but the space right before it,where nothing goes wrong but
everything goes dim.
Right, this episode, it was notabout failure, it wasn't.
It was about drift.
You know, the kind that doesn'tannounce itself, the kind that
(25:36):
doesn't like, or I should saylook like, a full calendar,
right, the sounds that you know.
It sounds like oh, that's great.
Or things are great, right, see, that feels like movement, but
(25:57):
it isn't going anywhere, real,right?
So, as we're talking about this,let's get into our reflection
questions.
Our reflection questions.
Number one when was the lasttime you were celebrated for
(26:19):
something you didn't post orpromote?
Who saw it?
Who shared that moment with youquietly?
Number two what version ofyourself are you still trying,
(26:41):
or I should say still performing, really just to keep the
applause going?
And who are you without thestage?
Who are you with in those quietmoments?
You know, when you're byyourself.
That's your real you, right?
Number three what places usedto feel sacred but now feel
distant.
(27:02):
Is it the place that changed oris it you?
That is a massive question,massive.
Number four who listened to youbefore you had answers?
Have you honored thatconnection or outgrown it
(27:23):
without meaning to?
And number five If the noisestopped right now, would you
still know how to be proud ofyourself?
Or have you outsourced yourworth to the reaction?
That is such a moment to tellyou Three, four and five.
(27:48):
If you answer those honestly,your life will change after that
.
I promise it really will.
Because I'm going to tell yousomething especially when you
grow up and you get a little bitof success, things change and
(28:08):
then, when you lose success, youreally find out who not only
you are, but who the peoplearound you are.
Just remember that.
Okay, so you know, I just gotto say this.
You know as I write theseepisodes, you know sometimes
(28:29):
they're hard because I'm a veryvisual person.
Obviously, as I'm writing theseand it's hard to watch
someone's downfall, right, andas I'm doing it, obviously
there's a reason for it.
I'm not just doing it justbecause but when you get to
things like this, we all havelived through this, we've all
(28:51):
had some kind of success andhave collapsed.
We've all have lived throughthis.
We've all had some kind ofsuccess and have collapsed.
But, like I said, the bestthing about that is that you can
get back up from it and evenhave more success, and that's
what I think you'll start seeinghappen with him.
So I want to thank you guys.
Man, you guys are coming outand just groves.
Now I can't even tell you howmuch I appreciate all your guys'
(29:15):
support and your listenership.
It just it means the world tome and it just means so much to
this, not only this series, butto Jen's journey.
Like I just I can't tell youhow much I appreciate it.
Now I've been getting a lot ofemails and DMs lately, so thank
you so much for that.
And if you want to be someonewho has a conversation with me
(29:36):
or wants to gain contact with me, there's three ways.
First way it's going to be onthe description of this podcast.
There's going to be somethingyou can click on that says let's
Chat.
I can have a conversation aboutthis series, this episode, the
13 other series that are outthere and the over 260 plus
(30:02):
episodes that I have on GentsJourney.
Second one is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
please feel free to reach out tome there.
And then, last but certainlynot least, you can always go to
my Instagram.
My Instagram is my gentsjourney, so, again, please do
not hesitate to reach out to me.
I'm here to help you.
Okay?
(30:22):
So again, guys, I want to thankyou so, so, so, very much for
listening today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode six
with the key to everything.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto it.
There's a moment, just beforeyou fall asleep, when the
(00:26):
silence in the room feelsheavier than usual, not darker,
just full, like something iswaiting to be noticed.
That's what it felt like thefirst time he realized he hadn't
been emailed in two days.
Not a long time, but longenough to feel the shift, the
(00:55):
kind of quiet that doesn't knock.
It just sits besides you andwaits for you to admit that
maybe you were only everinteresting because you were
rising.
He replayed old interviews thatnight, listened to himself on
panels, watched a clip wheresomeone called him the voice of
(01:17):
a generation, didn't land thesame, because when you're not
being asked anymore, the echoesstart to sound like
impersonations, and that's thetruth about applause.
It never said it would stay,never signed a contract, never
(01:38):
promised to come back if youchanged the lighting or rewrote
the caption.
It just left quietly, withoutguilt, and in that stillness he
finally asked the question.
He had been too loud to hearbefore.
What happens when no one iswatching?
(02:00):
He woke up to a quieter phone.
No blinking notifications, nocalendar buzz demanding urgency
no one is watching.
He woke up to a quieter phone,no blinking notifications, no
calendar buzz demanding urgency,just the soft blue of the
morning sweeping throughhalf-closed blinds.
He laid there longer than usualand noticed the silence Not as
(02:26):
peace but as absence.
A week ago his mornings beganwith inbox fire drills and slack
pings.
Now nothing.
At first it felt like a glitch.
He refreshed twice, then athird time, but everything still
held.
(02:46):
Stillness was not new to him,but stillness after applause,
that was something else.
He got up anyways.
He showered.
He dressed, chose, the goodshirt, the one he usually
reserved for being seen Out ofhabit more than belief, as if
(03:07):
dressing for momentum mightsummon it again.
He poured his coffee, black,strong.
No Lena to add the second cup.
No notes on napkins, no subtlesmiles waiting to ask him if he
was still pretending.
He missed her presence morethan her voice, the way she had
(03:29):
a habit of looking at him likehe hadn't told the truth that
mattered.
The cafe was quieter now too.
A new barista, kind but notcurious.
The window seat wasn't saved,the cup didn't have a quote and
no one asked how the panel went.
He sat down anyways, watchedthe street like it was trying to
(03:54):
tell him something.
What had changed?
Was it him?
He'd done everything right,said yes at the right times,
smiled the right way, turned histhoughts into phrases people
wanted to quote.
He was supposed to feel full.
Instead he felt paused.
(04:15):
The first invitation hedeclined came a few days ago,
not because he didn't want to go, but because the topic felt
tired same panel, different room.
And he didn't want to go, butbecause the topic felt tired
Same panel, different room.
He didn't want to hear himselfsay the same thing again.
The second was a strategy call.
He didn't even open the link.
(04:36):
He was drifting, but he toldhimself it was rest.
That was a natural exhale afterthe high, but inside a quiet
panic began to set in.
What if it wasn't rest?
What if the applause had simplymoved on?
(04:57):
The days blurred, not in speed,but in sameness.
There were no disasters, no, nodownfalls, just deceleration.
The inbox didn't crash, it justfaded.
A few polite replies, fewer newthreads.
(05:17):
The algorithm that once feltlike an engine began to coast.
And somewhere inside he knewthe applause wasn't just on
pause, it was gone.
He started showing up again tothe cafe to his own thoughts.
But it wasn't presence, it wasrepetition.
(05:38):
The new barista smiled at himlike any other customer.
The coffee tasted the same, butthe ritual felt hollow.
He missed how Lena used to knowwhen he needed silence versus
when he needed a mirror.
He didn't realize how rare thatwas.
Someone who knew how to handyour own voice without
(06:01):
interrupting it.
Hand your own voice withoutinterrupting it.
Now all he heard was an echo.
He posted anyways, wrotecaptions with the kind of glow
people like, but something inhis tone it changed.
It was a little more try, alittle less truth.
(06:27):
One morning he watched someoneelse, tagged in a pose that once
had been his.
A younger voice, a sharper suit, louder certainty.
He told himself it was goodTime to pass the mic, but it
stung anyways.
He tried calling someone fromhis old circle, someone who used
to orbit the same events.
They talked briefly, theconversation felt like it was
(06:48):
written in advance Lines, theysaid too many times before
Nothing landed.
That night he pulled out thefolder, the one filled with old
essays, notes, pages scribbledwith the first version of what
he wanted to become.
He read them like a stranger,and then he saw her handwriting
(07:14):
A note from Lena, tucked betweentwo pages, a quote from a book
he never finished.
It said the self you perform isnot the self you survive.
He sat back, he closed his eyes.
What if this wasn't collapse?
(07:36):
What if this was emergence?
But he didn't write that down,not yet.
He just stared at the wall fora while.
The quiet wasn't hauntinganymore, it was honest, and it
asked him if the audience neverreturns, who do you want to
(07:59):
become anyway?
He used to remember every room,the temperature, the buzz, the
way people leaned in when hespoke, but this one, the one he
walked into today, it feltdifferent.
Same wood floors, same velvetchairs, same lighting.
(08:25):
That made everyone lookintentional, but no one looked
up when he entered.
It wasn't disrespect, it wasneutrality, and that that's what
hurt the most.
They didn't expect anythingfrom him, not because they
didn't believe in him, butbecause they didn't need him,
(08:48):
not anymore.
The panel went fine, not great,not awful, just fine.
He answered questions withpolished pauses, laughed at the
right moments, said things thatfelt true once, but now they
(09:10):
just felt practiced.
Afterward a man came up to him,younger, confident, told him
he'd been a fan for years, saidhis work helped him through a
dark time.
Then he asked if he still wrotelike that anymore him.
Then he asked if he still wrotelike that anymore.
He lied, he said yes.
They shook hands.
(09:36):
The man walked away and he stoodthere feeling like someone had
just handed him the version ofhimself.
He forgot how to be.
He walked outside before thelast talk wrapped, stood in the
alley, checked his phone no newmessages, not even from the team
that booked him.
He looked at his own website,read the bio he wrote two years
ago.
It didn't sound like him.
(09:58):
It was too crisp, too clean,too full of the kind of clarity
that only works in retrospect.
He missed mess, missed the kindof clarity that only works in
retrospect.
He missed mess, missed theversion of himself who still
tumbled towards the truthinstead of branding it.
On the way back to his hotel, hepassed a bookstore, small,
(10:22):
quiet, tucked between a yogastudio and a candle shop.
He almost kept walking, butsomething stopped him.
Not memory, not even hope, justache.
He stepped inside the scent ofold pages, the hush of paper
(10:44):
instead of applause.
He moved slowly.
He noticed a display books thatfound us first, and there it
was the denial of death.
The same worn cover, the oneLena, once anointed with pink
highlighter and side notes.
(11:05):
He picked it up Not to buy,just to hold.
And that's when it hit him.
It was never the applause thatmade him feel real.
It was the one person wholistened before the applause
(11:27):
ever started.
And now the room that clappedfirst was empty, not because
people stopped showing up, butbecause he stopped bringing the
version of himself worth showing.
He sat in the bookstore for along time, didn't buy anything,
didn't post a picture, didn'twrite a caption.
(11:49):
He just sat, held the book andwhispered something he hadn't
said in a long time I miss you.
He wasn't sure who he meant itfor.
Was it her or the version ofhimself?
She once looked at like hemattered, without trying.
Maybe both.
(12:11):
Maybe that's why the applausefaded, because it was never
meant to be followed.
It was meant to be noticed andlet go so he could finally hear
what comes next.
It started like a glitch, so hecould finally hear what comes
next.
It started like a glitch.
(12:32):
He opened his inbox, refreshed,waited Nothing, not even the
junk.
He checked the filters, checkedthe Wi-Fi, checked the clock,
but the silence wasn't technical, it was personal, the kind that
knows your rhythms, yourtriggers and picks the moment
(12:55):
you finally feel stable tovanish.
He sat back in his chair.
He tried to rationalize.
It's the weekend, it's aholiday, somewhere.
Maybe the campaign didn't goout yet.
But beneath the logic,something deeper stirred.
(13:18):
It wasn't just an inbox.
It was proof he was stillwanted, still relevant, still in
orbit.
He left the laptop open andstood up, paced the room like it
might help, pulled out hisnotebook, wrote a title the echo
(13:42):
is not the voice.
Then nothing, not a singlesentence after it.
Even his pen was waiting forsomeone else to speak.
First he tried recording avoice memo, got through 20
seconds before hitting delete.
His voice sounded like it wasimpersonating itself.
(14:04):
He used to have something tosay.
Now he wasn't sure what tothink.
He made coffee.
Then he let it go cold.
Opened his social media,scrolled until his thumb hurt.
Still no mention, no repost, nomessage from someone saying
(14:29):
they needed that today.
But it only had been a few days.
But in this world that's enoughto feel like you died while
still breathing.
He turned off his phone, not todetox, just to test something.
Not to detox, just to testsomething, would anyone notice?
He sat by the window, watchedthe light change and for the
(14:56):
first time in a long time, hefelt it not loneliness but
unrecognition.
He was no longer Not lonelinessbut unrecognition.
He was no longer the version ofhimself People had memorized.
He wasn't even sure herecognized himself anymore.
(15:20):
He opened a drawer, pulled outthe key, held it like it might
vibrate or glow or whisper, butit didn't do anything, just sat
there, cold, familiar, andsuddenly he remembered Lena
(15:41):
saying if the key only workswhen people are looking.
It was never a key, it was justa prop.
He closed his hand around it.
He didn't speak, he didn't cry,he didn't move, he just sat
(16:09):
there, sat there in the quiet,listening to a version of
himself that had finally run outof lines to recite.
He used to check his reflectionbefore walking in a room, not to
(16:29):
admire it, just to make sure itwas the version of him.
People expected the confidentone, the polished one, the one
with answers.
But lately there was noreflection to check, not because
the mirrors were gone, butbecause he stopped looking.
(16:50):
That morning he didn't shave,didn't iron the shirt, didn't
rework the caption beforeposting.
He just left, walked to aco-working space he hadn't
visited in months, a place.
(17:12):
That used to feel like ambition.
Now it just felt like residue.
People still smiled, stillwaved, still asked about his
next big thing.
He lied.
He said something vague, noddedlike he believed it, then found
(17:32):
a desk in the back and sat down.
He opened his laptop, stared atthe blinking cursor.
The thing about being good withwords is that you can hide
behind them.
But today, even that shieldfelt thin.
He opened an old file, one ofthe first essays that got him
(17:53):
noticed.
The voice felt warmer, morehuman, less branded.
He read it like it belonged tosomeone else, someone who hadn't
learned how to be liked.
That version wasn't smarter ormore strategic.
He was just closer to thesource.
(18:13):
The next tab was a keynote deckscheduled for next week.
He was supposed to close theevent Big stage, big spotlight.
He tried rehearsing, but everyline sounded like a parody.
He couldn't remember why any ofit mattered.
That's when he opened a blankdocument and typed one sentence.
(18:36):
I don't know what I'm doinganymore.
And for once it wasn't a crisis.
It was beginning, not the kindyou announce, the kind you
whisper To yourself.
He closed the laptop, walkedoutside.
(18:59):
The air was dry, sky clear, nosigns, no metaphors, just
weather.
On the walk home he passed thebookstore again, paused then
kept walking.
He wasn't ready yet, but heknew something.
Now there's a version ofsuccess that looks like control
(19:21):
and a version of truth thatlooks like letting go, and the
longer he held the former, theharder it was to feel the latter
.
He got home, pulled out thedrawer, held the key again.
This time he didn't ask it foranswers, he just asked himself
(19:42):
one thing what if the version Ibecome was never the one she
believed in?
And that's when the silencestopped feeling empty.
It felt earned.
He didn't realize it, but ithad been a week since anyone
(20:03):
clapped, not metaphorically,literally.
No events, no panels, no callswith applause emojis, just
silence and routine and space.
At first it felt like failure,but now it felt like honesty.
(20:29):
He made eggs that morning.
He made eggs that morning, realones, not protein powder in a
shaker.
He didn't post the plate, hedidn't angle it toward a window,
he just ate it.
He checked his calendar Threethings cancelled, no new invites
and strangely he didn't fillthe space.
(20:49):
He walked instead.
No destination, just a looparound the same block where it
all began.
That cafe Still there, stillopen, same chairs, but the
window seat was empty, he didn'tgo in, didn't want to see
someone else sitting there,didn't want to test if they
(21:13):
remembered his order.
He thought about her.
Of course he did.
He thought about the way sheasked questions that didn't land
until days later, about how sheused to slide napkins across
the table like they were secrets, and the one time she said the
applause isn't bad, it's justnot proof.
(21:33):
He hadn't understood it then,but he did now.
He spent the afternoonorganizing files, the folder of
quotes she used to give him,some typed, some handwritten.
He read them like a map, notback to her but back to himself.
(21:55):
One of them read when the showends, the lights don't go off,
they just change rooms.
He sat with that one the longestthat night.
He made tea, real tea, looseleaf, boiled the water, let it
seep.
He watched the steam rise inthe quiet.
(22:17):
He didn't think about captions,didn't think of legacy, he
thought about breath, the kindyou don't notice when you're
pretending to be certain.
He hadn't written anything indays, hadn't felt the need, and
that too felt honest.
But as he reached for hisnotebook that night just to see
(22:41):
if something wanted to come out,he didn't write a plan.
He wrote a sentence when no oneis watching, do I still show up
?
And for once he wasn't askingthe audience, he was asking
himself and for the first timein a long time he didn't need
(23:08):
the applause to answer, applauseto answer.
You know, there's something thatno one tells you about the
applause, not that it fades, orjust fades, I should say, but
(23:38):
that it echoes Long after theroom has emptied, long after the
lights have dimmed.
You still hear it in yourhabits, in your choices, in the
way you tell stories to yourself.
This week you watched it fade,not because he failed, but
because success can be its ownkind of forgetting.
See, he remembered the versionof himself that got noticed.
He just couldn't remember whythat version was built in the
(24:03):
first place.
He stopped showing up to thepage, stopped opening the cafe
door, stopped sitting in thechair while the truth used to
wait for him.
And maybe you've done that too.
Maybe there was a time when youwere present fully, when the
(24:24):
silence didn't scare you, whenyour words weren't curated for
consumption, when the person youwere becoming still felt like
someone you could trust.
But then momentum arrived, orvalidation, or an opportunity so
big you had to pretend you wereready, even if you weren't.
(24:48):
So you became good at the echo,the applause, the brand and
slowly, quietly, you stoppedasking, you stopped asking who I
was before this worked.
And see, that's the moment wemiss, not the moment of collapse
(25:15):
, but the space right before it,where nothing goes wrong but
everything goes dim.
Right, this episode, it was notabout failure, it wasn't.
It was about drift.
You know, the kind that doesn'tannounce itself, the kind that
(25:36):
doesn't like, or I should saylook like, a full calendar,
right, the sounds that you know.
It sounds like oh, that's great.
Or things are great, right, see, that feels like movement, but
(25:57):
it isn't going anywhere, real,right?
So, as we're talking about this,let's get into our reflection
questions.
Our reflection questions.
Number one when was the lasttime you were celebrated for
(26:19):
something you didn't post orpromote?
Who saw it?
Who shared that moment with youquietly?
Number two what version ofyourself are you still trying,
(26:41):
or I should say still performing, really just to keep the
applause going?
And who are you without thestage?
Who are you with in those quietmoments?
You know, when you're byyourself.
That's your real you, right?
Number three what places usedto feel sacred but now feel
distant.
(27:02):
Is it the place that changed oris it you?
That is a massive question,massive.
Number four who listened to youbefore you had answers?
Have you honored thatconnection or outgrown it
(27:23):
without meaning to?
And number five If the noisestopped right now, would you
still know how to be proud ofyourself?
Or have you outsourced yourworth to the reaction?
That is such a moment to tellyou Three, four and five.
(27:48):
If you answer those honestly,your life will change after that
.
I promise it really will.
Because I'm going to tell yousomething especially when you
grow up and you get a little bitof success, things change and
(28:08):
then, when you lose success, youreally find out who not only
you are, but who the peoplearound you are.
Just remember that.
Okay, so you know, I just gotto say this.
You know as I write theseepisodes, you know sometimes
(28:29):
they're hard because I'm a veryvisual person.
Obviously, as I'm writing theseand it's hard to watch
someone's downfall, right, andas I'm doing it, obviously
there's a reason for it.
I'm not just doing it justbecause but when you get to
things like this, we all havelived through this, we've all
(28:51):
had some kind of success andhave collapsed.
We've all have lived throughthis.
We've all had some kind ofsuccess and have collapsed.
But, like I said, the bestthing about that is that you can
get back up from it and evenhave more success, and that's
what I think you'll start seeinghappen with him.
So I want to thank you guys.
Man, you guys are coming outand just groves.
Now I can't even tell you howmuch I appreciate all your guys'
(29:15):
support and your listenership.
It just it means the world tome and it just means so much to
this, not only this series, butto Jen's journey.
Like I just I can't tell youhow much I appreciate it.
Now I've been getting a lot ofemails and DMs lately, so thank
you so much for that.
And if you want to be someonewho has a conversation with me
(29:36):
or wants to gain contact with me, there's three ways.
First way it's going to be onthe description of this podcast.
There's going to be somethingyou can click on that says let's
Chat.
I can have a conversation aboutthis series, this episode, the
13 other series that are outthere and the over 260 plus
(30:02):
episodes that I have on GentsJourney.
Second one is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
please feel free to reach out tome there.
And then, last but certainlynot least, you can always go to
my Instagram.
My Instagram is my gentsjourney, so, again, please do
not hesitate to reach out to me.
I'm here to help you.
Okay?
(30:22):
So again, guys, I want to thankyou so, so, so, very much for
listening today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.
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