This is my journal entry from August 21, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I began the day at the Toyota dealership to service my 2006 Toyota Corolla. The car was due for an oil change and tire rotation, and it needed new brakes as well. While I waited, I set up my laptop and went to work with ChatGPT. Using my minimalist editing process with around a ten percent trim, I took a two-hour dating video transcript I had recorded a few years ago and turned it into a 12,000-word manuscript. That breakthrough lit me up with excitement. If I can process a few more of those old dating videos, I’ll have a short book ready to publish. It feels incredible to realize that the thousands of hours of content I’ve filmed can be salvaged and transformed into something more permanent and physical. ChatGPT strips away the parts that tie a video to its original moment and leaves behind something timeless, something evergreen.
After a couple of hours, the dealership handed me a repair estimate: $4,500. My first reaction was, holy shit, I could buy another car for that much. Yet I love my Corolla, and I’ve taken meticulous care of it. The service advisor reassured me that if I invested in these repairs, the car had a solid chance of running another 100,000 miles. At 207,000 miles already, that was comforting. I approved everything except the cabin filter, which I’ll replace myself, and the AC refresh, which I don’t see the need for. By the time I picked the car up later, the total had come down to $3,800.
The dealership loaned me a brand new rental Corolla for the day with just 33 miles on it. I drove it home and made myself a perfectly portioned lunch of kale from my hydroponic garden with store-bought vegetable slaw, dressed with my homemade vinegar and oil mix, tahini, and taco seasoning. It was simple and delicious—exactly the right amount.
At noon I went to a massage therapist friend’s house for a two-hour massage. The massage itself was outstanding, but what really made the time special was our conversation. We covered many of the same themes I’ve been writing about here—life, growth, and possibility. A massage therapist friend is thirty-two, and I’m blown away by how open and comfortable she is discussing such deep topics. I left feeling like I’ve made a real friend.
She’s brand new to areas that I know inside out—marketing, branding, websites, book publishing—and I’m excited to help her. At the same time, she shared insights from her field. We talked about the Sarasota school, where she mentioned graduates can return to sit in on classes anytime. That struck me as a brilliant way to keep learning, since so many graduates discover just how much they still don’t know. I suggested we ride down together occasionally, which would be both fun and motivating. I’ve had to let go of some friendships recently, and it feels like she’s filling that space with something fresh and positive.
From her place, I drove directly to pick up the kids in the loaner Corolla. The car itself left me grateful for my own. For some reason, the engine setup in that model required flooring the gas just to get a decent start at a light. My 2006 Corolla, by contrast, responds instantly, zipping forward with the lightest touch. The loaner reminded me how much I love my nineteen-year-old car, how committed I am to caring for it, and how that loyalty spills into the rest of my relationships. If I’m willing to invest thousands in maintaining an old car rather than replacing it, I know I’m just as unwilling to discard people. The thought even made me laugh—trading a long-term partner for a “newer model” might be as disappointing as switching to a new Corolla. If I ever did buy another car, the only one in the showroom today that appealed to me was the Camry hybrid, with its forty-plus miles per gallon.
The kids wanted McDonald’s on the way home, and since they had their own money and were being cooperative, I agreed. I rarely eat fast food myself—I haven’t ordered a meal from McDonald’s in years—but parenting isn’t about imposing my habits. It’s about building goodwill. Doing something small and easy for them, even when I disagree with their choice, balances out in other ways. They’re more likely to listen, cooperate, or go to bed on time when they feel respected.
My son especially made me proud today. He’s been eager to tell stories like my daughter does, but he isn’t ready to type them yet. I gave him my business phone to use the voice memo app, and he dictated a couple of stories from our summer road trip, focusing on the auto train from Lorton, Virginia, to Sanford, Florida. We listened to the first one together on the couch, and I played the second while washing dishes. Hearing his voice recount our trip filled me with joy. I’d love for him to dictate stories I could listen to during my own commutes.
A massage therapist friend had also shared a smart study tip: record passages from textbooks into voice memos and replay them during the drive to school. That struck me as brilliant, a way to turn the commute into study time. It only deepened my excitement about massage school. I’ve inventoried every reason not to go, and none outweigh the benefits. Yes, I’ll have less time to dictate books, but with two and a half weeks left before classes begin, I’m confident I can publish at least one book and order author copies. My first will likely be this diary. I’ve gone back and forth on how much to trim, but I’ve decided not to overthink it. This book will be raw, only lightly edited for obvious repetition. It will capture the start of my life as an author in St. Petersburg. Alongside it, I hope to publish an AA speaker-style book and a dating book pulled from my old transcripts, all while continuing to develop I Was Famous on the Internet.
This evening, after time with the kids and a light meal of hummus, carrots, and celery, I returned to the dealership to pick up my Corolla. The whole process left me feeling grateful rather than stressed. Spending $3,800 on repairs might upset some people, but it doesn’t bother me. We have the money, and I can’t think of a better investment. I’m thankful for the Toyota technicians who gave my car a thorough inspection and put in the hours of specialized labor to keep it running strong. If it buys me years before I need to buy another car, it’s worth every penny.
I talked with my sponsor on the phone, and the call left me feeling grounded. My life coach has been helping me to appreciate the small wins, and today felt like a big one. Getting a $3,800 car bill from the dealership without experiencing even a trace of stress was huge. Not once did I feel anxious. Instead, I enjoyed myself. I had fun writing in the rental car, fun sitting at the dealership working on my book, and fun laughing with the specialist handling my service order. What could have been a miserable, stressful experience turned into an ordinary day filled with joy. That feels like real success—learning to find contentment in the simple things that would crush someone else.
From the dealership, I drove straight to meet my friend for tennis. He had to fight Tampa traffic, while I arrived early enough to warm up with a few minutes at the clinic. One of the guys asked if I could play tomorrow morning. That means canceling my meeting and skipping yoga, but I said yes. They were desperate for an extra player, and I won’t have another chance to play with them for the next seven and a half months once massage school starts. Even though those Friday doubles games aren’t as competitive, they’re always fun, and the guys couldn’t play without me this time. It felt worth it—for the laughs and for the chance to let them know what I’ve been up to.
Meanwhile, for serious competition, my friend and I battled through three sets. We started around 6:15 p.m. under clear skies, thankfully avoiding yesterday’s rainout. In the first set, I was unstoppable. Everything clicked, and my friend grew frustrated as I hammered him 6–3. The only other set I had ever taken off him was on a brutally hot day when he’d had a bit too much to drink the night before. Otherwise, he always wins. Tonight felt different.
At one point my friend shook his head and said, “You’re not missing anything. You’re not hitting errors.” That’s when everything collapsed for me. Somehow, that comment flipped a switch. The energy shifted, and suddenly I couldn’t find the court. My friend noted that it would be something for me to win our very first ladder match at the club. For context, the men’s singles ladder hosts some of the most competitive players around. My friend had been stuck at the bottom, and then I joined, pushing myself into that last-place slot. He had joked before that the first time I beat him “for real” would be on the ladder. Tonight looked like it might happen. Instead, I fell apart.
In the second set, I started feeling like I was losing even before the score turned against me. My friend, on the other hand, shook off his frustration and dug in. He played with the consistency he’s known for—relentless topspin, endless endurance, sprinting after every ball, running down shots that should have been winners. I tried rooting for him as I unraveled, shouting encouragement like, “Your serve’s going to come in. You’re an awesome player,” and I think it helped him. Once he locked in, he dominated.
From 1–1 in the second set, he rattled off eleven straight games. He crushed me 6–1 in the second, then rolled through the third while I watched my confidence collapse. I kept making errors while he returned nearly everything. Even though I stayed relaxed from a massage therapist friend’s massage earlier, by the end of the third set my inner game was shattered.
That said, I keep perspective. I’ve only been playing tennis recreationally for about a year. I hardly touched a racket as a kid. I’m 41 years old, and the fact that my body can even rally with competitive players is a miracle. There were points tonight that were breathtaking—30- or 40-ball rallies, drop shots, angles, athletic scrambles where we both refused to quit. My friend finished the match so soaked in sweat, his shoes and socks were squishing like he’d gone for a swim. Losing 11 games in a row stung, but the reality is I played incredible tennis, and my endurance was bottomless. We went three sets totaling 22 games, and I still had enough energy to keep playing for hours afterward. Even now, at 9:36 p.m., I feel like I could lace up and run miles.
I came home after tennis, ate a Larabar, a couple of homemade chocolate chip cookies, and one of our all-fruit popsicles. The whole day had been clean—perfectly portioned meals, tons of movement, nonstop energy. The only snag was me crashing at bedtime 20 minutes after the kids went down. Still, my ex-wife handled it gracefully, as she always does, and the kids were already sleepy when I came home to say a quick good night.
Reflecting on the day, I’m struck by how much of a win it was. Even the frustration on the court is valuable. If it takes losing eleven games in a row just to feel any real defeat, that means life is going well. Tomorrow I’ll play again, and I’ll play as often as I can until school starts.
Last night before bed, my ex-wife and I had a great conversation. I had been wound up after tinkering with ChatGPT, testing whether it could really take a transcript and turn it into a book. When my ex-wife came to spend time with me, I was still buzzing with work energy, frustrated that our window felt so short. Sometimes intimacy feels reduced to a twenty-minute block: cuddle quickly, have sex, and fall asleep. I told her how I was feeling, and instead of clashing, we connected. She understood immediately—she often feels the same way about time. Just voicing it brought us closer. We ended the night in sync and in good spirits.
I stayed up until about 11:15, later than I’d like. Once massage school begins, I intend to be in bed by 10:30 so I can wake early and focused. For now, though, I’m grateful. Today was one of those days where everything seemed to fall into place. From the car service to the massage to tennis and family time, every moment was satisfying. Recording this diary ensures I can look back years from now and remember how full of life I felt.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.