This is my journal entry from September 23, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I went to yoga at my yoga studio this morning, and a yoga instructor taught a fantastic flow class, as always. I brought her a copy of Author in St. Petersburg and handed it to her after class. She seemed genuinely excited to receive it, which made me feel both proud and vulnerable. That book reveals so many of my raw, personal struggles that I sometimes worry it might trigger uncomfortable emotions in others—especially people I know in real life. But I reminded myself that if someone truly loves and cares about me, they’ll overlook the parts that might be difficult and see the intention behind the honesty. If anything in the book brings up strong feelings for a yoga instructor, I trust she’ll talk to me about it or process it in her own way, maybe even finding something meaningful in it.
Still, I sometimes carry this lingering fear that being too transparent could somehow get me kicked out of my yoga studio. I don’t know if that fear is rational or just an echo of old insecurities. Whenever it arises, I tell myself that even if something like that happened, there are plenty of yoga studios in the area—and realistically, it’s unlikely anyway. Most of the people there seem to accept me, or at the very least, don’t have a problem with me. Many are warm and supportive; some have even gone out of their way to help me.
I also gave a copy of my book to another student in class today and shared a Kindle Unlimited link with one of the instructors, a yoga instructor, so she could listen to Author in St. Petersburg for free. I love that technology makes it so easy to get my work into people’s hands, or ears, in whatever way works for them.
After yoga, I came home and made myself a huge salad with organic greens, celery, my custom spice blend, tahini, olive oil, and Himalayan pink salt. I added seaweed snacks on the side, which I personally enjoy. Then I spent about an hour editing I Was Famous on the Internet and made it halfway through—fifty out of a hundred pages, roughly 25,000 words. I’m proud of the progress and how much better the manuscript is reading with each pass.
Around noon, my ex-wife and I were intimate, which I always appreciate during the day. My friend a friend once told me her boyfriend said that men have daily energy cycles, with energy peaking in the morning and tapering off by night. That makes sense to me. I notice I tend to feel at my best physically and mentally during the day—more alive and expressive—though I’m usually happy to connect at night too.
Afterward, I drove out to the Alcoholics Anonymous Intergroup office. I enjoyed browsing all the literature and tokens. There’s something sacred about that space—the shelves filled with decades of collective wisdom, the medallions glinting softly in trays. I ended up spending around $300, picking up nearly every AA book they had, plus about eighty chips at a dollar each and a few bronze medallions. When the guy at the counter commented that it was quite a haul, I just smiled and said, “It’s all right—I’ve got plenty.”
Between what I spent at Intergroup and what I gave to panhandlers this week, I still have a couple hundred dollars left in my wallet, and that feels like true abundance. I told my sponsor today that not once in my entire life have I gone to an ATM and had it refuse me money. To me, that’s what real abundance looks like—not the number on a spreadsheet, but the lived experience of always having enough.
I picked the kids up from school later than usual because the Intergroup office took forever to check out all the books. The first thing they said when I arrived was, “Why are you so late?” One of the other moms nearby overheard and said she’s been teaching her kids to say, “Thank you for picking me up,” instead. I liked that. It’s such a small shift, but one that reminds me how much the energy we bring to a moment—gratitude or complaint—can change the whole tone of it.
When we got home, I headed to my 4 p.m. Alcoholics Anonymous meeting—the one I recently started. It went beautifully. My only other home group member was there, along with a newer guy who said the timing of the meeting was perfect for him and exactly what he needed. He told us he’d never spoken in an AA meeting before, never raised his hand to share during open discussion, and today he ended up talking for nearly fifteen minutes straight. Watching him open up like that was powerful. It reminded me why I started this group—to create a safe, open space for people to express themselves fully.
I spread out all the new AA literature I’d bought across the table, and it made the room feel abundant, alive, and sacred. I felt grateful for how far this little meeting has come in just its first week. It’s incredible to see something that began in a moment of anger—my frustration with the lack of a 4 p.m. meeting—transform into a peaceful and productive space for others. That anger was the catalyst that broke through my resistance and pushed me to act.
After the meeting, I came home, washed the dishes, and listened to Educated by Tara Westover on Audible. A massage therapist had told me that if I wanted to understand her life better, I should listen to that book. I’m hoping to finish it before my massage with her this Friday which will be our fourth session together. I told a massage therapist I could easily help her write a memoir like Educated if she ever wanted to, and I’m curious to see what she’s thought about that idea this week. Helping people tell their stories is one of my favorite things to do.
The more books I give away, the less afraid I feel of people. I’m realizing how much genuine love, curiosity, and openness people have. It’s humbling to see how many are interested in my life and my work. I’m excited to someday help someone else publish their own deeply honest story—one that connects as personally as mine do. I would love to read more books like this one I’m dictating right now—real, unfiltered accounts of human life.
At 6:30 p.m., I took my son to the tennis club while my ex-wife played in the women’s clinic. I loved watching her out there, enjoying herself and getting stronger in her game. Meanwhile, my son and I had a great time hitting together. He took about seventy balls from the basket, one by one, and hit them over to me. It was pure fun—no agenda, just movement, laughter, and time together.
A tennis coach was coaching on my ex-wife’s court, which made the evening even better. I’ve had some great conversations with a tennis coach recently, so I gave her a copy of Author in St. Petersburg. Since my ex-wife is mentioned often in that book, I’m glad a tennis coach now has a window into our family’s life. She’s met everyone but my daughter. She smiled and said, “You have such a beautiful family.” I thanked her, though afterward I found myself wondering if there was a deeper meaning behind her words. She certainly has a beautiful family too, so I wasn’t sure if her comment was simply kind or subtly personal.
I often think about how people communicate—how sometimes what’s said aloud isn’t the whole message. Maybe she wanted to express something more, something that wouldn’t be appropriate to say outright. Compliments can be coded that way. Saying “you have such a beautiful family” can sometimes mean “I see beauty in you.” I probably do the same thing without realizing it. To me, communication isn’t just about hearing the words—it’s about sensing the intention underneath them. Sometimes the words and the message are one and the same. Other times, the real message lies quietly beneath, waiting for someone to truly listen.
When I got home tonight, my ex-wife was helping the kids get ready for bed. At one point, she told my son to go brush his teeth, and I asked her how she’d feel about trying to phrase things as questions instead of commands. She smiled and said she’d give it a try. What followed was both funny and heartwarming. She asked my son, “How would you feel about brushing your teeth now?” and then kept experimenting with similar questions.
A few minutes later, as my daughter was dragging her feet about going to the bathroom before bed, my ex-wife asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you go to the bathroom faster?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It cracked me up hearing her reframe everything like that, and she started laughing too, saying, “This is feeling a bit passive-aggressive.” I told her I loved it, because sometimes even the smallest shift in how we communicate can completely change how people respond to us.
I notice it all the time with the kids. When I say, “Hey, get ready for bed,” it can sound like an order, and they naturally resist. But if I ask, “Are you ready to get ready for bed?” it changes the energy—it invites cooperation instead of forcing compliance. That little bit of respect makes all the difference.
It got me thinking: imagine if the whole world operated that way—if instead of issuing commands, we asked questions. What if the government said, “How would you feel about paying taxes this year?” Or immigration officials asked, “Would you like to be admitted to our country?” It sounds absurd, but maybe it shouldn’t. A world guided by curiosity instead of authority would be a kinder, more conscious place.
Some people might roll their eyes and say, “That could never happen.” But think about all the impossible things humanity has already achieved. We’ve figured out space travel, computers that transmit information at the speed of light, instant communication across the globe—all things that once seemed beyond imagination. Enormous shifts always begin with a single new thought.
The first step to changing the world is daring to think differently. The second is living that change in your own life. If I can parent my children by asking questions instead of giving orders, maybe someday even the DMV will write to me and say, “Would you like to come in and renew your license?” Or a police officer might pull someone over and ask, “Do you think I should give you a ticket or just a warning today?” Maybe that sounds idealistic, but I think it would be nice. Every revolution starts with a small shift in language—and tonight, ours started with bedtime.
Validation
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.