This is my journal entry from October 6, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Sober Through Separation — my real, unedited days, published in order.
Two days until I move out of the house I’ve lived in longer than anywhere else in my life. Over seven years here. I love this place, and I’m grateful that my new home is only two blocks away. This morning I took the kids to school, and as I walked in, I told the school safety officer—someone I’ve been friendly with for years—that I’m getting divorced. I didn’t even say the words at first. I just showed him my left hand, bare now, and said, “Hey, looks like we’ve got something in common.” He was surprised. We talked for a few minutes about it. He’s been divorced twice from the same woman, and now I feel like we understand each other a little better. Our friendship, though it might look like a casual school acquaintance, actually means something to me. After six years of quick chats at drop-off, it felt good to share something real.
I went to a 9:00 a.m. Power Flow yoga class. It was one of those perfectly designed sessions—creative, unpredictable, and completely engaging. The hour flew by. After class, I talked with the woman next to me, someone I hadn’t seen there in a while. I won’t use her name here, given what she shared. She told me she hadn’t been coming because she’d dated another woman in the class, and after they broke up, she didn’t want to keep running into her. She mentioned she’s been single most of the past ten years. When I told her I was getting divorced, she encouraged me to be careful when I start dating again. Most of this conversation happened after class, but when it started, she was still lying on her mat and said she “wanted space.” I thought she meant she wanted space from me right then, so I said, “Okay, see you later,” and started rolling up my mat. She sat up quickly and clarified that wasn’t what she meant. It made me laugh, and we ended up talking more after that.
I went home, grabbed some hummus, then headed out for my AA meeting, my massage, and to pick up the kids later. Before I left, my ex-wife brought up my conversation at yoga. She asked about the girl I’d once had a crush on in 2023. She said, “What did you really like about her?” It took me a moment to answer, because I used to think about her almost every day for a year after I stopped seeing her. I told my ex-wife that what I loved about her was how I felt when she was around. I felt wanted, seen, appreciated. That feeling stayed with me long after she was gone. I didn’t say it to hurt my ex-wife, but the truth underneath was that I hadn’t felt wanted like that at home. My ex-wife started to cry. She said it was something she needed to deal with on her own. I understood. I gave her space and left for my meeting, though I carried some of that emotion with me.
My sponsor was leading the AA meeting that evening. After he shared the topic, he called on me. I talked about my divorce and how grateful I am to be sober. I told the group I originally came to AA hoping it would help me keep my marriage together, but now it’s helping me stay sober and find peace while going through this separation. AA has taught me how to navigate something as painful as divorce with love, honesty, and compassion.
After the meeting, I left early to get a massage from my massage therapist. She’s been in my life for years—the one massage therapist who’s stayed close as an actual friend, not just a practitioner I visit. Over the past eight years, many therapists have come and gone, but my massage therapist has remained steady. That loyalty means a lot to me.
I’ve been handing out my book Author in St. Petersburg to nearly everyone lately, but with my massage therapist, I hesitated. I felt she might appreciate one of my other books more. There’s also a part of me that feels guilty about what I wrote about her in that book. I didn’t name her directly, but I said things connected to her that I now wish I hadn’t. It’s strange to confront that feeling—that something true at the time now makes me wince. It reminds me that honesty alone isn’t enough; I want my future honesty to be grounded in compassion. I want to speak and write in ways that I won’t regret a month later. That means being less judgmental about what I perceive as other people’s flaws and more appreciative of our differences. Life would be unbearably dull if everyone were the same.
That night, my ex-wife and I ended up talking about the same idea—how what we once saw as each other’s character flaws could also be viewed simply as incompatibilities. She reflected on what we’d discussed earlier that morning about my crush. After thinking about it all day, she told me that when one person develops an emotional crush outside of a marriage, it usually signals that something deeper isn’t working. In a healthy, fulfilling relationship, she said, that kind of emotional cheating rarely happens. It’s often a symptom of unhappiness or incompatibility, not the cause. Hearing her say that was a relief. I’d carried guilt over that crush for a long time. Now it feels freeing to accept it for what it was and allow myself to like women again without shame. When I meet the next woman I fall in love with and marry, I want to be sure we’re compatible enough that I won’t be tempted to look elsewhere again.
During my session with my massage therapist, she gave me the best massage I’ve ever had. Her “medium” pressure is deeper than what most therapists consider deep tissue. She worked the tension out of my back with care and intensity, and by the end I felt light and open again. I’m grateful that I’ll be seeing her every Monday now at the new studio she’s renting. Beyond her skill, I admire how she listens. When I talk, she doesn’t just nod or argue—she absorbs what I say, processes it, and then creates something new from it. That kind of exchange nourishes me. It’s the opposite of conversations that turn into debates, which often happened with my ex-wife. As an attorney, her instinct is to challenge and question everything, and while that can be useful, it also made communication between us exhausting at times. I no longer see it as a flaw—it’s simply part of who she is—but I can also recognize that someone with a temperament more like my massage therapist’s would likely be a better match for me.
Still, I’ve judged my massage therapist unfairly before. Despite moments when I hurt her feelings, she’s continued to show up for me as a friend. I’ve been there for her, too—through her moves, her job changes, and her transitions between different massage spaces. That kind of mutual support means a lot. It’s rare, steady, and real, and I’m deeply grateful for it.
After the massage, I left my massage therapist’s studio to pick up the kids, but a wave of sadness began to wash over me. It felt as if her deep bodywork had loosened something emotional that had been stuck. As I drove, I found myself reflecting on my marriage—on what’s left of it—and feeling sorrow for what we couldn’t build together. I wondered why we hadn’t been able to grow in sync, to develop our characters alongside each other instead of apart. Yet, I also see clearly now that compatibility was never our strength. My ex-wife told me this many times over the years, but I never wanted to believe her.
I remember early in our relationship—during that first year when I started my business—how much she disliked hearing about my ideas. It was as if every time I wanted to brainstorm or dream out loud, she’d shut down. Over time, I blamed her for some of my business struggles. When everything blew up financially in 2019, I felt that her lack of support had played a part. Of course, that wasn’t fair, but it was how I felt at the time. Now, I understand something essential about myself: I need to be with a woman who genuinely enjoys hearing about my work, who feels proud of me and finds joy in what I do. That’s a key part of compatibility for me.
I also realized something I hadn’t been fully honest about before—I want to be the primary income earner in a relationship. I’d prefer a more traditional dynamic: a wife who’s happy to focus on raising children, maybe working part-time or having a small side business, but not someone whose identity revolves around her career. My mother was a career woman, and so is my ex-wife, and I’ve seen how that can pull attention away from family life. What I want now is a woman who deeply values family and motherhood. That’s not a judgment on anyone—it’s just clarity about who I am and what I need. There are women who want to be supported by a man who loves to provide, and I’d like to find that kind of partnership. It feels good to understand these things before I start dating again.
I picked up the kids from school and asked them questions about their day on the drive home, trying to draw out their stories and get them talking. When we got home, I made popcorn with the air popper for an afternoon snack before heading out to my AA meeting. Nine of us showed up this afternoon—the biggest turnout yet—and the energy was incredible. Every share was raw and meaningful, just the kind of connection I envisioned when I started this meeting three weeks ago.
There was a woman there, maybe around thirty, who has consistently caught my attention over the last year. She’s beautiful, but what drew me in more was her enthusiasm for my work. She told me she’d listened to my music and watched some of my videos, and she really loved them. That kind of response touches me deeply. That’s the kind of partner I want—someone who not only understands what I do but lights up from it. Having that kind of encouragement would bring out the best in me and help me reach my highest potential.
Lately, I feel so clear about what I want in my work, too. I want to keep writing books and have people pay a couple hundred dollars to spend a few hours with me—reading, talking, connecting deeply. That feels like my calling now.
After the meeting, I talked with one of the guys who’s been a big part of my recovery journey. I’ve mentioned him several times in my last book, The Kind Divorce, though I’ll leave his name out since we’re both in AA. He’s in his seventies and has been talking about writing a book for at least six years. Tonight, I told him I’d love for him to come over once I move into my new place and dictate his story with me. He has such a remarkable life, full of experiences and lessons that deserve to be preserved. With his health issues, I know time might be limited, and I’d love to help him create a legacy—something for his family, his friends, and everyone in AA to remember him by.
I explained that if he spent just ten hours talking with me, I could turn it into a fully finished book—just like I did with Author in St. Petersburg, I Was Famous on the Internet, and The Kind Divorce. Helping someone bring their story to life feels like one of the most meaningful things I could do right now.
That’s the kind of work I want to do—listening to people’s life stories and helping them turn those stories into books. I’d love to be paid a couple hundred dollars an hour for it, not just for the money, but because it feels like sacred work—helping someone make meaning out of their life. What I see clearly now is that if this is the dream, I can’t compromise. I have to say no to anything that pulls me away from it.
The same principle applies to dating. If I know exactly what I want, I need to hold to that standard—and I want women to feel free to say no to me, too, if I’m not what they want. It’s better to go on a hundred dates and find someone with true compatibility than to go on five or ten and settle for something that’s merely “good enough.”
After the AA meeting, I stopped by Ace to get some keys copied, then headed home to do bedtime with the kids while my ex-wife went out to dinner with her friend and her friend’s husband. I’m so grateful that my ex-wife has begun to open up about the divorce. She’s talking about it more honestly than I’ve ever heard her talk about any personal struggle in the past decade, and it’s helping her grow.
Still, tonight I felt heavy. I’m grieving. I’m mourning the loss of what was, in many ways, a beautiful relationship. Thankfully, it’s not a total loss—we’re still best friends—but the marriage itself is gone, and the emotional space it once occupied feels achingly empty. Part of me still wonders if we could have somehow worked things out, but I also recognize the absurdity of that thought. When we were trying to make it work, I felt sad that I couldn’t date other women. Now that I can, I feel sad that my ex-wife doesn’t want to date me. It’s irrational, but perfectly human. I’m feeling what she felt this morning—the sadness of incompatibility—and yet I’m also in awe that we made it this far together despite all of our differences.
After putting the kids to bed, my ex-wife and I sat down for an hour-long conversation. It was emotional, open, and deeply supportive. We both acknowledged the pain and the love in this transition. I’m proud of how we’re handling this—nearly two weeks now without sex or romantic intimacy, giving ourselves a clean emotional break. My ex-wife has been incredibly strong and consistent about that, and I respect her for it. She mentioned she’s preparing the divorce paperwork, and I felt grateful all over again that she’s taking care of the logistics. I’ll just need to fill out my financial details, and she’ll handle the rest.
Before going to bed, I reminded myself of a lesson I want to carry forward in dating: only choose women I could both love deeply and separate from gracefully if the time came. I want relationships that could end with kindness and mutual respect, not bitterness.
Later, as I got ready for bed, I listened to The Tennis Partner. There’s a sad section in the book I reached tonight, and it added to the heaviness I was already feeling. Yet, after talking with my ex-wife, I felt calmer—like everything made more sense again. I’m profoundly grateful that she and I can keep having these kinds of honest, loving conversations and enjoy our friendship in its fullest form.
When I stepped out of the shower around 11:18 p.m., I caught my reflection in the mirror and smiled. I thought, I look really good right now. I could easily pass for thirty. My body feels strong, vibrant, and full of joy. The idea of marrying a woman in her twenties, starting a new family, and sharing that all-encompassing passion again—being together constantly, doing everything side by side—still excites me.
I’m glad I recorded this entry tonight while it’s fresh. Earlier, my son wrote a letter to my mom’s older sister, and my daughter wrote one too. My son dictated his letter into my second phone—the number listed on my website—and when I ran it through ChatGPT, it came out to a single, full page. He wrote a paragraph about his garden, asked his great-aunt several questions about her life, and then, almost as an afterthought, added one simple line near the end: “My parents are getting divorced, and it’s really sad.” Then he moved right on to something else.
For my ex-wife and me, this divorce feels monumental—a seismic shift in our lives—but for him, it’s just a single sentence in a letter. A passing note. It’s comforting, in a way, to see that perspective. As parents, we often overstate our importance in our kids’ stories. Maybe, in reality, something that feels enormous to us is just one small chapter in their much bigger lives.
I hope that someday—maybe in twenty or thirty years—my daughter and my son will look back and feel proud of us for getting divorced instead of staying stuck in unhappiness. I’m also grateful to have these diaries preserved for them. They might not appreciate them for decades, but I imagine a future where they do—where they’re adults reading about who I was, what I went through, and how I loved them through it all.
I often think how much I’d treasure my own father’s diaries from forty years ago if they existed. That thought alone keeps me writing. I hope these journals inspire others to publish their own diaries, too. If everyone had to write and share their lives this way—with honesty, detail, and reflection—I believe the world would be a kinder, more self-aware place. It’s certainly been that way for me.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.