This is my journal entry from November 6, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Divorce Day — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I woke up this morning completely in the shitter. Absolutely miserable. I felt stupid the moment I opened my eyes, like, how the fuck did my life end up here? After a decade of success, praise, and people telling me how great I am, I’m making basically no money. After a decade of patting myself on the back and taking pride in my marriage, I’m single, and nobody I actually want to date wants to date me—at least not that I can see right now. Jesus.
I woke up trying to take the edge off my mood, and it didn’t work. I felt worse afterward. I went over to my ex-wife’s house to pick the kids up for school. I snuggled my son and started crying a little. I was also a bit toxic toward my ex-wife in my head and in my tone. I kept thinking about how much she contributed to this situation. This feels like the worst rejection I’ve ever experienced in my life. I kept wondering why she couldn’t have done more work in the marriage instead of wanting to end it.
I took the kids to school and told them, in the best way I could, how bad I was feeling. They were supportive in that quiet, innocent way kids have. After dropping them off, I called my ex-wife and asked if I could come back to the house to try to take the edge off my mood. I went back and told her I was sorry and that I was just having a really hard morning. She made it clear that she has hard times too, but she doesn’t want to talk about them with me anymore. That hit hard. I felt even worse, like now the friendship is falling apart too.
In my head, things spiraled into a dark place. I felt worn down by how heavy everything had become—this stupid world where everything feels pointless, where your entire life can collapse in a moment, where you go to a speed dating event and walk away feeling nothing but rejection.
The worst part is that this isn’t unique to me. Everyone is dealing with some version of this. I couldn’t stop thinking about the kids, about how much they love me and how much I love them. I thought about my parents and how much they mean to me. I’m grateful I can say these things openly, even to my ex-wife. I’m honestly surprised at how far my emotions swung today.
I eventually went back home and got to work on my books. That helped. I was genuinely happy with the small books that arrived today. I narrated Is Bitcoin One Big Lie? and ChatGPT for President. Both are around twenty-five to thirty pages—tiny books—and they came out perfectly. I’m going to publish them. This feels like a real shift in strategy: putting out lots of small books on diverse topics instead of focusing so heavily on bigger ones. For the diaries, I might keep those larger, but these smaller books give my mind room to explore new areas and test what works.
Around 10:30, it occurred to me that my car might be ready. I called the body shop, and they confirmed that my Toyota Corolla is painted purple and ready for pickup. I called my older friend to see if he was ready to go, and he was, which felt perfect. I drove his car over to pick him up, and then we rode together down to the body shop so I could get my car and he could take his back. When I saw it, the Corolla was dark with a subtle shine—clearly purple, but not loud. It looked beautiful. I felt a genuine rush of satisfaction seeing it repainted, and I was immediately glad I finally did this. Part of the motivation was simple and practical: a ghetto-looking car does not help a man who wants to date. My older friend had encouraged me to do it, and I’m deeply grateful for his support.
I went inside and paid for the paint job, and while we were talking afterward—about many of the same things I’d been saying to my ex-wife—it started to feel like there’s an opportunity for growth here, even if I can’t fully articulate what it is yet. I asked my older friend something heavy. I asked him why, in his seventies, living alone, without a partner, having lost a child, with much of his family scattered, with a body that’s often in pain, he keeps going. He answered without drama: curiosity.
I asked him what he meant by that. He said he’s simply interested in seeing how each day unfolds. Right there, something clicked, and I immediately saw the problem in myself. I’m not curious about anything anymore. I don’t want to approach women because I think I already know what they’re going to say. I don’t want to try much of anything because I think I already know how it will turn out. Fuck it, I tell myself. I already know. And that’s exactly what’s killing me.
What he gave me was the answer, even though it didn’t feel comforting at first. The truth is, I know almost nothing. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Even just looking back over the past few days, I’ve been surprised repeatedly. I had no idea I was going to get dressed up and go out to the Vinoy with him last weekend. I had no idea a woman was going to come over the next night and have sex with me. I had no idea I was going to start writing and publishing these small books. At any moment, something unexpected can happen. Life is genuinely magical when I’m not pretending I already understand it.
I could see that this attitude—this belief that I know everything and know how it’s all going to go—is poisoning me. It’s also deeply arrogant. Who am I to think I understand how everything works, when the evidence clearly says otherwise? Curiosity is something I’ve preached to other people for years, and now I can see that I need a lot more of it myself. Curiosity with dating apps instead of resentment. Curiosity about who I might match with. Curiosity about how an evening might unfold, how each day with my kids will go, how my ex-wife is doing, how my work will progress. I know almost nothing, and that’s not a flaw—it’s an opening. This feels like a real breakthrough, and I’m grateful to my older friend for it.
I drove my newly painted car to the noon power yoga class, and emotionally, I was wrecked. I felt awful. I started crying during yoga, overwhelmed by how stupid I felt. It reminded me of that moment in Pulp Fiction where a character, panicking over an overdose, berates himself for how foolish he’s been. That’s exactly what was running through my head. How is this the same guy who bragged for years about making millions online, about having a great marriage with a beautiful woman and beautiful kids? How am I now single, alone in a house, making no money, bleeding savings?
And yet, even sitting in that pain, something had shifted. The car was purple. The books were real. And for the first time in days, I could feel a crack in the certainty that everything was already over. I talked to my yoga instructor briefly after class, but it felt rushed. He teaches a solid yoga flow, and afterward I didn’t really talk to anyone. I said hi to people like I usually do. A friend was there, so I said hi to him too. Then I walked back to my car. It was 1:11 p.m., and I just sat there. Fuck. I knew exactly what I needed to do, and I didn’t want to do it. I felt like absolute shit. Deeply depressed. I knew I needed to go talk to my yoga instructor.
I remembered how I’d been there for him on days when he was struggling with dating. Days when he felt like he shouldn’t even try because his life wasn’t together yet, like he needed to fix everything before anyone could love him. I had told him that was bullshit. Get out there and date. Lead with what you have. Someone will like you for who you are. And now I needed him to tell me the same thing.
So I went back into the yoga studio. I found my yoga instructor just as he was about to clean the room. I poured my heart out to him. I told him how miserable I was, how fucking stupid I felt about where my life had ended up, and I started crying while I was talking. He didn’t flinch. He comforted me. He told me he appreciated how I’d been there for him. He reminded me that this is normal—divorce, trying to date again, feeling lost. This is how it goes, and it’s okay. He told me I would find someone again someday. He reminded me how he had felt like giving up on dating completely, and then suddenly he matched with the woman he now lives with, someone he’s had so many adventures with. Even then, he said, things are still challenging sometimes.
Talking with him changed everything about my day. I felt dramatically better afterward. It was a real turning point. I was so grateful that early sobriety trained me to do one very important thing: when you feel that bad, get your ass out of isolation and talk to someone who can help you. I got back into my car feeling restored to some level of sanity.
I went home and made a big salad for lunch, finishing off the kale I’d bought from Rollin’ Oats. Then I went to pick the kids up, feeling noticeably lighter. Thank God I talked with him instead of sitting alone and spiraling. I’m sure he felt good too, being given the chance to help me. I know I always love when people give me that chance. Over the years, a lot of people going through divorce have poured their hearts out to me. I wonder where they all are now. Maybe I’ll run into some of them again.
The kids loved the purple color of my Corolla. They were genuinely excited riding home in it. My ex-wife also liked it and said the color looked good without being flashy. After that, I went to my 4:00 p.m. meeting. There were about nine of us there, a mix of old-timers and a few newer guys. Several people had more sobriety than me. I read a passage thanking the old-timers for showing up, and I shared how grateful I am for the men who stayed sober my entire adult life. They kept going to meetings year after year, and when I needed them desperately at twenty-nine and thirty, they were there. They had been training, whether they knew it or not, and they helped save me.
After the meeting, I came home and downloaded the dating apps again. All right. Back on Bumble and Hinge. I worked with ChatGPT to make my profile a little less serious, then started swiping. It didn’t take long before I’d basically gone through everyone. And that’s when something clicked. After the woman who came over a week ago showed up smelling like pot the entire time—even though she hadn’t smoked at my place, just earlier in the day—I realized how much I hated it. That was enough clarity. I don’t want to be with someone who drinks, does drugs, or smokes pot. If that’s true, then I need to actually look for sober women. That’s the lane.
I set the filters as carefully as I can to try to find sober women. As I’m scrolling, I see a woman I recognize, someone I haven’t seen in a while. That stops me for a moment. I think, this could actually work. I realize I need to approach dating apps like a marathon, not a sprint. Keep the filters narrow. Check the apps once or twice a day instead of compulsively. Don’t make swiping the focus. Just be available and ready if the right person shows up, or notice people I already know so I can approach them in real life with some context.
I head to the tennis clinic at the tennis club and have a good time playing with three other guys and a fellow tennis player. It’s a solid workout, lots of drills, the usual rhythm, and I enjoy myself. Afterward, I go home, shower, and decide to download Tinder too. Why not? I go over to my ex-wife’s to be with the kids for bedtime and see my mom, then come back home and finish setting up my Tinder profile. I spend about $50 on the Platinum membership and swipe through every profile within eleven miles that fits my search criteria. By the time I’m done, I’ve literally run out of profiles for the day.
I see another woman I recognize, this one I’d seen around before, and I send her a short message. I get a couple of likes on Tinder, which at least confirms I’m not invisible, but none of them are really what I’m looking for. One is a daily pot smoker in Bradenton, and if it weren’t for that, I might have swiped right. But that’s a hard no for me now. I’m not dealing with that.
When I go to bed, I notice something has shifted in what I find myself drawn to. I catch myself thinking, yeah, I’m ready for older women. That realization is surprisingly meaningful. I fall asleep around 11:30 p.m., feeling tired, slightly steadier, and at least pointed in a clearer direction than I was earlier in the day.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.