This is my journal entry from October 10, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Sober Through Separation — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I slept better last night in my new house with the bedroom door open, though I still need to finish duct-taping the aluminum-foil window coverings together. I tried using sheets of foil to black out the windows, but since I only used small pieces of tape instead of sealing the edges completely, light still leaks in. I discovered that around midnight when my neighbor pulled into his driveway and his headlights made my room look like it was lit up in broad daylight.
This morning I went over to my ex-wife’s a little after seven to pick up the kids. We had a fun ride to school—my son and I laughed together as I read his spaceship book again. After dropping them off, I went to yoga, where I had a great conversation with a yoga instructor before class started. She shared some of her own experiences that she thought might be useful given what I’m going through right now. I told her how much I appreciated her openness and how inspiring it was to hear about what she’s faced in both her relationships and her business.
It’s tricky to write a book like this—one that tells my story—without sharing too many personal details about other people. Someone like her deserves to tell her own story, so I try to capture the essence of our conversations without crossing that line. What I can say is that I told her how much yoga has helped me navigate my divorce mindfully. She often says in class that yoga is training for real life—about staying present, grounded, and embodied—and I told her that the last four years have really prepared me for that level of awareness.
Her class today was a strong power flow, and I left feeling incredibly energized. I pushed myself harder than usual, maybe even showed off a little. The woman next to me caught my attention; I hadn’t seen her before, and she was attractive. After class, I made a point to approach her, trying to read her body language to see if she was open to talking. She seemed polite but lukewarm—she shared a bit about herself, then asked about me. I told her I’m an author and then started bragging how I’m planning to write a money book, a dating book, and a health book. I could see her interest fade with every sentence.
I offered her a copy of Author in St. Petersburg, but she smiled and said she couldn’t accept it in good conscience. When she tried to say goodbye and leave before I did, I took that as a clear sign she wasn’t interested. The good thing is that I don’t take rejection personally anymore. What I’m looking for is genuine, mutual chemistry, and if it’s not there, I’d rather let someone go gracefully without turning it into a story of failure.
I’m grateful that I’m meeting people in person again instead of getting lost in dating apps. Every real-life interaction feels more meaningful, even when it doesn’t go anywhere romantic. After yoga, I headed over to my ex-wife’s house to pack up the rest of my office. We managed to roll my standing desk down the street using a furniture dolly that a friend gave us. This time, we flipped it upright and rotated it through the bedroom doorway—so much easier than the awkward struggle we went through moving it across the house a few months ago.
My ex-wife and I had a great talk this afternoon, one of those rare, honest conversations where we could look back on our relationship and really appreciate what we built—and what we’re learning through the divorce. There’s a kind of tenderness to it now, a recognition of how much character we’ve both developed through all the ups and downs. Afterward, my ex-wife went to have tea with one of her friends who still doesn’t know about the divorce, and I headed back to my house for lunch.
I made myself a big salad, but it only came together once I borrowed my ex-wife’s olive oil sprayer. It’s just a regular spray bottle filled with olive oil, but it makes all the difference. The mist coats the salad perfectly. I was halfway through eating when my phone buzzed with an Amazon notification—I Was Famous on the Internet had been delivered. I’d had it shipped to my ex-wife’s address since I don’t feel like constantly updating my mailing info when I’ll only be in this house for another few months.
The excitement hit me so fast that I stopped eating mid-bite, which almost never happens. I walked the five minutes to my ex-wife’s place, opened the Amazon package right on her front porch, and pulled out my book. Holding it in my hands for the first time felt surreal. I studied the cover immediately, noticing that my face looked a bit blurry—like the photo didn’t quite have enough resolution. It had been a 1920x1080 image from 2021 that I’d stretched to fill half the cover, and now the details were just slightly obscured. But honestly, it fits the theme of the book. I could go full perfectionist, redo the cover, and issue a new edition—but it’s not worth it. This one is perfectly imperfect.
The spine was another little quirk: my name sat just slightly off-center, drifting toward the top. Instead of calling it a mistake, I’m calling it style. The back cover looked great, though, with a sharper, more detailed photo. Ironically, the front’s slight blur adds meaning—it reflects one of the book’s central ideas. Online success often looks stunning from afar, but when you look closely, it’s pixelated. A mirage. The glossy perfection you see from a distance doesn’t hold up under real scrutiny.
On the cover, I’m shirtless, cropped just above the nipples—a deliberate, attention-grabbing image that captures both vulnerability and confidence. As I flipped through the pages, I spotted a few design quirks: a couple of section headers awkwardly placed at the bottom of pages or breaking up paragraphs. But again, this isn’t a corporate production with a team of editors polishing every line. It’s my work, self-made from start to finish—and it’s good enough.
I walked back home with the book in hand, finished my salad, and later went to pick up the kids from school. I’d hoped to see one of the dads who had already read Author in St. Petersburg so I could show him my new book, but he wasn’t there. Still, it felt like a milestone day. I had my next book in print, flaws and all—and for the first time, that felt exactly right.
After picking up the kids and taking them home, I noticed my car’s air conditioning acting up again—another reminder that it’s time to try an independent mechanic instead of throwing more money at the Toyota dealership. Maybe I’ll finally save a few dollars and get a more honest diagnosis.
Once I got home, though, my thoughts shifted to a massage therapist. She had texted me about a week ago saying she wanted to keep our relationship professional after I’d asked her to go for a walk on the beach so we could talk. At the time, I didn’t reply because I wasn’t sure what to say. Tonight, I finally know.
I recorded a six-minute voice message for her. In the first half, I told her that if our relationship is going to be strictly professional, then this might be the end of it, because it’s too far to drive to Sarasota—an hour each way—for massages. I thanked her sincerely for all the sessions I’ve had with her, told her how much I appreciated our time together, and said that if this really is just going to stay professional, then it’s time to say goodbye. I also mentioned that I still have her website up on my hosting, and she’s welcome to leave it there indefinitely if she’d like.
In the second half of the message, I spoke from the heart. I told her I know she likes me, and I like her too. If she ever wants to explore something beyond a professional relationship, I’d be open to that. I reminded her that the last time we talked, she said she’d been stressed about moving. I told her that I’d just moved out myself into a new house during the past week—and while I did have one emotional moment where I cried for thirty minutes from grief the first night, the rest of the move was actually joyful and peaceful. I said I hoped she might imagine what it would be like to share life with someone who approached things that way—calmly, without anxiety, focused on joy. It’s not for everyone, I admitted, but it’s the way I live.
I also reminded her that she once said she felt a strong bond between us, and I told her I felt the same. But if she prefers to keep things exactly as they are, that’s fine too. I just needed to say what I felt—to give myself closure if this really is goodbye.
Later, I went to my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. We had ten people tonight, the biggest turnout we’ve had so far. Everyone shared once, and the discussion was rich and balanced. We read from a couple of books, and after the meeting I talked with a few of the women. One of them gave me some advice about my wardrobe, saying I should focus more on my shirts because she rarely looks below that anyway. She also told me that she thinks I have a fantastic personality, that she enjoys hearing me speak, and that she feels very safe around me.
I already have her number—we’ve texted a little—and I had previously asked if she wanted to meet up to talk more about my life situation. She’d said maybe later. It’s interesting, because based on what she’s said, we might actually be compatible romantically, but she doesn’t seem very interested in taking things further. I’m not pushing it. I trust my intuition to read the room these days. It’s not always perfect, but it’s gotten sharp enough to spare me a lot of awkwardness and rejection.
That intuition is also what helps me maintain friendships without crossing boundaries. I can sense when someone just wants to stay friends, and I honor that. It’s important—especially now, when I have so many close female friends—to protect the comfort and respect in those relationships.
After the AA meeting, I went straight to my son’s soccer game. On the way there, one of my friends from the meeting called me—we ended up talking for about half an hour. She told me she was proud of how I’ve been handling the divorce, and I told her I was proud of how she’s navigating her work situation. We’ve known each other for years, so it felt like an easy, grounded conversation. She also shared her own divorce story, including how her ex-husband lives just two blocks away. She admitted that used to bother her, but now she finds it incredibly convenient. I could relate to that—sometimes what feels uncomfortable at first turns out to make life simpler.
After the call, I met my son at my mom’s house. I said goodnight to him and my daughter, spending about ten minutes there before heading out. My son and I split an Oreo ice cream sandwich—three bites were plenty for me. Beyond that, it’s just diminishing returns. Then I headed to my yoga studio for their Beerasana social event.
When I first heard about it earlier in the week, I had decided not to go. The word beer in the title was enough to put me off—I’m sober, and I generally avoid being around alcohol. But after deleting all the dating apps yesterday, I felt open to new experiences again. a yoga instructor had mentioned earlier in class that the event would be fun, so I decided to give it a try. I figured it would be a good opportunity to practice being social, to connect with people in person, and maybe meet someone I could have a real conversation with.
I’ve been thinking more about how to write these experiences honestly while respecting people’s privacy. In Author in St. Petersburg, I sometimes shared too much about friends or people I knew, and I felt uneasy about that afterward. So now I’m being careful—writing with transparency but not betrayal.
When I walked into the event, I was quickly drawn into conversation with a fairly attractive woman, a mother who mentioned she was in the process of getting divorced. We talked one-on-one for quite a while, and I got the sense that she found me attractive too—maybe even interested in a hookup. But based on some of the things she said, I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. She told me she smokes a lot of weed, and that was enough for me to know we’re not aligned.
She explained that marijuana helps her relax at social events like this, helps with her anxiety. I told her I understood—it’s definitely effective—but I also shared that substances like that ultimately block growth. I explained that for me, alcohol and drugs were habits that disconnected me from my own emotions and made it harder to truly relax without external help. I told her how difficult sobriety was at first—the first few months were rough—but that now, eleven years later, I’m profoundly grateful to live completely sober.
I also explained that when you use drugs or alcohol regularly, they alter your perception of what’s happening around you. They make it harder to tune in to other people’s feelings or to see situations clearly. In AA language, they keep you stuck in selfishness and self-centeredness. I didn’t quote the Big Book directly, but I paraphrased the essence: those substances numb your sensitivity and limit your awareness.
She listened politely, maybe even thoughtfully, though I could tell she wasn’t about to quit anytime soon. Still, I left that conversation feeling clear and grounded. I know who I am, what I stand for, and how I want to connect with people now—authentically, soberly, and in real life.
I was buzzing with sexual energy tonight, the kind of restless, physical desire that hits after two weeks without sex, which is the longest stretch I’ve gone in fourteen years. The woman I’d been talking to at Beerasana was definitely attractive enough for me to want to hook up with, but I could feel clearly that I didn’t want anything long-term with her. I’m sure someone else will, or at least I hope so, but it’s not me.
In another life—if I were still drinking and not dead from it—I probably would’ve tried to sleep with her tonight. I could feel that pull between us, and I wasn’t sure whether the thought of going home together was coming more from me or if I was picking it up from her. Either way, I knew it would be a bad idea. Everything she’d said about her divorce sounded confrontational and emotionally charged, and that’s not energy I want in my life. I’ve already lived through enough of that.
As we mingled with other people, the spark I felt while talking with her one-on-one started to fade. In a group, she blended in with the chatter, and I realized how easily I get bored with small talk. Conversations about food, daily routines, or minor annoyances make me want to fall asleep. They’re fine for most people, but I crave depth—big ideas, emotions, self-awareness, spirituality, purpose. Those are the things that light me up.
I floated around the event, seeing several friends and joining in different conversations. One friend brought up something that really stuck with me—how valuable it is to have multiple books out. He said that once someone discovers one of your books, having more titles gives them somewhere to go next. From a marketing perspective, that’s powerful. If you can sell one book, you might sell ten more to the same person.
That conversation hit me with inspiration. I thought about how quickly I can write when I’m focused. If I keep my current pace, I can easily produce one or two books a month. And while I’ve been planning to go door-to-door and give away copies, it would be even better if I had a full catalog before doing that. Imagine walking up to someone’s door with I Was Famous on the Internet and saying, “I’ve written ten books—I’ll give you one for free. Which topic interests you most?” That would surprise people, maybe even impress them.
Anyone can publish a book or two, but having ten or twenty—that’s the mark of a professional. I’d love to reach that point within a year. At the rate I’m going, it’s completely possible. I already have another manuscript nearly finished, just waiting for me to go through the edits. If I can stay disciplined and keep distractions at bay this weekend, I’ll have book number four ready to go.
As the event winds down and people start gathering their things, the energy shifts. I can feel a kind of tension in the air—especially with the divorced mom I’d been talking to earlier. I get the sense she’s hoping I’ll ask her to come back to my place or at least suggest we spend more time together. But the more grounded part of me knows better. The potential cost feels way higher than the potential reward.
If it were the woman I had a crush on two years ago, that’d be different. I remember thinking that when I first walked into the event. If she were here, I’d be all in—whatever she wanted to do, I’d say yes. That’s how I want to feel about someone: excited, completely drawn in, with no hesitation. If I don’t feel that way, I’d rather stay single.
At one point, someone I’m talking to mentions how rough the dating scene is. I think about that for a moment and realize most people make it rough on themselves. For instance, if I asked this mom to come back with me and she said no, we’d both end up feeling awkward. And if she said yes, things would likely get even more complicated. Either way, I’d be creating unnecessary emotional mess. Instead, I just go home by myself—and everything stays simple.
When I head to my car, another woman I’d been chatting with earlier asks if I can give her a ride because she parked far away. As I walk to the car with her, I notice the mom getting into her vehicle next to mine. She looks upset. I can’t tell why—maybe she’s disappointed I didn’t make a move, or maybe she’s dealing with something else entirely. Maybe she just doesn’t want to go home alone. I don’t know, and I’m not going to assume. I just notice the possibility that she’s hurting a bit.
Driving home, I feel unexpectedly peaceful. Grateful, even. Coming home alone feels safe—like the right decision. If I want to eventually bring home someone I’m truly thrilled about, someone who matches me emotionally and spiritually, then it’s better not to fill that space with halfhearted connections. The temptation to “just have some fun” is always there, but in my experience, casual hookups rarely stay casual. Someone always gets attached, and it usually ends in confusion or sadness.
I’d much rather have her go home tonight feeling slightly rejected than wake up tomorrow with both of us feeling trapped in a situation that doesn’t fit. A small hurt now is so much better than a bigger one later.
When I get home, all that energy is still humming, but I head to bed alone and at peace. I’d rather channel it than act on it carelessly, trusting it will be there when I eventually meet the right woman.
Tonight, I tried setting up the Hatch that my ex-wife gave me next to my bed, hoping to use it as a sunrise alarm, but after twenty minutes of fiddling with buttons and settings, I couldn’t get it to do anything. I had planned to go to bed early, and even though it’s 11:33 p.m., I guess that’s early enough for me. I’ll probably set my phone alarm for around 7:15 a.m. tomorrow so I can get up and see the kids.
As I settle into bed, I think about how grateful I am for everyone who showed up at my yoga studio tonight. It was a good crowd, and I genuinely enjoyed the atmosphere. I had a great chat with the DJ, who was kind enough to play “Quetzalcoatl” by Deadmau5 for me. Most of her set was dance, techno, and house music, so it was cool to hear something I requested.
There was one woman there who was friendly and pulled me close for a moment, but I must’ve come off icy cold because she quickly moved on. My mind immediately analyzed the situation: she was drinking too much, and being around people who are drunk just makes me uncomfortable now. It’s not judgment—it’s just that I can feel how off their energy is. It’s like standing next to someone who’s mildly poisoned. Everything about the interaction feels artificial, and I can’t fake chemistry through that. She was attractive, but again, not someone I could see myself in a real relationship with.
Sometimes I worry that being this selective could leave me single for the rest of my life. But I also have faith that the right woman is out there. Someone I’ll be truly excited to be with, and she’ll feel the same about me. One day, when I look back and read this entry, these words will sound prophetic. I’ll be living with her, maybe married, maybe even raising kids together, and I’ll see how all these near-misses and moments of restraint made perfect sense. Each “no” I said created the space for the right “yes.”
What I see most people struggling with—especially in relationships—is their inability to say no to things that don’t truly align. They fill their lives with people or commitments that only half fit, then wonder why there’s no room for what they really want. That’s why I’m not interested in casual hookups just because I feel the urge. I’d rather wait for the right person than invite unnecessary drama into my life.
Still, I’ll admit there’s a little fear that I might cave at some point. Fortunately, the mom from earlier didn’t make a move on me tonight. If she had asked me to come back to her place, I honestly don’t know what I would’ve said. I hope I would’ve had the presence of mind to say no kindly and let her down gently, but I can’t be sure. The temptation would’ve been strong.
Even so, lying here now, I’m deeply content. There’s a real joy in coming home to my own quiet space and feeling at peace here. I love that I can be happy by myself. That’s the real foundation—because from that place, I can trust that someone else will eventually want to join me here, not to fill a void but to share the fullness of it. Somewhere in St. Pete, I figure there are at least a hundred women who could be the one. If I stay clear, patient, and grounded, I believe life will lead me straight to her.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Dating playlist.