This is my journal entry from August 2, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
Today was a wild ride—an emotional roller coaster from start to finish. I woke up still unsettled from last night after an argument with my ex-wife. The conflict was about how she handles her feelings when I’m struggling. She told me that when I’m having a hard time, she feels like she must shrink, like her feelings and her life suddenly don’t matter. I told her the exact opposite is what needs to happen. I need her to expand, to take up space, to bring her full energy into the room. When I’m low, I don’t want everyone sitting around asking, “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” I want them to keep living, to have fun, to show me joy so I can join them there.
At 8:30 this morning, I met a friend for tennis. I won the first two games, which is rare. Out of all the times we’ve played—maybe ten matches—I’ve only beaten him once, and that was the day he was hungover. Today, my consistency was better than ever. He hadn’t played in a week, while I’ve been on the court almost daily. Despite my early lead, he adjusted and took six of the next eight games. I was proud of him for making those adjustments and for pushing back so hard. The rallies were intense, and it was rewarding to see how much my game has improved since last year. He told me he had argued with his wife last night, and I laughed—apparently, the air was charged with tension for both of us.
After the match, I rushed home, took a quick five-minute shower, changed clothes, and drove straight to my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting to check in and be there for my sponsee. The topic was honesty. About forty minutes in, someone called on me to share, and within moments, I had the whole room laughing uncontrollably. I started with, “You want to talk about honesty? I’m grateful to be sober, and most of the time I’m having a great day—but today I’m in the shitter.” That line set the tone. The laughter came in waves, so much so that I could barely get a full sentence out before they erupted again.
As one woman told me once, “You say the things we’re all thinking, but we know not to say.” That’s exactly why I speak so openly. It’s what I need to hear, and getting it out of my head is how I stay honest. Leaving that meeting, I thought about how much potential I have for stand-up comedy. The challenge is that my best material comes when I’m struggling. People connect to me when I’m in pain. When I’m happy, it’s harder for them to relate, and fewer things I say come across as funny.
Right after AA, I went to a power yoga class. I’m deeply grateful that my body can handle two hours of intense tennis in the morning followed by a challenging yoga flow. Yesterday my sponsor joked, “With all the stuff you do, you must have the body of a god.” I had never thought of it that way, but I liked hearing it.
By the afternoon, my mind was spinning about the letters I want to write—especially the one to a particular family member. I had been feeling mentally stuck on it, overthinking whether to follow through. Eventually, I told myself that my feelings didn’t matter in this decision. I had been excited about it before, and I needed to honor that commitment. I had asked for signs, and they had been showing up. Around four o’clock, I got a strong inner push: finish the letter now.
I opened the dictated version, read the entire thing, made edits, and ran it through ChatGPT for polish. Then I set up the new printer I bought last night, printed the pages, and asked my ex-wife for a stapler. I drove to the family member’s house to deliver it in person. They weren’t home the first time, so I returned forty minutes later and handed it over.
The moment after I delivered it and walked out, I felt incredibly vulnerable. Tears came, unplanned and heavy. I had just placed my love and my truth directly in their hands. The letter expressed my desire for a better relationship, my struggles within the connection, and the ways I’ve hurt them. Once it was out there, it was no longer in my control. That surrender felt both terrifying and liberating.
The rest of the evening felt lighter. I walked the dogs, spent time with my mom, and reflected on the day. Positive changes often require moving through discomfort. That negative emotional reaction I felt earlier wasn’t a sign to stop—it was simply the toll you pay to reach the other side.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.