This is my journal entry from October 2, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
Today was packed from start to finish. I drove down to Sarasota for my exit interview at the the massage school, followed by a massage with a massage therapist, then my 4 p.m. meeting, and tennis after that. It was one of those full, transitional days that felt like a bridge between old plans and new beginnings.
After dropping the kids off at school, I came home and had another meaningful talk with my ex-wife. We’re still gently planning the details of our future, step by step. We decided that tomorrow, after school, we’ll tell the kids about the divorce. We both want them to have the full weekend to process instead of hearing it on a Sunday afternoon right before school starts again. The timing feels right—my son has soccer after school, and my daughter will be visiting my mom—so they’ll each have something comforting and familiar to return to afterward. It gives them space to digest, to ask questions, and to feel safe before they talk to their friends or classmates about it.
My ex-wife and I have both double-checked that this is truly what we want, and now it’s time to bring the kids into the loop. Yesterday was a tough one for her. She got so overwhelmed thinking about everything—the divorce, changes at work, and holding in all the emotions—that she fainted while sitting on the toilet. When she fell forward, she hit her head on the sink and bruised her forehead and the side of her face near her left eye.
But we both know my ex-wife’s friends will believe her when she says she fainted on the toilet. It’s such a “my ex-wife” thing to do—unexpected, dramatic, and completely human. I was at my AA meeting when it happened, so when I got home and saw the bruise, I was concerned but also grateful for how she was handling it. Instead of spiraling, she saw it as a wake-up call. I asked what she thought caused it, and she said it was the pressure of not talking to her coworkers about the divorce while also navigating so much change at work. She said she’s taking it as a sign to open up more—to reach out instead of bottling things up. She even said she’s proud of how many people I’ve talked to and how much support I’ve found. This morning, she had a call scheduled with one of her coworkers to share what’s been going on.
After our talk, I finished nearly all of my final edits on I Was Famous on the Internet before leaving for Sarasota. During the drive, I listened to The Tennis Partner by Abraham Verghese, a recommendation from my sister. It’s a beautifully written book about a doctor navigating his divorce, friendship, and tennis—a perfect reflection of where I’m at in my own life. About thirty minutes into the drive, I took my headphones out to sit in silence for the rest of the trip. I wanted to arrive grounded, ready to listen, not rushing or distracted.
At the school, I met with the admissions coordinator for my exit interview. She was kind and professional, and I was thrilled when she told me I’d be receiving a $954 refund from the $2,088 tuition I’d paid. I returned all my books—clean, without any writing in them—and explained why I was leaving the program. It felt bittersweet but also peaceful. The decision to withdraw still feels right. Massage school served its purpose—it gave me clarity on what I want, reminded me that I value hands-on healing, and showed me that my path is bigger than a single certificate. Today was a day of closure and transition, the kind that humbles you while also filling you with quiet confidence that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
After finishing my exit interview, I called a longtime friend—we’ve known each other since 2008. I told him about the divorce, and he shared his hope that it would go smoothly, along with some thoughtful advice. He encouraged me to be absolutely sure this was what both my ex-wife and I wanted before finalizing anything, and I appreciated the steadiness of his perspective.
When I hung up, I ran into a classmate just as he was leaving massage school for the day. He had been mentioned, though indirectly, in my first book Author in St. Petersburg. Writing about race was one of the most awkward parts of that book for me. I’ve always preferred not to categorize people by race at all, but a few things about my classmates felt important to note, and I was genuinely glad about them.
Still, I struggled with how to handle that section, especially after the backlash I got online in 2022 when I publicly changed my race from White to Black. The internet outrage made me hesitant to even mention race again. When I wrote Author in St. Petersburg, I deleted that entire section at one point out of fear of how people might take it, then eventually restored it. I’d written honestly that I was happy to see more diversity in the field. One classmate is one of the kindest people I’ve met—he once shared his seaweed snacks with me—and another is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met; every other thing he says makes me laugh. I’ve always felt love and camaraderie with them, and I hope that comes through in what I wrote.
I gave him a copy of Author in St. Petersburg along with my phone number and told him I’d really appreciate his feedback. I’ve received a lot of positive comments on the book so far, but I’m particularly interested in how he feels about that section. My goal has always been to write in a spirit of love, truth, and connection—and if something misses the mark, I hope people will tell me so I can grow from it.
After talking with him, I saw several of my old classmates coming out of school. They told me that two more students had dropped out, and the woman transferring in from the night class wasn’t coming either. The class that started with twelve is now down to six, but they seem to have a strong, cohesive group. I was glad to hear they still have at least one guy since I remember telling him early on that I didn’t want him to quit because it was nice having another man in the class. Now, ironically, I’m the one who left.
Everyone seemed genuinely happy to see me. I’d brought a stack of books and handed out copies to all of them, also exchanging phone numbers with a few who didn’t already have mine in case they ever wanted to swap massages after they’re licensed or give me feedback on my work. One of the moms I gave a copy to told me later that she’d just started reading Author in St. Petersburg and was really enjoying it.
Feedback like that always fills me with gratitude. The truth is, I’m just sitting here in my daughter’s room, dictating these words into my phone on a quiet Friday afternoon, October 3, 2025. I have no idea how this book—or any of my books—will be received in the long run. All I know is that I’m telling the truth of my experience, moment by moment. That honesty feels rare in a world where so much of what we hear avoids certain topics or sanitizes reality. What I love most is that so many of the people reading my books know me—they’ve seen my face, they have my phone number, and they can reach out. Maybe someday thousands of people will read these, but for now, it’s just me here, speaking openly into the silence, hoping what I share helps someone else feel a little less alone.
After finishing up at the school, I went to see a massage therapist for my massage—the fourth one she’s given me in exchange for building her website. I’m still amazed by how generous that arrangement has been. Altogether, I’ve spent less than $60 for all those sessions combined. The first massage I had with her was covered by the school, but I’d left a $55 tip on a 60-minute session, which clearly left an impression. Since then, we’ve built a good rapport. Our conversations are always deep, honest, and engaging, and over time, a genuine friendship has grown between us.
During today’s session, I felt comfortable enough to be completely honest about something that had been sitting with me for a month. I waited, listening carefully to her tone and energy, and decided she could handle what I was about to share. I told her that when she mentioned reading Author in St. Petersburg, I wanted her to know how difficult this new book had been to write—because one of the very first entries in it was about her. After our first massage, I developed a crush. Helping her build her website and getting to know her through long text exchanges had brought back old memories of those flirty, emotional “text romances” I used to have with women like the dispatcher I wrote about in Officer Banfield.
I explained that I had initially deleted that journal entry because I didn’t know how to handle it, but as I continue editing the book, I restored it and it actually opens up the book nicely in the context of getting a divorce. She took it remarkably well—she seemed flattered and appreciative of the energy and attention I’d sent her way. There was no awkwardness, just openness.
I also told her that my ex-wife and I are officially getting divorced and that I’m fully available to date again. I explained that from here on out, I’m only saying hell yes or no—no more settling, no more halfway commitments. The biggest trap I see in dating, and one I’ve fallen into before, is meeting someone kind, compatible, and easy to get along with, but not feeling truly excited or passionate—and then saying yes anyway. That’s how people end up stuck in lukewarm relationships. My ex-wife and I spent the last couple of years of our marriage in that state: it was fine, even good at times, but it wasn’t hell yes anymore. In the beginning it was. In the middle it was. But eventually we both drifted into “good enough,” and that’s not what I want to recreate.
I want a relationship that lights me up—one that feels amazing on every level. If it’s not that, I’d rather stay open and wait for it to arrive. I think most people settle too easily, not just in relationships but in everything—work, family, and life in general. I’ve done it myself for too long, and I’m done with it.
Before I left, I gave a massage therapist the new massage sheets and blanket I’d ordered from her recommendation for school—about $100 worth—and she was very grateful. Driving back to St. Petersburg, my mind wandered to the question I already knew the answer to: whether a massage therapist might ever be interested in dating. She’s mentioned that she’s seeing someone, and she lives in Sarasota, which would be difficult anyway since I want to stay near my kids in St. Pete. Still, my thoughts went there for a while, circling around what-ifs before I gently let them go. Sometimes it’s enough to simply appreciate someone for the connection that’s already there.
When I got home, I headed straight to the 4 p.m. AA meeting, and it turned out to be one of the best we’ve had yet. Everyone there got deeply vulnerable. I shared about my divorce, and others opened up about their health struggles, early sobriety, and difficult relationships. There was this shared sense of release in the room—like we all collectively exhaled. I’ve known most of the people there for months, some for years, yet I felt like I learned more about them in that one hour than I had in all the dozens of hours we’ve sat together before—10, 20, 30, maybe even 50 meetings’ worth of small talk and routine shares. This was exactly the vision I had when I started this meeting: real conversations, real honesty, and people leaving lighter than they came in. Seeing that actually happening filled me with gratitude.
Afterward, I went home just long enough to grab my gear, then headed straight to the tennis clinic at the tennis club. Today, I was paired with a father-and-son duo and a friend. The father and son were excellent players—consistent, fast, and competitive—and a friend and I had to play our absolute best just to keep up. I love being pushed like that because it forces me to rise to the occasion. I found myself hitting shots I didn’t even know I was capable of—powerful, precise ones that ripped past even the father and son, bouncing off their rackets or hitting the court before they could react.
Of course, I also made plenty of errors, but that’s part of the fun. We laughed a lot, joked constantly, and kept the energy light. The tennis coach, the coach, brings that out in everyone—she has a way of keeping things competitive without losing the joy of it. On the next court over, there were twice as many guys, the so-called “serious” group—the ones who often think they’re the better players, and to be fair, they usually are. But today, I’m not so sure. Skill-wise, both courts felt about equal, and ours may have had more fun.
After the clinic wrapped up with the tennis coach, a friend and I decided to stay and play a set to catch up. I told him about the divorce as we walked onto the court, and he listened with empathy and curiosity, asking thoughtful questions but not pressing too hard. Once we started talking tennis, we skipped the warm-up—we’d already done plenty in the clinic—and jumped straight into a full-speed set.
A friend began serving harder than I’d ever seen him, really letting the ball fly. He double-faulted a few times, but when he connected, the serve was a rocket. I matched his energy. I told him, “Why don’t we just go for it? Let’s both try as hard as we can. If we double fault or miss, who cares?” He grinned, and we did exactly that.
We blasted through the set, swinging for the fences on every shot. Sometimes one of us double-faulted two or three times in a row, but it didn’t matter—we were committed to going all out. I missed plenty of his serves because I was trying to crush the returns, but when I connected, it felt incredible. I hit one return so clean and fast that a friend just stood there, watching it whiz by. It came off my racket like lightning—so fast he barely had time to react. That one shot made all the misses worth it. I told him, “If I hit one like that, I don’t care if I miss five before it. Eventually I’ll hit more of those.”
He laughed and said we’d never aced each other as many times as we did that day. He was right—I blasted several serves past him that he couldn’t touch, and he did the same to me. One of his serves landed deep on the far sideline with so much pace I didn’t even come close to it. I told him how proud I was of him. It was amazing to see both of us playing fearless tennis. Usually we play conservatively, just trying to keep the ball in, and that kind of playing always feels timid, like we’re failing slowly. Today was the opposite—our error rate was sky-high, but it didn’t matter because we were having fun.
At one point, I hit a serve so bad it bounced before the service line on my own side and dribbled into the net. We both burst out laughing. A friend, too, seemed looser than usual—less frustrated when he missed, more relaxed when he double-faulted. By the end of the set, we were both playing great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his serve this strong before.
Driving home, I kept thinking about how this approach—going all in without fear—is the same philosophy I want to live by. When you play not to lose, you’re tight, self-conscious, and joyless. But when you give everything you’ve got, you can finally have fun. That’s how I want to play tennis, and that’s how I want to live. Unless I’m with someone who specifically wants to focus on consistency, I’d rather just blast every serve, crush every return, and see how good I can get at hitting full-speed shots. My best tennis comes when I play the entire range—mixing in delicate little dinks with wild, powerful smashes.
After tennis, I went home, washed dishes, and helped put the kids to bed. Later, I took a walk while talking to my sponsor on the phone. I told him I’d been thinking about a massage therapist and might ask if she’d want to do something outside of massage. I had the same conversation with my mom afterward, then with my ex-wife.
When I told my ex-wife, she admitted it hurt a little to hear I’d felt this kind of attraction during our marriage, but she said it made sense—it’s part of her journey too. It reaffirmed for her that she’s happy with the direction we’re going, that she wants her space, and that she truly wants me to find someone else. I felt an enormous wave of gratitude for her openness and support, and the fact that I could be this honest with her. Still, I went to bed feeling a bit nervous. I had planned to wait a week before messaging a massage therapist again—but lying there, replaying the day, I realized I probably wouldn’t wait that long. Tomorrow felt right.
Revealing
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