This is my journal entry from August 9, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I’ve decided to start making these diary entries longer. At first, I set a five-minute dictation limit because that’s what I could easily transcribe in one go and then run through ChatGPT. I’ll still keep the dictations around five minutes each for practicality, but I no longer see a reason to restrict the whole diary to that length. Some days might stretch to ten, fifteen, or even twenty minutes, while others may stay shorter. The point is to give enough room to capture what matters without letting it drag. Life is always a balancing act—finding the right amount without tipping into excess.
I woke up at 6:40 this morning and played tennis with a woman in her sixties I sometimes hit with. I love discovering unexpected connections between the people in my life. Growing up as a military brat, moving all over the world, and later living in Columbia while studying at the University of South Carolina, I rarely got to know people deeply enough to stumble on those connections. Now I make a point to ask questions, talk with people, and notice the links. When they appear, they feel joyful and grounding.
We didn’t keep score this morning, just hit the ball back and forth and enjoyed ourselves. She is in her sixties and still playing well, staying healthy, and living actively. I find that inspiring. I’m always seeking role models who show what’s possible with age when you take care of yourself. I asked her what she’s done differently compared to many people her age, and she said she’s simply stayed active—playing tennis, trying pickleball, exercising regularly. I’m grateful to be following a similar path, surrounding myself with people who value movement and vitality.
When I got home, I made one of my all-time favorite meals from childhood: beef stroganoff. I only used half a pound of meat, but it was tenderloin—about twenty dollars’ worth—which some people might see as a crime to put in a stew. For me, it was worth it. The result was tender, flavorful, and deeply satisfying. This dish was my favorite growing up, the one my dad made. I remember thinking over twenty years ago that I needed to learn it from him so I could keep enjoying it long after he was gone. Today’s batch came out perfectly. My ex-wife enjoyed some, and my son devoured two big bowls.
I finished cooking just in time to make my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. My sponsor was there, along with one of my sponsees. I didn’t get called on, but it was still a great meeting. I enjoy listening as much as speaking, and I have plenty of opportunities to share in other places. Afterward, I had a meaningful conversation with a man who’s known me in AA for about nine years. He asked why he never sees me put money in the basket. I explained that I do contribute, but I only carry twenties, fifties, and hundreds, so I don’t usually have small bills for daily donations.
For years, I carried ones, fives, and tens and would drop in a dollar or two at each meeting, which left me with a wallet full of nearly useless bills. Now, I prefer to put in a twenty once a week or every other week. Sometimes I’ll drop sixty or eighty dollars in a single week, then not contribute again for a month. Once I explained this, he understood, and our conversation opened the door for him to share some personal stories with me. Before we left, I handed him a copy of my Speaker Meeting 2017 book and said, “Here’s my very personal stuff in print.”
Back in 2017 and 2018, I gave away Speaker Meeting 2017 constantly in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. That book contains a graphic and unflinching history of my life and addictions—alcoholism, sex addiction, gambling, money issues, food, and video games. It is essentially a complete fourth and fifth step laid out in writing. My sponsor once told me that if he were in my position, he wouldn’t write a book like that. I listened, but I also knew I had to write it for my recovery. That book was my searching and fearless moral inventory, part of the process of making a list of people I had harmed and beginning amends.
When I handed out copies, some people read it and opened up to me in ways they never had before, sharing deeply personal parts of their own lives. That kind of connection is what I value most about the book. I never sold it, even though each copy costs about ten dollars to print since it runs five or six hundred pages. I simply gave it away. Over time, I handed out a substantial number of copies, and now, for the first time in a year, I need to reorder more. My approach is simple: the first book is free for anyone I meet, and if they want to buy more, they can. If they truly have no money, I’ll give them additional copies without hesitation.
Eventually, I stopped giving Speaker Meeting 2017 away in AA because people began gossiping about it and asking me not to bring it to meetings. At the time, I was pouring most of my energy into my videos, and sharing those seemed like a better use of focus. Now that I have copies again, I’m more selective. I only give Speaker Meeting 2017 to people I believe can handle its raw and graphic content. My plan is to write another AA-focused book for a general audience—something I might title AA Speaker—that I will again distribute freely in meetings as additional sober literature.
After my AA meeting today, I met up with my life coach. I had been a little hurt when our planned life coaching session—one she had generously offered me for free—fell through last week. I had done a free session for her, and when ours didn’t happen, I slipped into that dramatic mindset of, “Whatever, forget it, it’s not going to happen.” Then she messaged me today asking if I wanted to meet her at a coffee shop downtown. She said she was co-working, which I had to clarify—turns out she just meant working on her laptop at the café.
When I arrived, she was sitting by herself, not talking to anyone. We ended up having a great hour-and-a-half conversation about writing books. We agreed to keep each other accountable since she also wants to write. I brought two of my books—Speaker Meeting 2017 and Officer Banfield—to show her my work and offered to give her either one or both if she wanted them. After that, she gave me the free life coaching session we had originally planned, which turned out to be excellent.
I decided to purchase a four-pack of coaching sessions from her. She’s comfortable discussing exactly the kinds of personal topics I need to address and clearly has solid training and certifications in coaching—something I’ve never formally pursued myself. I’m looking forward to learning from her approach and having someone work with me on my personal life in a structured way for the first time in quite a while.
After leaving the café with my life coach, I went to a massage appointment with a massage therapist friend. This was her very first session with a paying client. She had practiced extensively during massage school on family, friends, and the owners of her spa, but this was the first time she worked on someone in an official, paid capacity. I met a massage therapist friend at my yoga studio during a yoga class sometime in the last year. In fact, while I’m recording this, she just sent me a text message. It’s moments like that that make me appreciate the connections we share with people—links that go beyond words and texts, an almost mental thread. Some connections feel stronger than others, and it’s rewarding to recognize when you have that kind of rapport with someone.
I remember thinking how great it would be to meet a massage therapist through yoga—someone I got to know as a person before I knew them in a professional role. Most of my past massage therapists were people I met purely through business. With a massage therapist friend, the dynamic was different from the start. We spoke a few times at my yoga studio, and one day she mentioned she was working toward her massage license and would finish in about four months. I mentally filed that away. I didn’t reach out until I was certain she had completed her training. When I finally messaged her, the timing was perfect—she had just returned from a trip, was newly licensed, and ready to take clients.
Her excitement about working with her first paying client matched my enthusiasm. She offered me three options: the spa where she works, her house, or mine. My ex-wife prefers I avoid in-home massages so she can have the house to herself—or with the kids—while I’m gone. I also prefer not to go to a spa because a significant portion of the payment goes to the owner rather than the therapist. A massage therapist friend’s offer to host me at her house was ideal.
Before the session, I remembered a poor massage experience I’d had a few months ago with a therapist I had used before. That session reminded me how important it is to clearly communicate what I want. It’s a lesson that applies to far more than just massage—you have to tell people your needs, expectations, and preferences if you want them to meet them, and you also have to create the space for them to do the same. I explained to a massage therapist friend that I often enjoy a conversational massage, especially with someone new. My life already includes plenty of quiet moments—walking the dog, driving without music, sitting in silence—so I don’t need my massage time to be another silent retreat. Many therapists actually find their work more engaging when there’s some intellectual stimulation, and I’m happy to provide that.
The session was everything I hoped for. The conversation flowed easily, the massage itself was excellent, and I paid her more than she requested because it simply felt right. It was one of those experiences where you walk away feeling understood on a personal level and cared for on a physical one. By the time I got home, I felt deeply relaxed, both mentally and physically, and grateful that the whole experience had been so affirming.
The rest of the evening unfolded in a simple but fulfilling way—washing dishes, spending time with my ex-wife and the kids, visiting my mom with my son and her dog. When the house finally grew quiet, I found myself reflecting on how fortunate I am. So many of my days feel this good, and I want to help others experience the same kind of life. Writing these books feels like the best way I can make that possible.
My life coach had given me a journaling prompt earlier in the day: explore why I hold such high standards for the people in my life and what those standards mean to me. The first thought that came to mind was how much I value relationships where everyone’s needs are met and where there’s a constant sense of growth, character-building, and expansion. High standards, to me, mean that we’re not simply recycling the same patterns year after year. They represent a rejection of the “it is what it is” attitude in favor of a life where we actively open our minds, find new sources of joy, deepen our connections, and challenge ourselves to evolve.
Of course, the idea of “high standards” is entirely relative. In some areas, my expectations might seem outrageous to certain people and completely ordinary to others. Take sex, for example. My personal baseline for feeling satisfied in a relationship is intimacy roughly every other day, which I consider just enough to keep me content. Ideally, I would prefer sex almost every day. To many men and women, that expectation might seem excessive, unrealistic, or even a recipe for conflict and resentment. For me, it feels neither unreasonable nor indulgent—it feels joyful, fulfilling, and aligned with the kind of relationship I want to be in.
I believe it’s essential to maintain standards that align with our deepest sense of happiness. When my standards were low, life became sloppy. During my years of alcoholism, my expectations for myself were pathetic. I tolerated behavior that now seems absurd—getting drunk until I vomited, lying in bed all day with a hangover, ignoring my girlfriend, bailing on commitments, and losing entire days to video games while living at my parents’ house. I didn’t define what I wanted from myself, from a relationship, or from life, and that left me simmering with frustration I didn’t fully understand. And when that frustration boiled over, I handled it poorly, pouring it into more drinking, more avoidance, and more chaos.
Raising my standards meant becoming clear about two things: what I want, and what I am willing to give in return. In my marriage, for example, my ex-wife and I have had countless conversations about sex. If she doesn’t want as much as I do, that is her choice, but I’ve learned it is far healthier to be honest about my needs than to convince myself I am satisfied when I’m not. Over time I stopped pretending I was content when I wasn’t, and got clear about what I genuinely wanted in a committed relationship. That clarity has stayed with me.
Half of life seems to be the process of identifying what truly brings you joy and then deciding which standards are appropriate to support that joy. My ex-wife eventually raised her own standards, telling me she didn’t want to be married to an alcoholic. She wanted a sober husband. That change in her expectations forced me to confront my drinking and, in the process, improve my life in ways I never would have if she hadn’t been so direct.
I see many people who either set their standards too low or focus them on the wrong areas—demanding excessive income or constant gestures while neglecting deeper needs like emotional intimacy, respect, sex, or shared values. For me, high standards establish the minimum threshold of “good enough.” Once that bar is met in the areas that matter most, almost everything else becomes negotiable. I’ve told my ex-wife that when our connection is strong, I’m not likely to get upset about much else.
For me, having high standards in relationships has meant defining what matters most, learning to communicate it clearly, and making sure my core needs are honored. In romance, that means each partner knows the other’s standards and actively works to meet them. When that alignment is present, the relationship thrives. When it isn’t, resentment inevitably creeps in. For me, it is that simple—and that non-negotiable.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.