This is my journal entry from January 19, 2026 — my real, unedited day, shared just as it happened.
Today, I'm bound and determined that we're going to get this letter done. And that's what I set out to do. I told my sister I'd handwrite it when we were talking about writing because she's taking a writing class and she likes to write too. So I sit down with a pad of paper and a pen and I handwrite a three-page letter. Consistently, people have been telling me that the letter should be shorter. If you're going to give a letter to a random person, it shouldn't be 10 pages long. I'm like, fine, I'm going to get a letter no more than one page with narrow margins. The whole letter can be read in like five minutes or so. A nice little introduction to Jerry Banfield. So that's what I get written. But then when I put it in a ChatGPT and I type it all up, it says that it can make my letter better. It thinks I can do better with writing it and it's very cerebral, which is funny because that's what my friend said about the things I put through ChatGPT. So I go through and have ChatGPT rewrite the letter and it ends up sounding pretty good. I get a letter that feels like it's very relatable to everybody, that it doesn't exclude anybody, which I think is really nice. So I've got the letter fully written, and I feel good about it.
Now it's time to start printing it out. I print out 100 copies of the letter and put on a comedy special, one of Ronny Chieng's new ones, and I go through and stuff 100 letters. Meanwhile, I'm timing everything, and I'm happy to see it's taking less than one minute per letter. So to print the hundred of them out and turn that into envelopes with help written on the outside, then I've got my little JB signature on the inside folded. It takes less than a minute per letter. I'm calculating, if the total time per letter is about three minutes, that'd take 300 minutes per hundred letters, which turns into about five hours to do a hundred letters. Then I'm putting everything in terms of time and calculating the ROI. So if it takes me five hours, and that should include time to actually put them on people's doorsteps. If I can do 1,000 letters in 50 hours, and in theory, if I could do 500 hours, I could do 10,000 letters. And you would think the ROI on distributing 10,000 of these letters would be pretty solid in terms of things like book sales, speaking opportunities, life coaching opportunities, etc. Then again, even if I did an hour and a half or so a day, that'd take a year to do 10,000 letters, which seems like a long time. But I might not need to do 10,000 letters. It's perfect to test the first hundred. I need to get these first 100 given out to test them first. I don't have time for that today, though.
In the middle of this, I go to my AA meeting this morning. And the woman is there who asked me to speak, who I'd asked if she wanted to go get some tea. And I'm like, I can't believe her right now. She doesn't even respond to my fucking message. I waved and kind of fake said hi, but definitely not going to talk to her or pay any attention to her today. It made me think of that Katy Perry song about being hot and cold. Your boy's a little hot and cold. I go there, they call on me right at the end. They're talking about God, God, God. And I'm like, I am God. This is my universe. I'm not even sure you exist when I'm not observing you. Just like quantum physics and shit. If I don't see you, you're just a field of possibility, a wave of possibilities and probabilities. You might not even have a reality until I observe you and collapse you into a physical reality. Boom. Gotcha. So, yeah, I drop it at the meeting. I see my sponsor there talking to a few people afterwards. Definitely not that woman I asked to meet up who can't even respond. Meanwhile, a woman I had been seeing, I sent her a message a couple days ago telling her, okay, because she didn't respond to my last one, so I said, fine, here's the answer to your questions you asked. She didn't even respond to that either. I'm like, the fuck's up with these girls that don't even respond to messages? Jesus Christ. How fucked is your life when you can't respond to messages?
After the AA meeting, I come home. I finish up all the letters. I get the letters ready. And then right when I'm done with the letters, I have the kids come over. Actually, I'm confusing things because I'm dictating this the next day. My ex-wife did not drop the kids off then, because I got the kids later. Right after that, then I get ready and go to yoga. First, I go to yoga and there's a yoga instructor teaching. I'm impressed she remembers me because I've only seen her, I think, one other time. When I first came to my yoga studio, another instructor was teaching a class, and she was at the desk. It was a real crowded weekend, a whole bunch of people there. And she somehow remembers me. So I see her again and she's like, oh, I remember you, it's good to see you again, I haven't seen you in a while. I'm like, really? Nice.
So I put my mat right up in front of the classroom where I can have a perfect spot to be close to her, because I think she's gorgeous. And for some reason, the whole class I'm talking so much shit in my head the whole time, just playing around. I'm smiling, laughing, playing around, having fun, trying to peacock a little bit, but not too much. Just right. You know, like we're doing a warrior three airplane and I jump because I'm like, it's funny, you're on one foot and you just jump, and it's hard to jump off one foot and catch it off one foot while you're in that pose. I'm having a good time, but not getting too crazy. And I'm putting out the how much I love you vibes to her. And I'm distracted focusing on her so much. There's a woman next to me too, but I'm not even paying attention to her, because the instructor's got my attention doing all the poses right in front of me. So I leave the class. I talk to her a little bit at the end. She tells me this gross thing about a cyst that was drained. I'm like, thanks for telling me that. The woman next to me doesn't end up saying anything or making eye contact, which is fine because we're just building tension like I did with a woman I had a crush on. I talk to her a little bit after class next to the cubbies and shit. And just practice always talking with people. See who vibes with me, who likes me, who flirts, who one-ups. Get people to notice.
I head back and shower. My ex-wife texts that she's going to bring the kids over, and I've got about 20 minutes. I make sure everything's cleaned up before the kids get here. And then the kids arrive.
And I was thinking, too, with these books, I really want these for my kids. I want my kids to know this version of me, not the politically correct dad who's trying to be something. My late father was such a different man in his 20s, 30s, and 40s than the dad I knew in his mid 40s, 50s, 60s, and then he's gone, and the man I've known since he's been gone, he was so different. And I think there's a lot I would have liked better about my father as a teenager and in his 20s and 30s. Especially the more he sat down and watched TV and watched the news. He used to be the kind of guy who'd ask somebody to borrow a hundred dollar bill from their wallet and then rip it up in the bar and get punched. That was my dad. But by the end of his life, my dad was the kind of guy who just sat there on the news and acted like he went along with all the shit that was going on. Like, I want my kids to know this version of me. Because this version of me is fun. And this is the version I want to be remembered by. Not whatever the fuck I turn into in 10, 20, 30 years. Which that's fine too. So I'm thinking, with these books, the main people I'm writing this for, I want to be able to listen back to myself.
I would love to listen back to my diary entries from 20 years ago. Like 2006, senior year of college. That would have been some fun shit right there. Goddamn, I got drunk last night and was with my girlfriend, and then I had her leave because I was trying to gamble online, so then I just got fucked up. And all the journal entries from like 20 years ago would have been like, yeah, and then this guy was running out in the open, and I got in a tank and shot a plane down, and then I got infantry and died like 10 times and captured this town, yeah, we took that town. And then I got on PokerStars and played a tournament and did all right. And then I got Waffle House or Papa John's or whatever the fuck Taco Bell and went to bed. And then I played World of Warcraft. That would have been my diary entries from 20 years ago. I'd love to know the shit I was thinking about too, the shit I was talking about with my ex-girlfriend at the time. I'd love to have that. And 30 years ago, fuck, 1996, being like, yeah, we were in English class today, and this girl in front of me is so hot, and I hope she notices me. And then I went to chess club later. Then my brother and I played NFL Quarterback Club 96. And we played basketball out in the front yard. These are something, to be able to just listen to a random day of mine 5, 10, 15, 20, 30, 40 years from now would be so precious. And I'm thinking, oh, maybe I shouldn't cuss in these. Maybe I shouldn't be out here talking shit. And, like, fuck that. I want to give it the real version. I don't want to hear some watered-down, lame-ass version of myself in 10 or 20 years from now. I want to hear the real shit.
All right, so back to the present. The kids come over to my house. We go over to the park because they get here at like 545. So we go over to Crescent Lake Park. My son brought his Nerf football and kind of like a kickball. So we're kicking the shit out of those balls in the park. Everybody's running around. I'm loving it. My daughter's thrilled with her watch, showing me how she's got all her activity rings completed. I throw down some food real quick because I didn't manage to eat after that hot yoga flow. I throw down a little bit of hummus real quick.
Then we go to the grocery store. And the kids are going nuts in the car. It reminds me of riding with friends as a kid. The back seat's just shaking. I'm of the opinion, though, that I should generally, if I treated them like adults, they should generally regulate themselves. I should not be micromanaging all of their interactions. So they're going nuts in the back of the car, grabbing each other, pulling each other's pants down, slapping each other, kicking each other. I'm just like, you know, if somebody's getting hurt or needs help, I'm here. But what they're doing in the backseat, I'm not too worried about it. Like, let them play. Let them have fun. But then I had to curtail a little bit of it getting into the grocery store. I'm like, all right, y'all, we're in a goddamn grocery store now, can't be pulling each other's pants down in a grocery store, can we chill? My son jabs his hand at me, I'm like, no, no, especially not in a grocery store. But I don't want anything jabbed at me anyway right now. Long story short, we go through and the kids each get a basket and fill them up, we go through the self-checkout and throw everything in the car and drive to my daughter's basketball. My daughter is there for her basketball team, she gets on the court, my son's getting bored and messing with me.
And dude, there's this kid on the court who's just destroying everybody. These kids are like eight, nine years old, and this kid is wrecking them at basketball. He's going nuts out here, laying it up and dropping long shots in. I'm like, damn. The other kids can't keep up with him. And I'm just laughing and smiling watching him go. I was thinking while I was taking this shit, I was like, for these diary entries, wouldn't you want them to be funny? Like the best thing I could do would be to laugh at myself 10, 15, 20, 30, 40 years from now. That would be awesome. Like the last thing I want is some goddamn serious diary entry where I was like, and this kid was great at basketball.
So my son wants to play, my daughter's out there having fun, and my son wants to play, so after like 15 minutes I get up and sit with him and throw the ball back and forth next to the court, and it's amazing, we can get the ball all the way down the short side of the court, just rolling it back and forth to each other, it's really cool. But then my son's gotta take it over the top, and he takes a basketball and fucking pegs me from like three feet away with it, and he's strong, I'm impressed with him. He pegs me and I get up and act like a little baby. I'm like, come on, my son, don't fucking peg me with a ball from three feet away. It hurt my little finger a little bit. So I got up and was a little petty. And then my son comes up and lays down and just pouts for the last 15 minutes, which was nice though, because I had some time to watch my daughter. Now, my daughter last season wasn't playing very aggressive, but now she's out there. She's taller than all the other girls. She's out there blocking these other girls and grabbing those rebounds and making shots. I'm like, there you go, girl, that's how you play from now on, that's how you play basketball.
My daughter gets out there and plays some basketball and we come home, get everybody showered. All three of us need to take showers, because again, I didn't get around to showering earlier, which I could have done. And we all take turns showering. My daughter showers first. I make dinner for the kids and get their lunchboxes ready. Then my son showers. I have a little bit to eat myself. They get strawberries, burritos, all that shit. Then we all end up getting to bed about 10 p.m. And I'm like, thank you. These overnights are just what I need in my life, man. I love having this time with the kids. Damn, what a nice day today.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.