This is my journal entry from September 4, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
At 11:30 this morning, I sat down for lunch, feeling excited about massage school and about my upcoming massage with a massage therapist on Monday. As I thought about what I wanted to share with a massage therapist, based on the stories she has entrusted me with, my mind drifted toward others I felt called to communicate with. I began thinking about a letter to my sisters, and as the idea took shape, a wave of emotions came over me.
My two older half-sisters, from my dad’s first marriage, were incredibly supportive last year when I was going through a difficult period. I imagined writing to tell them how much they had meant to me. I also thought about how Dad’s absence from most of their lives may have left lingering wounds, since he never built much of a relationship with them. I wanted the letter to offer support and perhaps even help them find some healing.
As I pictured what I would say, I felt a surge of grief and tenderness. Our father has passed, yet I wanted to convey something like an apology and amends on his behalf—an acknowledgment of the pain his absence caused, but also a reminder of the love he still carries for them. I recalled the magical experiences I’ve had with him since his passing and wanted to share that connection with them. Tears streamed down my face, and I knew this letter had to be written today, before massage school began. I considered sending separate letters, but since they are close and would likely share them anyway, I decided to send one letter addressed to both.
Later, I went to see a friend for a massage. She generously traded a two-hour session with me, and it was fantastic. She worked through every knot in my body from head to toe, leaving me deeply relaxed and grateful. Soon I’ll begin building her website, which I’m excited to get started on. Afterward, I picked the kids up from school and spent time at home, including a round of Uno No Mercy with my son, before my ex-wife took my daughter to piano lessons at five.
At six, I had tennis scheduled with a friend, but I felt a strong inner nudge: now was the time to write the letter to my sisters. I put in my AirPods and dictated for about fifty minutes, producing what I expect will be six or seven thousand words—around ten single-spaced pages. The words flowed beautifully. I included everything I had thought of earlier, but expressed it in a way that felt more grounded and practical. At first, I imagined channeling Dad’s voice directly, but what came out instead was me sharing what I believe he would want to say, woven with my own forgiveness and love.
The letter feels like a risk. It might be too much, too intense, even overwhelming. Yet I am willing to take that chance. If they receive it in the spirit I intended, it could be magical. They might cry in a healing way, release guilt or shame about their relationship with Dad, and find some peace. I stated clearly that the purpose of the letter was to let go of remorse and recognize that the responsibility for a parent-child relationship rests on the parent. The letter is filled with love, and I believe it has the potential to be transformative for them. That is worth the gamble.
After dictating the letter, I headed to play tennis with a friend. He hadn’t played since our ladder match two weeks ago, when I collapsed mentally after winning the first set. Since then, he had gone to the US Open, been sick, missed workouts, and spent time partying and drinking. Tonight, he started strong, taking the first four games, but I fought back and won the set by taking four games before he closed out with two more. In the second set, he was clearly struggling. His energy lagged, and he needed breaks. I encouraged him to stop if necessary. As men, we often push ourselves to keep going, but sometimes the turning point comes when you recognize it’s okay to quit before hurting yourself.
I told him that while I had the energy to keep going indefinitely, there was no need for him to risk exhaustion. Quitting tonight could be a message to care for his body more intentionally. He is such an athlete, yet it’s easy to sabotage endurance with drinking, smoking, or other choices that wear the body down. Playing two hours of singles tennis requires respect for your body. I hope I carry a message of love and encouragement when I say these things—respect yourself, take care of yourself, and if you’re struggling, know that it’s okay to stop and try again another day. Life is worth more than grinding yourself into a heart attack on the court. After this conversation, he agreed to forfeit the match giving me my first ladder win at the tennis club.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.