This is my journal entry from September 29, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I enjoyed another great night of sleep and took the kids to school in the morning. On the drive, I read a few pages of my Author in St. Petersburg book aloud to my son, who sat quietly in the back seat. It struck me how much of the book is about me—my own growth, thoughts, and experiences—and how little of it is about my children. I realized how often the day-to-day moments with them don’t make it into my writing, maybe because they feel less dramatic or complex than my inner world. Still, I want to create more stories and memories with them that will be worth writing about. My books are mostly written for adults, filled with the kind of themes that don’t fit neatly into the innocent corners of childhood—but they’re still the center of my life, and I want that reflected more.
After dropping them off, I came home and spent time talking with my ex-wife. We’ve both been working through the process of planning our futures as divorced individuals while also supporting each other through the emotional weight of grief. Small, unexpected things still sting. I’ll look at the refrigerator we bought just a few months ago and feel a pang, realizing it’s no longer mine. We discuss the house and how we’ll eventually split it, though neither of us knows exactly how that will look yet. Despite the uncertainty, I’m grateful to be walking through this process with my ex-wife. I trust completely that everything will unfold fairly.
Lately, I’ve been feeling the urge to make financial amends to her. I want my ex-wife to feel secure, cared for, and free from the financial stress that’s weighed on her ever since I wrecked our finances back in 2019. She carried so much of the burden from her own income while I was struggling, and I want to balance that in any way I can now.Afterward, I worked on I Was Famous on the Internet again and felt a surge of gratitude knowing I’m so close to finishing. My plan is to have it submitted to Amazon within the next week and to order author copies shortly after. It feels incredible to be at this stage—to finally hold something that represents years of work, lessons, and healing.
At noon, I went to yoga with my yoga instructor, one of the instructors I’ve practiced with the longest. I first met him back when he was doing donation-based classes around 2020, right after my in-person show that summer. My friend a friend tried to connect us during that time, but it didn’t work out until later when we crossed paths at one of those donation classes. We laughed when we realized she’d already introduced us virtually. I love how St. Petersburg can feel both small and infinite that way—tight-knit but endlessly full of new connections.
My yoga instructor’s flow class today was grounding, and afterward we talked for a while about the divorce. He said he was sad to hear about it, and I told him I understood the sadness too—the grief that comes with realizing my marriage won’t turn out the way I once imagined. When I got married, I thought success meant staying together forever and being happy the whole time. Anything else, including divorce or even long-term unhappiness, felt like failure. I’m grateful that my perspective has expanded since then.
I reminded him that, in some ways, he’d been part of my inspiration. Years ago, I’d encouraged him to keep dating after heartbreak, to risk rejection, to believe that love was possible again. Eventually, he did meet someone wonderful. He smiled and suggested I try online dating again myself. I told him I wasn’t quite ready. It’s only been a few days since my ex-wife and I agreed to divorce, and though she’d be completely fine with me dating again—she might even cheer me on—I want to wait until I’ve had an open conversation with the kids first. I don’t want to sneak around, hiding a dating app on my computer and scrambling for an answer if my son or my daughter asked what I was doing. I want to stay honest and transparent, even as life continues to shift.
What I love about honesty and transparency is how effortlessly they guide my behavior. When you’re willing to lie or hide things, you open the door to chaos—you create opportunities to hurt people, to make messes you later must clean up. But when you live by a rule of openness, when lying or hiding isn’t an option, your choices narrow in a healthy way. You start to act in ways that are honorable, because you know you’ll be accountable. You think carefully about what you’re doing based on whether you’d feel comfortable sharing it with others. That kind of self-awareness creates integrity almost automatically.
That said, I’ve opened my mind to dating online again, even though I know how distracting it can be. I’ve spent enough time in that world to see how easy it is to lose focus. Ideally, I’d love a different kind of story this time—something spontaneous and meaningful. It would feel so much more real to meet someone through yoga, a friend, or even at an AA meeting. Anyone can upload photos and type out a profile, but there’s something magical about meeting a woman naturally, face-to-face, through shared energy and timing rather than algorithms and apps.
When I think back, that’s how my ex-wife and I met—on Match.com. It worked then, but it also feels ordinary now. I want something extraordinary, something that reflects the person I’ve become. Besides, I’ve noticed in my own experience and from watching others that online dating seems to attract a lot of toxic energy. Many people there are rushing to fill a void, or they’re trying to hide unresolved issues. I did the same thing when I was still deep in alcoholism. It’s easy to project who you wish you were online instead of who you really are. My instinct tells me that my best chance of finding someone truly compatible will come through real-world connections.
The odds feel good here in St. Petersburg, too. There are so many incredible women—beautiful, spiritual, interesting—and I see how often they seem to be settling for less. Some get involved with men in open marriages, others stay stuck with partners who are struggling with addiction or who can’t be present. It makes me believe there’s space for a man like me—someone healthy, emotionally available, and grounded—to meet someone who’s been waiting for that.
After my conversation with my yoga instructor, I gave him a copy of Author in St. Petersburg as a gift. Then I drove to the kids’ school and arrived about an hour early for pickup. Normally I wouldn’t do that, but I want my ex-wife to have the house to herself as much as possible right now. She deserves that breathing room—to feel her own space again without me coming in and out during the day. We’d had some great conversations earlier that morning, and I didn’t want to risk disrupting her focus. Plus, it saved me ten minutes of driving to head straight to the school and wait there.
I spent the time talking to my sponsor on the phone, then reading a few books I’ve been working through—The Unknown Reality, Volume 2 by Jane Roberts, one of the Seth books annotated by Robert Butts, and Can You Catch a Cold? Both fascinate me in completely different ways: the Seth material is deeply esoteric and mind-expanding, while Can You Catch a Cold? takes a practical, scientific swing at germ theory, showing what I find to be a fragile and questionable mainstream narrative.
When the kids finally came out, they weren’t in a talkative mood. I tried the usual questions—What did you do today? What did you learn? What’d you play at recess?—but all I got were one-word answers. “Nothing.” “Play.” I let it go. Some days they just need quiet, and I’m learning to give them that space. We drove home together in comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.
After dropping the kids off at home, I headed straight to my 4 p.m. AA meeting. A couple of the women from last week returned, along with one of my fellow home group members. With three women and just me, it felt more like a women’s meeting, and I actually loved the energy of it—gentle, grounded, and emotionally open. There’s something comforting about being in a circle like that, where honesty and healing flow easily between people who barely knew each other a few months ago.
After the meeting, I came home and poured myself back into editing I Was Famous on the Internet. I lost track of time until my ex-wife arrived to drop the kids off after visiting her parents. She headed out again for her Toastmasters meeting, leaving me with the kids for the evening. We played baseball in the front yard until sunset. I told them I’d give them $5 each if they could catch the Nerf football I threw about thirty yards. They had five chances, and although they got their hands on it once or twice, neither managed a full catch. Still, they were laughing and chasing the ball across the grass, so it didn’t really matter.
After that, we switched to using a kickball as a makeshift baseball and took turns hitting it around the yard. Then we went over to my mom’s house, where I treated myself to an Italian ice before bringing the kids home. My daughter took a shower while my son brushed his teeth, and both were in bed by 8:25 p.m. I’d promised them $5 each as a bonus if they could be completely ready for bed, lights out, at that exact time. The way I’ve set up their money system, bonuses have to be earned. They get $20 an hour for actual work, and any bonuses are paid at the same rate, meaning they can earn up to $40 an hour if they’ve got bonuses waiting to unlock. It’s funny watching how little motivation they have until there’s something specific they want—it’s the same pattern many adults fall into, just smaller stakes.
Once the house was quiet, I got back to editing I Was Famous on the Internet. I’ve now made two full passes through the entire book. Tonight I added a new section about what the time I spent online really cost me—the loss of presence in my marriage and family. That feels like one of the book’s most important messages. I keep reminding myself that the beginning is everything. If the introduction or first third of a book doesn’t pull readers in, they’ll never get to the parts that matter most. For me, once I’m hooked on a story, I almost always finish it. But if a book loses me early, even one with brilliance hidden later on, I’ll probably never return to it. So I’m putting extra care into those opening chapters.
When my ex-wife came home from Toastmasters, we had another long, supportive talk. We both keep checking in to make sure this new path—separating, opening ourselves to new relationships, and rearranging our family life—is still what we truly want. Each time, the answer feels clear. There’s sadness, of course, but there’s also excitement and a deep sense of rightness.
She told me that the most frustrating part of the whole process so far was Saturday night, when I handed her that note saying, I’m sorry, I was wrong. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this marriage work. I don’t want to get divorced. I smiled and said, “Aren’t you glad it was me who did that instead of you?” She laughed and agreed. If she’d been the one to write that note, it might have made everything much harder. She admitted that if she’d leaned into her powers of seduction—sex, affection, closeness—it might have been nearly impossible for either of us to resist falling back into old patterns.
I’m grateful it was me who made that last stand. Seeing how shallow that moment really was—how much it came from fear rather than truth—helped both of us accept what’s real. Staying together would’ve been easy for a few days, maybe even a few months, but happiness wouldn’t have lasted. Now, with everything out in the open, we can move forward freely, with respect and love still intact. My ex-wife and I are both ready to show people what a kind, loving divorce can look like. There’s no bitterness here, just two people walking separate paths with mutual respect and gratitude.
When I finally went to bed, I noticed something surprising—my sex drive seems to have surged since my ex-wife and I talked about getting divorced and I made it through that first wave of grief. I already thought my libido was strong, but this feels like a completely different level. What’s striking is how turned on I am by the idea of being with a new woman. Being intimate with my ex-wife when she didn’t truly want it had become painful and discouraging. Now, the thought of being with someone who genuinely desires me feels electrifying.
Part of me wants to be ready for that. This renewed energy and vitality feels like good preparation for being with someone new. It’s fascinating to witness how quickly my body has responded to this new phase of life. It feels like living proof of everything I’ve learned from books like You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay: that our physical health is deeply tied to our mental and emotional environment.
My sex drive skyrocketing almost overnight shows how much my old patterns—my thoughts, my choices, even my relationship dynamics—had been suppressing it. I can see why I did it. I didn’t want to let my imagination wander or get lost in fantasy. I didn’t want to be constantly aroused when it was already too much for my ex-wife. There were even days that scared me, when my body felt shut down, and it seemed like a sign something was deeply wrong.
Now, though, it’s the opposite. My vitality has returned in a way I haven’t felt in years. The shift in my mindset changed the internal terrain almost instantly, and my body followed suit. To me, it feels like compelling firsthand evidence for the principles of terrain theory, which I’ve only just begun to study but plan to dive deeper into.
I went to bed at 11:41 p.m., feeling grateful, alive, and excited for tomorrow. I lay there appreciating the chance to sleep in the same house as my kids again—a privilege I know won’t last forever. That awareness makes every night feel precious. Each moment here, under this roof with them and my ex-wife, feels like a gift I don’t want to take for granted.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Dating playlist.