This is my journal entry from November 26, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Divorce Day — my real, unedited days, published in order.
This morning, my mind picked up right where it left off the night before. Something my sister casually mentioned kept looping in my head. She’d said she had an attractive friend—late thirties, never married, single, wanting to have children, active, attractive. The way she said it stuck with me. Almost immediately, my imagination took off. I started wondering what it would be like to meet this woman, what would happen if we clicked, if I fell in love. Then the thought expanded: what if that meant moving up here? Starting a new life. Creating distance from my old life in Florida, from my ex, from everything familiar, and building something new up here surrounded by family. That idea actually felt exciting for a moment. The possibility itself had energy.
Then my mind took another turn. I stopped and thought, maybe this woman doesn’t even matter. Maybe she’s just the catalyst. Maybe the real call to action is moving up here regardless. That thought landed differently—less romantic, more structural—and I felt myself getting pulled into it. I went to yoga at another studio in town, an infrared class this time, which was wild in a completely different way than heated yoga. When you walk into the room, the air doesn’t feel hot at all. It feels almost normal. But these infrared light bulbs heat your body directly, like being slowly cooked from the inside out. It’s bizarre. During the power flow vinyasa, I kept thinking it didn’t really feel that intense, but by the end of class I was absolutely drenched in sweat, even though the room itself never felt overwhelmingly warm. It messed with my head a little.
During the class, I also noticed how many beautiful women were there, and that thought crept back in again—this might actually be a nice place to live. And then, almost immediately, another voice in my head slammed the brakes. What the fuck am I thinking? Leaving my kids behind in Florida and moving to Michigan in the winter? Absolutely not. That’s the craziest shit I’ve thought in a while. I flashed back to the earliest days of my divorce, when the idea of moving to another state without my kids had briefly crossed my mind. I shut it down instantly back then, just like I did now. That’s exactly what my dad did with his first kids, and there is no universe where I repeat that pattern. I need to be near my children. That part of me is non-negotiable. So my mind was at war today—not in the chaotic way it used to be, but still very polarized. Two strong, opposing truths pulling in completely different directions.
After yoga, I walked down to a burger spot in Plymouth and called my nephew to see if he wanted to join me for lunch. He said he’d love to and told me he’d be there in about twenty minutes. I ordered a Beyond Burger loaded with everything: avocado, jalapeños, tomato, grilled mushrooms, onions, sriracha mayo. The thing was fucking fiery. Between the jalapeños and the sriracha mayo, it was so hot I had to smash the burger down just to get my mouth around it, but I still demolished the entire thing before my nephew even arrived. When he got there, we started talking, and without much hesitation I said, “Man, I might move up here.” He smiled and said he thought that would be cool, that he thought I’d like it here.
Talking with him, I started to feel something open up. He’s a senior in high school, and I got the sense that we could actually hang out, that having me in his life could be good for him—and honestly, him being in my life could be good for me too. Just the day before, we’d gone to the gym together, and he walked me through a workout like a personal trainer. He told me exactly what to do, helped me choose the right weights, and what stood out was that he did every exercise alongside me. He even loaded extra weight for himself and then stripped some off so I could lift at my level. On one lift—an overhead press—he had forty-five-pound plates on each side, and I was lifting about ten pounds less per side. Even with the lower weight, I felt proud that I could keep up reasonably well, especially considering I haven’t been lifting much lately. It inspired me. It made me think that if I keep lifting, I could get right up there with him, and if he keeps lifting, he’ll keep progressing too. There was something beautiful in that mutual growth, in knowing my body can still respond and adapt.
Being around him made me feel younger. My teenage self came out more. It felt good for both of us. He doesn’t have a ton of male role models—his parents are divorced, and while his dad is present, I could tell there’s room for more connection. I liked the idea of being that person for him, and of him being someone I could share time and energy with. Over lunch, he told me again that he thought it would be a great idea for me to move up here. I found myself agreeing, imagining what it would be like to be around all five of my nieces and nephews regularly. To have lunch with my nephew who’s in college. To build real relationships with whichever of them wanted that connection. That’s something I simply can’t do living in Florida.
And it’s not just them. I have so much family up here—my aunts, uncles, cousins. One cousin in particular has three kids, and I know he’d genuinely appreciate me being closer. He always makes time for me, even though he’s incredibly busy. Last year, he came over to my sister’s house, and she commented that he’d never been there before—not once in the eight or nine years she’s lived in that house. He showed up because I was there. That landed hard. It made me realize that this is a relationship worth nurturing, a connection that actually matters. That realization sat with me as the day went on, adding yet another layer to the internal tug-of-war I’ve been carrying.
After lunch, I went back to my sister’s house, took a shower, and settled in to work on a cover letter. Alongside that, I spent a lot of time talking to ChatGPT about whether it would actually make sense for me to move up here. I was curious what it would say, given that it has access to patterns and data I don’t consciously track. I talked to people, then talked to ChatGPT, then went back and forth between the two. At first, it didn’t seem very supportive of the idea of moving to Michigan. But as I kept adding more details—about my family, my values, the direction I’m trying to go—it gradually shifted. Eventually, it seemed to land on the idea that moving up here actually aligned with what I’ve been describing for my life. That alone was interesting.
At the same time, the thought of leaving the kids behind completely wrecked me. I found myself crying in the bathroom, imagining having to tell them, “Hey, I’m moving to Michigan. I’ll see you in the summers and visit when I can.” Just picturing that conversation made my chest tighten and the tears come fast. That part felt unbearable. I knew I couldn’t make a decision like this without talking to my ex-wife, so I FaceTimed her. She’s one of the first people I need to loop in on something this big.
What she told me absolutely blew me away. She said that the day before—when I wasn’t even consciously thinking about moving—her dad had told her that he thought I was going to move up here. Hearing that stopped me in my tracks. I was like, holy shit. She laughed and said her dad is intuitive, and that he just had this sense I’d end up here. That hit hard. It also lined up eerily well with what the psychic had told me before, that I’d be a bridge away from the kids. A bridge and a plane flight would be exactly accurate if I lived here. It’s also not a particularly difficult trip to make.
I asked my ex-wife how she would feel about it. She said it would be a challenging transition, especially for the kids, but that she could also see it being a very happy lifestyle. She said she’d love to come visit in the summer, bring the kids up here, and maybe stay for a month at a time. She could work remotely, stay at my aunt’s or my sister’s house, and I could have a place where the kids could stay with me. She talked about it in a way that made it sound workable, even peaceful. It was also clear that she would appreciate having a bit more space from me and not having me around constantly. After that conversation, I just sat there thinking, damn, this really might be the direction my life is going—especially combined with what her dad said. I tend to take things like that as signs, whether rational or not.
At the same time, I remembered a conversation from about a month ago when I asked my ex-wife where she pictured me living. She’d imagined me in a neighborhood. But after looking at that expensive house in Florida and considering living so close to her, it became obvious that it didn’t feel right. Even though it was a big four-bedroom, three-bathroom house, something about it felt off. Based on my behavior that Sunday—how reactive and unsettled I felt—it seemed clear that I need to move. That realization alone was blowing my mind.
Later, I went to Meijer to get ingredients to make beef stroganoff. That was my dad’s best meal, my favorite thing he ever cooked. My ex-wife had suggested that I make beef stroganoff for my sister, my nephew, and myself, and as soon as she said it, I knew that was exactly right. I messaged my sister to tell her, and she was genuinely happy knowing she’d come home to dinner after group and after running her errands. Walking around Meijer, I felt completely disoriented. I kept thinking, holy shit, I could move here. That is fucking nuts.
At the same time, something else was happening underneath the shock. My life started to make sense in a way it hadn’t before. All the years I’d spent maintaining relationships up here—the countless drives and flights, the tens of thousands of dollars spent staying connected, the regular phone calls with my aunt, the letters I sent my sisters earlier this year, the family trip we took—suddenly felt coherent. It was like everything was pointing to this place. This is where I’m from. This is where I feel at home. In St. Petersburg, when people ask me where I’m from, I always say Michigan. I’m not from Florida. That realization sat with me, heavy and clarifying at the same time, as I pushed my cart through the aisles and tried to wrap my head around what all of this might mean.
One of the things that really stood out in my conversations with ChatGPT was what it said about dating. I went into a lot of detail and let it use whatever comparative patterns it has, and the conclusion surprised me. It said that the dating environment would likely be better for me up here than in St. Petersburg, Florida. In St. Petersburg, there are a lot of women who are there to have fun, enjoy the sunshine, find themselves, go to the beach, and do yoga. According to ChatGPT, as a man, I don’t stand out much there because I’m surrounded by other guys on a similar wavelength—men doing yoga, growing their hair and beards out, talking about growth, spirituality, and lifestyle design. I’m just one of many.
Up here in Michigan, it said, I stand out more. There simply aren’t as many yoga, hippie, lifestyle-optimized guys walking around. At the same time, there are still plenty of women who do yoga, but the difference is that the women here are from here. Some of them are actually looking to date seriously, get married, and settle down—and since they’re from here, they want to build their lives here. That distinction hit me. I started thinking about what I definitely don’t want, which is meeting a woman in St. Petersburg who isn’t rooted there. The woman I met, for example, was absolutely delightful, but she wasn’t from St. Petersburg. She told me she was living a nomadic life. I imagined a scenario where we dated, she got pregnant, and then decided she wanted to move back to Texas. Suddenly, I’d be somewhere else with no family again, recreating the same isolation I’ve already lived through. I don’t want that.
Ideally, I want to have my family nearby, be with a woman who also has her family nearby, and build something where we’re all part of one extended family. When I really sit with it, Michigan is the only place where that’s actually possible for me. As I was shopping at Meijer, I noticed snow falling when I walked in. After living in Florida since 2010, getting snowed on while going to the grocery store in November felt surreal. It was crazy—and also kind of beautiful. It was fun in a strange way. A part of me misses seasons. A deeper part of me, the part that lived in Michigan during the first year of my life, started to feel like this might actually be my home on the planet. This area is where I was born. Maybe it’s where I’ll die. And it feels like the most natural place for me to continue having a family, to build a life with a woman, and to have kids while being surrounded by people who actually know me.
While I was in Meijer, there was a moment that stuck out. I noticed a woman standing nearby—normally I’m the one who holds eye contact until the other person looks away. This time, she didn’t. She just stood there and stared me down. I wasn’t sure if she was waiting for someone or acting like a greeter or what, but the moment caught me off guard. My mind immediately jumped to it meaning something. I laughed to myself and wondered if that was a sign too.
Then it hit me hard. I was walking through Meijer when I suddenly pictured my son waving goodbye to me, and I just lost it. I started crying right there in the store. I kept thinking, fuck, I can’t do that. I can’t go tell my kids that I’m moving a thousand miles away and that I’ll only see them a few times a year. I can’t do that. I really can’t. I walked around Meijer for a while without even putting anything in my cart, just looping through the aisles with that image stuck in my head.
Eventually, I snapped back into the practical task I was there for. Since I was making beef stroganoff at my sister’s house and wanted it to come together faster, I decided to buy everything pre-cut. I grabbed containers of chopped green peppers, onions, mushrooms, and pre-cut sirloin. It felt oddly fancy. I kept thinking how one of the longest parts of cooking that meal is prepping and chopping everything, and here I was just buying it all ready to go. It felt luxurious in a small but real way. I loaded the cart up, went through self-checkout, and the total came to $55. Walking back out, there were light snowflakes coming down, but the wind was blowing hard enough that the snow was moving sideways. It was beautiful and freezing at the same time, and it felt completely insane that I was seriously contemplating living here.
When I got home, the condo was empty. I cooked the beef stroganoff and listened more to Broken Open, and it was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. As I cooked, my thoughts settled into a strange clarity. Moving to Michigan actually made sense. More sense than anything else I could think of. It felt like I could restart my life here. So much of my life in St. Petersburg feels stagnant, and it’s unbelievably expensive. I started looking at apartments up here and realized I could get a really nice place for $1,100 to $1,200 a month. The same kind of apartment near me in St. Petersburg would be $2,500 to $3,000 a month, easily.
There are genuinely nice apartment complexes here because demand is lower relative to supply. One complex I looked at was about a twenty-minute drive from my sister and ten minutes from my aunt. They had around fifty units available, starting at about $1,100 a month for a one-bedroom. It had a tennis court, a gym, and sat on about 130 acres. I just kept thinking, damn, the difference between what I can get here versus what I can get in St. Pete is wild.
I also started thinking about how stuck I feel in St. Petersburg. I’m locked into this 4:00 p.m. AA meeting I started going to, where I mostly meet newcomer guys. If I came up here, I could go to a bunch of different meetings, meet new people, maybe even meet women I’d be interested in dating. It would be easier because I’d be new, just looking to connect and make friends, and people would naturally be curious about me. I could really build an entirely new social circle here. In St. Pete, I feel boxed in—same meeting, same routine.
Then there’s the tennis club. I’m spending $240 a month on a tennis membership that I don’t really want to cancel because I enjoy playing there. But that setup made sense when my ex-wife and I were married—she was taking the kids to the pool and playing tennis too. Now, on top of the membership, I’ve been spending another $300 to $400 a month on tennis lessons. Altogether, I’m burning $600 to $700 a month on tennis, and that just has to stop. It’s not sustainable.
Financially, the contrast is stark. I’m getting a modest lump sum from my ex-wife as part of the divorce settlement. If I moved up here and got a nice apartment, with no tennis membership and no tennis lessons, that alone would make a huge difference. The settlement is buying me out of our share of equity in the house. She’s keeping more of the cash and her retirement account—which I’m not touching—and she’s keeping the car. There’s no alimony and no child support. When I actually look at it, it feels like a fair arrangement.
On top of that, I should get some money back on my tax return since my income this year has been basically nothing and I paid estimated taxes. I plan to put that money toward myself and give my ex-wife the tax credit for the kids, which should make our taxes pretty clean this year. I also still have some ICP, and if the price were to move back up to around $10, I could easily give myself at least three months—maybe even six—of zero pressure to make any money at all.
In St. Petersburg, though, I’m bleeding cash. Even in the house I’m renting now, the money my ex-wife is giving me would be gone in a few months, no question. That reality sat heavy as I stirred the stroganoff and tried to reconcile the math with the emotional reality of what moving would actually mean.
I started thinking through the logistics more concretely. If I were to move on December 8—our wedding anniversary—I could just stuff my Corolla and drive north. If I did it that way, I wouldn’t have to pay any more rent on the house I’m in now, which would save me about $2,000 immediately. I could get up here, stay with my sister while I looked for an apartment, and realistically I’d probably find something within a week or two. I wouldn’t have much else to do besides research and go look at places, and my family up here would help scout things out too. Right now, a lot of these apartment complexes have move-in specials. Some are offering one or two months of free rent. Others are letting people move in with no security deposit or upfront payment at all because this is their slow season.
I asked ChatGPT if this was actually the best time of year to move in Michigan, since it’s winter, and it said yes—December through January is the sweet spot. This is when apartments are open and landlords are motivated. They want people locked into leases now so they’re not sitting on empty units not just this winter, but the next one too. Winter is the downtime in Michigan, whereas winter is peak season in Florida. That made complete sense. It’s fucking cold up here. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like the timing was almost too perfect. Everything seemed orchestrated. This really felt like the moment to do it. I could save a lot of money and give myself time to get positioned. I could focus on lining up life coaching clients, submitting proposals, and just stabilizing. If I could make it six months without borrowing money—or only borrowing a little—that might be enough time to land a solid book deal. And once I have a book deal, I’m in a much better position long-term to live off my work as a creator. On paper, it all looked incredible. But every time my mind drifted back to the kids, I broke down. Just thinking about telling them brought me straight to tears.
My sister got home, and she loved the beef stroganoff. She said her son was going to love it too. When I made it back home in Florida for my ex-wife and the kids, I’d only used about two-thirds of a pound of meat. This time, knowing my nephew is bulking and packing on protein, I bought a pound and a half of sirloin tips. There was a ridiculous amount of beef in it. I ate a generous plate and a half myself, then headed to the 7:00 p.m. Alcoholics Anonymous meeting that’s technically walking distance from my sister’s condo. Normally it’s about a seven-minute walk, but it was cold—around 30 degrees—and dark, so I drove.
When I arrived, there were four guys sitting around an As Bill Sees It table. As the guy reading how it works got into the second paragraph, I just started crying. I was sitting there with tears rolling down my face, picturing my son saying goodbye to me. This time, it wasn’t the version where he thinks I’ll only be gone for a week. It was the version where he doesn’t know exactly when he’ll see me again. I’m a thousand miles away. I couldn’t stop it. I just sat there crying, thinking, holy shit, this is nuts. I can’t do that.
At the same time, another truth kept surfacing no matter how much I tried to push it away. The outcome might end up being the same regardless. Whether I meet a woman and end up dating her and she wants me to move to Tennessee, or Texas, or Montana, or wherever her family is, there’s a real chance I move away from the kids anyway. Even staying in St. Petersburg doesn’t guarantee I stay close. There’s a significant possibility that I meet someone there who isn’t from Florida and wants to go back to her home state. That’s exactly how I ended up isolated in St. Pete in the first place.
And my ex-wife isn’t going to want me stopping by three times a day forever, either. This current setup—me seeing the kids constantly, taking them to and from school—makes sense right now because we’re in a transition. I just moved out, and it’s helping the kids adjust. But that’s not going to last. Even if I meet a woman who is from St. Petersburg, she’s going to want my full attention. My massage therapist said something a few days ago that stuck with me. She told me her favorite part of the day with her boyfriend is waking up in the morning, having sex, and drinking coffee together. She said that’s the best time of the day for her. And she was right when she added that my future girlfriend is probably going to feel the same way. She’s not going to want me leaving early every morning to go pick up my kids from my ex, take them to school, go to yoga, and then maybe show up to see her at 10:30 a.m. Even if I date someone in St. Pete, she’s going to want me fully present. And that means that, one way or another, the dynamic with the kids is going to change anyway. That realization didn’t make the pain go away, but it made the situation feel less black and white—and even more overwhelming at the same time.
No matter how I slice it, the conclusion keeps coming back the same: I’m going to see my kids a lot less. However this unfolds, whether I stay or go, that reality is baked into the divorce. That realization sent me into a rage on Sunday. It finally landed that this separation means I won’t be with my kids the way I’ve been. There’s no version of this where I keep seeing them every day. And I know myself well enough to know that I don’t want the half-dad life. I don’t want to take the kids for two days, drop them off at my ex-wife’s, then pick them up three days later. That rotation doesn’t work for me. I know it’s worked for my ex-wife’s sister for years. She’s had her daughter most of the time. I know her fiancé has done it too, splitting custody fifty-fifty, three days here, two days there, four days back and forth. That setup might work for them, but it doesn’t work for me.
The kids want to keep sleeping at my ex-wife’s house. I’ve thought about what that means in practical terms. That’s part of why that big four-bedroom house didn’t make sense. I want to date another woman. I don’t want to date a single mom I see once a week who essentially becomes a casual hookup because I’m tied up in custody logistics. That’s the reality for a lot of dads in that situation unless you find the perfect single mom, blend families, and maybe have more kids together. And then you’re starting with at least three kids under one roof. Realistically, the situation where I’m most likely to thrive is with a woman who doesn’t have kids yet, or maybe someone who’s been married or divorced but doesn’t have children and wants to have them with me. That’s exactly what the woman I met was pointing out. She told me I’m not ready to be with someone like her while I’m still seeing my kids and my ex three times a day. If I moved to Michigan, I would be ready. That part feels exciting. And at the same time, it’s absolutely horrifying to think about telling my kids and living with the reality of not seeing them regularly.
I shared all of this at the AA meeting, and it felt really good to get it out. Afterward, I went out to my car and FaceTimed with the kids. Being that far away from them hurt immediately. I felt the absence of physical closeness so sharply. Instead of tickling my son, playing soccer with him, wrestling on the floor, I was staring at him on a screen. Instead of snuggling my daughter and seeing her smiles in person, I was watching her smile through a camera. My son is so physical. FaceTime just doesn’t work for him in the same way. I know something is better than nothing, but hanging up the phone left me hurting and irritable.
I kept thinking, why do I have these two completely different paths in front of me? Michigan feels like my intuition is pulling me there. It feels aligned, like something deeper is guiding me in that direction. And yet my entire recent life is rooted in St. Petersburg. It feels like trying to yank a tree out of the ground and replant it somewhere else. There’s grief in that, even if the new soil might be better.
When I got back home, I was talking with my sister. I encouraged her to try to make some amends with her daughter, but because I was hurting and missing my kids so badly, I crossed a line. I started meddling. I started coaching her too much. The conversation grew tense, and eventually she went to bed early to get out of it, which I respected. As soon as I was alone, the shame hit. Who the fuck am I to tell my sister what she should do with her life when I can barely figure out my own? I’m barely holding things together. I’m sitting here seriously considering moving away from my children. If you’d told me a week ago that this would even be on the table—especially after how I reacted on Sunday when I first sensed that possibility—I would’ve said absolutely not. It drove me crazy just to imagine my kids growing up without a dad who’s around every day, or even every week.
And here I am, with this being my best idea. Move to Michigan. That’s what I’ve got. I’ve got a beautiful soon-to-be ex-wife in Florida, amazing kids, and my best plan right now is to move a thousand miles away. Fuck. I have no business telling my sister anything about how she should live her life. I sent her a text apologizing, telling her I was sorry for trying to tell her what to do when I don’t even know what to do with my own life. I told her I would make sure I listen more.
I went to bed hoping the cats would be easier to deal with tonight. I tried sleeping on the opposite end of the couch, thinking maybe that small change would help me rest a little better. As I lay there, I hoped for some clarity—something in my sleep or my dreams that might help me understand which direction I’m supposed to go. I’d wanted to talk to my mom tonight, but she wasn’t available. I know I need to talk to her about all of this. Part of me thinks she might actually appreciate the idea of moving to Michigan herself, but I also know she’d probably have a lot more resistance to work through than I do.
The more I sit with it, the more it feels like moving to Michigan really is the right move. At the same time, I feel some urgency around it. If I stay in St. Petersburg too long, I might just get stuck there again. I’ve been feeling for a while now that I need to get out, that there’s another life waiting for me somewhere else, and that I want to live it. As I settled into the couch, I thought, this is crazy—but it’s also kind of fun. And I felt genuinely grateful. Grateful that I have a warm place to sleep tonight. Grateful that there are so many people in my life who love me and want me around. Grateful that my kids love me and want me around. Grateful that I get along with my ex, and that she’s open to everything from me seeing the kids three times a day to me potentially moving to Michigan, with every option in between. That’s actually a remarkable position to be in.
What I really want to understand is this: where would the collective body of humanity best position me? Where could I go that would benefit people the most? It’s starting to look like that place is Michigan. That the people on this planet would benefit more from me being up here. I find myself asking questions like, where is there a woman whose life would be meaningfully different if I were in it versus not? Is that St. Petersburg or Michigan? It feels like Michigan, even if I’m not completely certain yet.
I also think about my sister and the way she talks about her life—the money she needs just to cover her bills, things like car insurance for the kids, the constant pressure of responsibility. And it hits me how privileged my own situation has been. I haven’t lived in that constant survival mindset. I’ve had time. She’s said to me, “Jerry, we don’t all have time to go do yoga and play tennis and get massages.” And she’s right. I know that. At the same time, for me, not doing those things feels dangerous. I’m afraid that if I don’t take care of myself at that level, I’ll spiral, relapse, or worse. My self-care isn’t optional—it feels like life and death. I protect it fiercely because it keeps me stable, clear-headed, and able to serve other people. Because of that, I’m not willing to work forty or fifty hours a week, and I’m not willing to work in a job that feels toxic or predatory, like much of corporate America or the crypto videos I used to make. I’d rather work twenty to thirty hours a week doing something I believe in—writing my books or doing work that actually matters to me. I trust that as long as I stay open-minded, I’ll be provided for.
When I look at my sister’s life, I see how challenging it is. And I also see how, in some ways, it could be easier. What I notice is that I’m often very close to the paths that make life easier—for myself and sometimes for others. In a lot of ways, moving to Michigan would make my life much simpler. Being in St. Petersburg is hard. Seeing my ex-wife and the kids regularly while also trying to date there is destabilizing. It’s the combination of those two things that really messes with me. If I’m dating up here, I have the space to do that without constantly confronting my old life at the same time.
I think about when I went to a local spiritual community and met a woman, and how we had that euphoric two-hour conversation—holding hands, talking about life. She might have wanted to date me instead of the other guy. If we’d met up here in Michigan instead of down there, maybe she would have. But she could see how tied up I still was with my ex-wife and the kids, and that made it a no. Going from something like that straight into the next morning, walking back into my ex-wife’s house with the kids, really fucks with me. It leaves me feeling guilty. It leaves me feeling torn. I walk in thinking how much I’d love to be with a woman like her, and then I’m standing there wondering what happened to the family I had.
I think it would actually be good for me to move up here and make things easier for my ex-wife too. Easier in the sense that she wouldn’t have to deal with me regularly anymore—maybe just a FaceTime call once a day for a few minutes so I can talk to the kids. She’s already the primary parent. We both know that. It’s not equal, and it probably never will be. Her mom just retired. She has support. She’s in a position to do this without me there, and honestly, I think it might be easier for her that way as well.
As I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that my dreams might offer some guidance. I don’t know the answer yet. I just know that I’m asking the question honestly and that whatever comes next, I want it to be aligned—with my values, my health, my kids, and the life I’m trying to build from here.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.