This is my journal entry from October 20, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Learning to Live Alone Again — my real, unedited days, published in order.
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I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and immediately began recording my dreams. I might as well include them here, because why not? It’s fascinating that I can document my dreams like this, almost as if I’m mapping my subconscious in real time.
Dreams: Someone told me he was going to give me part of his inheritance. I felt thrilled at first, but then things got confusing. Other people started saying I wasn’t getting anything, and when I asked him about it later, he claimed not to remember ever saying that. Everyone around me laughed, and I felt humiliated. We were at a gas station that had a whole line of drink machines. I filled a cup from one that offered a “diet cherry Pepsi” flavor, but as soon as I took a sip, I spat it out and said it tasted disgusting from the artificial sweeteners. Then the scene shifted—my ex-wife and I were fighting. The divorce wasn’t going smoothly. At some point she transformed into another woman, one with a darker tan and shorter hair, who stood there with her top off.
Once I finished recording the dreams, I started my day. I left the house at 7:00 a.m. to pick up the kids for school. On the way, I talked with my ex-wife about the psychic appointment, and everything sounded fine to her. After several days of sadness, I finally felt like myself again, which was a relief.
In the car, I told the kids about recording my dreams. My daughter said she had dreamed that I met a girl at the pool who was really into my books. She liked the girl too, and I asked if she thought the girl was attractive. My daughter said she definitely was. I thanked her for sharing that and loved the idea that her higher self might already be preparing her for the future through dreams. My son said he didn’t remember any of his dreams, which I told him was common. I explained that dreams often fade because they’re so different from waking life, and that’s why the psychic had encouraged me to record mine as soon as I wake up—before they slip away.
I’ve been wondering if I should try recording them in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning. I probably lost a lot of detail today by sleeping through the recall window. Still, there’s a line somewhere between dedicated self-exploration and plain narcissism, where I’m constantly documenting every thought and moment of my life. I suppose there’s no harm in experimenting. Maybe I’ll try recording in the middle of the night just once and see what happens.
After dropping the kids off at school, I ran into the dad I’d given the very first copy of I Was Famous on the Internet to. He was beaming and told me he’d ordered his own copy so he could give me one back to share with someone else, partly to support me and partly to spread the book. That kind of enthusiasm for my work fills me with gratitude and renewed confidence. It reminds me why I keep creating — because people like him actually feel inspired by it. His energy gave me a huge boost to trust my passion and keep going all in on it.
Just before I got out of the car to talk with him, my son and I were goofing off in the back seat. My daughter likes to go in early to help in the library, so that gives us a few extra minutes. I started tickling my son and joking around, reading from his space equipment book in a ridiculous voice. I said things like, “This shit’s heavy and needs to be fired with a rocket,” and, “They send that shit into space, and once it’s up there, they’ve got to tie shit down or it’ll float — that’s called weightlessness.” my son was cracking up, and it felt like the perfect silly moment before school. I walked him in, gave him a big hug, talked with the dad for a minute, then drove off to yoga.
I got to class early and, thankfully, had time for my morning bathroom stop. Maybe that’s too much detail for a book like this, but honestly, that’s part of the real rhythm of my day. I try to plan everything efficiently, and this time, it worked out perfectly. When I came back to the studio, I went to place my mat in my usual spot — directly to the left of the instructor, near the center of the room. But I had this feeling that a really attractive girl might show up and want that exact spot. I get these little intuitive nudges all the time, though I often brush them off. Today, after seeing the psychic yesterday, I decided to listen. I moved my mat two spaces over, stretched out, and waited to see what happened.
Soon after, the woman I’d talked with yesterday — the one planning a trip to India — walked in and set up her mat in the front row. Then, right after her, a stunning blonde woman entered the room and put her mat exactly where I usually set mine. That was the moment I knew I’d trusted my intuition for a reason. Instead of trying to play it cool or use some kind of pickup routine, I decided to just be myself. She was too striking not to acknowledge.
I stood up, smiled, and said hello. We shook hands. She was a yoga student. She told me her mom usually comes to this class too, but they hadn’t been for a while. She mentioned she’s currently in a yoga teacher training program. My yoga instructor, our instructor, led a great class today — she had us doing these crab walks back and forth on the mats. Eventually, I just started hopping because my legs were burning. She made a joke about it, and I was the only one who laughed. I always make a point to be the first to laugh. It’s like breaking the sound barrier of awkwardness — if I laugh, sometimes others follow. Today, they didn’t, but my yoga instructor appreciated it anyway.
When class ended, I felt ready to talk to her again. I told her that I usually put my mat right where she had hers today and mentioned that I’d had a feeling someone else would want that spot. I didn’t add that I specifically thought it would be a hot girl. I noticed she was wearing a ring on her third finger, and my intuition told me she was in a solid relationship and not looking to be hit on. Still, she seemed to enjoy the brief conversation. As we walked out together, we chatted a bit more, then I wrapped it up. I’ve learned it’s better to be the one who ends a conversation first, as long as I can sense the other person is about ready too. It leaves things feeling light and balanced — like we both got exactly what we came for.
After yoga, I drove back home to take a quick shower and have lunch. My lunch routine has basically become automatic—hummus, salads, and Larabars. That’s pretty much it. I eat like a robot. I’ve been living in my new place for two weeks now without a microwave or a dishwasher, and the funny thing is, I barely notice. I haven’t eaten any hot food since I moved in, and I don’t miss it. I’m realizing how low-maintenance I actually am—completely equipped to live like a minimalist bachelor.
I got in the car and headed to my AA meeting, hoping the woman I sometimes see downtown hadn’t “checked in with God” again about my whereabouts. I had just enough cash in my wallet—$160—to pay my massage therapist for the massage, and I didn’t want any coincidences throwing my plans off. I parked, got out, and walked inside. My sponsor was there, and he happened to be chairing the meeting. I said hi to a few people and felt proud of myself for arriving six minutes early. That might not sound like much, but it’s a big change. For years—especially the last three—I was chronically late to meetings. Now I’m almost always early, and it feels good to take that extra time to settle in.
The shift started after I deleted all my online content. I’ve realized the infinite nature of the internet trains people to run late. When you’re scrolling through endless videos and streams, there’s always “one more thing” to consume, and you don’t stop until you’re about to be late. Then you rush around creating artificial stress. The real problem wasn’t my schedule—it was that I kept watching garbage on YouTube, Facebook, Twitch, or TikTok. Live streams of people doing the most mundane things, like girls folding their laundry while random men send them money. What a bizarre world we’ve built online—turning everyday domestic moments into voyeuristic entertainment.
At the meeting, my sponsor shared first and then started scanning the room to call on someone. He said he was looking for the most handsome man in the room. Naturally, I raised my hand. I wasn’t about to sit there pretending I didn’t think it might be me. The room erupted with laughter and a few playful boos. He called on me, and I said, “Somebody had to do it—it might as well be me.” I added that while every woman has a different type, for the kind of woman I’m looking for, I’m definitely the most handsome man in the room.
Then I acknowledged that there are probably fifty different types of guys in that room and hopefully fifty different people—women or men—who’d go nuts for them. I shared for about four minutes about how sobriety is worth every bit of the effort, tying my thoughts back to my sponsor’s topic while adding my own twist. Speaking always gives me this euphoric rush. The energy from the room feeds me, and sometimes it’s hard to stop talking when people are nodding and smiling.
But that’s the beauty of being able to self-publish books like this one. I can tell the truth, whether it’s about something raw and spiritual or something as mundane as taking a dump before yoga. It’s all part of the same human experience. A traditional publisher would probably cut that kind of stuff out, but I know readers are tired of the sanitized version of life. I’d rather give them the real thing.
I left the AA meeting fifteen minutes early and arrived ten minutes early to see my massage therapist for our usual Monday session. This time, she opened the door right as I walked up, since I had actually texted her my arrival time beforehand and decided to knock instead of ringing the doorbell. She was already set up, and as always, our conversation flowed naturally while she worked.
We talked about a lot of familiar themes—relationships, health, life. I won’t go into the specifics since much of what we discuss involves her personal life, but the exchange was honest and open, as it always is. I also told her about one of my new book ideas, and we had a good talk about where to take it.
After the massage, my massage therapist and I ended up talking for another forty minutes. It was one of those effortless, grounded conversations that feels both personal and spiritual. Before leaving, I gave her a hug and told her I loved her, as I always do.
Then I drove to pick up the kids from school. When I arrived, there was already a dad waiting—he’d somehow beaten me there even though I was twenty minutes early. I struck up a conversation with him about his job, and the most surprising thing he told me was that he usually only sleeps three or four hours a night. He said if he sleeps longer than that, he wakes up feeling hungover. That stunned me. It’s such a foreign idea compared to how my own body works.
In the past, I might have tried to correct him or warn him about health risks, but I’ve learned that not everyone’s body operates by the same rules. I tend to trust my own body and intuition when it comes to health, and to respect that everyone is different.
Obviously, I’m not a doctor—I’m just pulling from my own experience and intuition—but I’ve found that when I stay connected to my own body, I know what feels right. So when this guy tells me he only sleeps a few hours a night, I figure, if it works for him, good for him. He’s got an extra few hours every day that I don’t. Personally, I still feel slow most mornings, even after a full night’s sleep. Maybe his system just runs on a different rhythm.
I remembered something I’d read in one of the Seth books, where Seth explained that people used to sleep in two shorter segments instead of one long stretch. I tried that experiment myself once, but it was miserable. I went to bed absurdly early and woke up in the middle of the night, or sometimes stayed up late until 3:00 a.m., then got up with the kids at 7:00 and tried to nap later in the day. It didn’t work. My body felt wrecked. Seven to eight hours of solid sleep seems to be my natural rhythm, though it’s hard to know whether that’s an ingrained habit or genuine biology. I believe the body can adapt to all sorts of schedules if given the right conditions.
Neil Strauss wrote in The Game about testing out polyphasic sleep—napping for twenty minutes several times throughout the day and never sleeping longer than that. He said it was brutal, and it turned out to be a failed experiment. Still, I think it’s good to keep an open mind about these things. Every body has its own design.
After that thought drifted away, I picked the kids up from school and asked how they’d feel if I lived somewhere farther away, like in Tampa. My daughter said she thought it would be fun, that it would feel like an adventure to visit and maybe even stay overnight with my new girlfriend. I liked that answer—it was playful, open-minded, and sweet.
On the way home, I took them to McDonald’s as a little treat since they’d missed out on going with my ex-wife yesterday when everyone was in a bad mood. Today I got to be the good cop. I told them to order whatever they wanted, and the total came to $18. My daughter, as always, asked to round up to support the Ronald McDonald House. It was only 92 cents, which feels tiny compared to how easily I hand $20 to a homeless person when asked. Small gestures matter though, and I love that she already has that spirit of generosity.
I grabbed an extra-large fry for my ex-wife and didn’t resist eating a few on the drive. When we got to her house, I dropped the kids off, said hello to her, and then headed to my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting—the one I started myself.
There were five of us there tonight, including a couple of newcomers. I probably shared for ten minutes or more, trying to help the guys understand that getting through the early pain of sobriety is worth it. Once you cross that threshold, life becomes so full that alcohol and drugs lose their appeal completely. Every good thing I once thought I got from drinking or smoking weed, I can now give myself.
If I want to relax, I can get a massage, go to yoga, lie down for a nap, breathe deeply, go for a run, play tennis, talk to a friend, or dictate a book. If I want to have fun, it’s the same list—I connect with people, explore somewhere new, or just move my body.
If I want to dance, I dance. I think back to my first year sober, in 2015, when I went to the 80-year AA convention in Atlanta. It was the first time I’d danced sober since 2002, back when I used to go out to clubs in college before I ever started drinking. I remember standing there thinking, What’s the point of dancing if I’m not drinking and not trying to pick anyone up? But I danced anyway—for hours. Alone, in the middle of a crowd of sober people.
It was magical. That experience showed me you don’t need alcohol to dance, to connect, or to feel free. In fact, dancing without alcohol gives you better stamina—you can stay in that rhythm for hours without fading. It’s one of the many small miracles that come with living sober: rediscovering joy in its purest form.
After my AA meeting, I stayed to talk with an older friend of mine, a man in his seventies who’s become something of a mentor. He told me he feels like he’s nearing the end of his life, and I felt this deep urgency rise in me—I want to help him capture his story before he goes. He’s lived an extraordinary life, full of hard-earned wisdom. I told him I’d write his life story with him, and we scheduled a time on Thursday to start. I’m not charging him anything; this feels more like a mission than a project. I’m grateful that he’s willing to open up and let me help him document his experience.
After that, I talked to another guy I’ve known for years, one that my friend sponsors. He looked visibly upset. I tuned into my intuition and, half-jokingly, used what I call my “psychic reading powers” to take a guess that he was having woman problems—but not with his current girlfriend. He looked surprised and said I was exactly right. One of his exes had suddenly reappeared, stirring up drama, almost like she could sense he was happy and wanted to disrupt it.
Something about that conversation hit a string of realizations in me, like dominoes falling in quick succession. I thought back to what the psychic told me yesterday and to my original intentions when I began writing my dating book. It became clear that the smartest thing I can do right now is stay completely out of relationships and avoid sex until my divorce is finalized. My ex-wife filed the paperwork last week, and she says it should be complete in a couple of months. That’s not a long time to wait, and it gives me a clear boundary.
During that window, I can still be friendly with women—like I was with a yoga student this morning—but I won’t act on anything physical or emotional. The last thing I want is to bring unnecessary drama into my life by rushing into something casual or reckless. I’ve seen what happens when guys do that. One friend of mine had sex on the third date, got the girl pregnant, and then ended up tangled in chaos that pushed him back to his ex-wife. That’s not a path I ever want to repeat.
I want my next relationship—and the family that may come with it—to be intentional. I want to be present for my future children the same way I am for my daughter and my son. I took all that energy and went straight home to dictate another thirty minutes into my dating book. I talked about how easy it is to get impatient and start rationalizing a hookup, but I reaffirmed my commitment to my vision.
For the next couple of months, I’m not even looking to start a relationship or go on a date. Sure, I’ll keep being friendly and open to meeting people, but I’m setting a hard line: no sex, no relationships. If I meet someone I truly like, we can take our time getting to know each other. I also reiterated a personal rule I’ve been living by—never have sex or commit to a woman unless I’d be genuinely thrilled to have her as my second wife. I refuse to settle for less than what I had when my ex-wife and I first fell in love fourteen years ago.
Everyone else belongs in the friend zone, and that’s perfectly fine. There are plenty of men who just want casual sex. I’m not one of them. What makes me different—and what makes me attractive to the kind of woman I want—is that I’m serious about building a family again someday. I don’t want a woman to give herself to me before I’m ready to fully give myself to her. That kind of commitment is rare, but it’s what I’m holding out for.
When I got back to my ex-wife’s house, I asked if we could talk privately in the sunroom while the kids were working on their homework. She seemed genuinely happy about that. She’d told me before that she worried I might end up dating someone toxic—like one of her friends had—and that a person like that could complicate the divorce by saying manipulative things or stirring up trouble, maybe even trying to push for a house sale or more money. I appreciated that she was honest about those fears, and I felt grateful that I could see clearly how important our relationship still is. Even though our marriage is ending, I want to end it with care and respect. What we built together—the friendship and the co-parenting—will continue long after the divorce papers are signed.
After we talked, my ex-wife had to run to the Tampa airport to deliver her mother’s phone. She’d driven her parents earlier when I was picking the kids up, and her mom had forgotten it at home. While my ex-wife was gone, I took the kids over to my mom’s house. My daughter went right into the backyard and picked up all the dog poop, while my son helped my mom clean inside. My mom handed them each $20 afterward, which I’m pretty sure came from the same $40 I’d given her a few days ago after our commissary trip. She told me the total from that day—$272 at the commissary and BX combined—and I’d rounded up to $280. Now she was passing it back to the kids, which I thought was perfect.
My son and I shared half an ice-cream sandwich, and I had a Luigi’s Italian ice to myself. Then I walked the kids back across the street, got them ready for bed, and tucked them in before heading home.
Something magical had happened earlier that evening, though, and it only came back to me as I was winding down. After I’d recorded my dating book chapter, I finally connected with someone I’d wanted to talk to for years—my ex-wife’s sister’s ex-husband. I’d always respected him, and since we were both divorced—or nearly so now—I’d been wanting to have an honest talk with him about what that experience was like. I’d texted him yesterday to reach out.
At 6:17 p.m., I stepped out of my house to walk to my ex-wife’s. She had called to say she wasn’t going to dinner with her friends after all—she’d mixed up the day—but she still needed to head to the airport. As I was walking the five minutes over, just before reaching the corner between our houses, a huge pickup truck pulled up in front of me. It was him. He smiled and said he was just about to text me, and I laughed and told him, “This is even better.”
We talked for a few minutes right there on the street, then he pulled his truck over and I got in the passenger seat. We talked for about ten minutes—really talked. He was curious about how I was doing and seemed genuinely glad to see me handling everything well. I thanked him for what his experience had taught me. His divorce, though painful for both him and my ex-wife’s sister, had given me perspective. It helped me approach my ex-wife early on and tell her, “I’m not going to fight you on anything. Let’s make this peaceful. Let’s be kind to each other and make it as easy as possible.” Their difficult process had inspired me to do the opposite—to lead with empathy and cooperation.
I told him that I now see how little the specific details matter—who said what, who did what. What matters is that both people did their best, just like he and my ex-wife’s sister did, and just like my ex-wife and I did. Sometimes the marriage simply runs its course, and that’s okay. There doesn’t need to be guilt or blame. I said that when I look at where he and my ex-wife’s sister are now—stable, friendly, living their separate lives—I see a model for where I want to get to. I told him I hope to reach that point as quickly as possible, with the least suffering for everyone involved.
He appreciated hearing that. We caught up a bit more, then I thanked him again and let him go. It was 6:25 when I walked back toward my ex-wife’s house, just in time for her to head to Tampa and deliver her mom’s phone before the plane took off.
When I got back to my house, I couldn’t stop reflecting on how aligned I’ve felt lately. It’s like I’m on a wavelength where synchronicities keep happening—people just show up, conversations flow effortlessly, and timing unfolds with uncanny precision. It’s as if the universe is coordinating everything behind the scenes. Encounters like running into my ex-wife’s sister’s ex-husband tonight make that impossible to ignore. He literally pulled up to the corner at the exact moment I was crossing. If I’d left my house one minute earlier or later, we would’ve missed each other completely. That kind of timing feels orchestrated, like life itself is scripted.
Moments like that reaffirm my certainty that everything is happening exactly as it’s meant to. The next woman I’ll marry is already connected to me at that same level of energy and timing. We’ll meet when we’re both ready—no sooner, no later. There’s no reason to chase it, no reason to doubt it. It’s the same flow that brought me to this point: the same current that made the woman I sometimes see downtown manifest $20 out of me, the same that brought my massage therapist into my life, and the same that will someday align me perfectly with my future wife—maybe at yoga, maybe at an AA meeting, maybe somewhere I can’t even imagine yet.
The key, I’ve learned, is not to interfere. I can block the flow, deny it, or force things, but when I stay connected and trust it, everything aligns again and again. Life keeps proving that to me.
Later tonight, I started listening to a new audiobook I stumbled across—Choose Your Own Universe: An Exercise in Freedom. It’s a channeled text, very much in the spirit of the Seth books I love. I’m not even sure how I found it, but it feels like one of those little guided nudges from the universe. Earlier in the day, I’d also been listening to Before and After the Book Deal by Courtney Maum and Dating Sucks But You Don’t. Three books in one day. I’ve always loved reading, but lately it feels like I’m not just learning—I’m synchronizing with ideas that keep deepening my awareness.
Between listening to all that and the quiet stretches of my day—especially the peaceful gap between my talk with my massage therapist and picking up the kids—I felt incredibly balanced. When I got home tonight, I spent some quiet time alone, thinking about the beauty of what I’ve already experienced and what’s ahead. I thought of the incredible connection my ex-wife and I once had, the gorgeous woman from yoga this morning, and how effortlessly life can deliver whatever is next when I’m ready for it.
Afterward, I took my second shower of the day—the first had been before my massage, when I was sweaty from yoga—and then I recorded about ten more minutes for my Friday Yoga Crush book. I just wanted to get something down to keep the momentum going. My mind keeps throwing me distractions and alternative projects, which is a clear sign that this book matters and scares me a little. That’s how I know it’s the right one to focus on until it’s finished.
I still make sure to do these daily journal entries, though. They keep me grounded and consistent, and I know I’ll treasure them for the rest of my life. There’s something beautiful about recording everything—the profound and the mundane alike. Thirty years from now, I’ll be able to look back and remember this exact night in vivid detail, right down to the smallest, most human moments. It’s funny, but I really do think all of it matters. This is life, unfiltered, and I want to remember it exactly as it is.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.