This is my journal entry from October 1, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I took the kids to school this morning, then went to play tennis with a friend. Neither of us was playing our best—we were both off our game—but the match was still great. He won the first set 6–4, and I managed to take the second set in a tiebreaker after an incredible comeback. I’d been down 2–6 in the tiebreak when I suddenly caught a rhythm and tore through the next several points to win. The cool weather helped; it wasn’t too warm, even though I ended up taking my shirt off during the second set. We played from 8:30 to 10:30 a.m., and by the end I felt that perfect mix of exhaustion and joy. The competition was close, the workout was great, and I walked away feeling grateful.
After the match, I came home, showered, and then headed to a restaurant to meet my friend a friend for lunch. I sat at a table and waited about ten minutes before texting her to check in. She wrote back saying she had completely forgotten and accidentally put it on her calendar for tomorrow. I told her it was no problem—that I’d be there for a while if she wanted to come, or we could just meet another time. She said to give her thirty minutes, so I decided to stay.
While I waited, I ate lunch alone and passed the time by studying the restaurant, looking for anything that felt out of place. It took a surprisingly long time before I noticed something unusual: the chairs. Each one had straight back legs, but the front legs were bent forward halfway down, giving them a slightly distorted look. At first, I thought one chair was broken, but then I saw they were all designed that way. The discovery gave me this strange satisfaction—it was like a little puzzle solved. I was amazed at how much effort it took to spot something that didn’t fit.
When a friend arrived, we had a great talk, especially about marriage and divorce. I appreciated hearing her perspective on keeping passion alive after years together. It was validating to hear that lasting passion is possible. It made me feel hopeful, reminded me that there are women out there who’d love to have that same level of intimacy and connection I crave.
I also thanked her for being late. It gave me time to sit alone and notice the feelings that might come up in dating scenarios. I realized I was grateful it was just a friend this time, but also that if I were dating someone and she was late or didn’t show up, I’d like to respond with the same calmness—to simply be okay, to sit, observe, and let the world be what it is without agitation. We talked inside for nearly an hour, then moved outside and kept the conversation going. I felt deeply grateful to reconnect with her and hear how her life was unfolding.
At one point, I shared something that sounded ridiculous as soon as I said it—that I’d been living under the belief that “all women are basically the same.” It was an idea I’d absorbed from some of the older men in AA, guys who’ve been sober as long as I’ve been alive. I respect them deeply and have learned a lot from them, but when I’d tell them about feeling frustrated in my marriage or wondering if I might be happier with someone else, they’d tell me they’d already been through it, that they’d been with plenty of women, and that it wasn’t worth leaving because “they’re all the same.”
Saying that out loud to a friend made me realize how absurd it was. Obviously, women aren’t all the same. A friend and my ex-wife are so different in ways that matter profoundly when it comes to compatibility, values, and long-term happiness. That moment reminded me how important it is not to have just one type of mentor or viewpoint guiding your life. Everyone’s perspective is limited by their own experiences—and sometimes the advice that sounds wise in one context can completely miss the truth in another.
I’ve noticed that a lot of men in Alcoholics Anonymous lean into the old division—men with men, women with women—but lately I’ve been listening to more women, and it’s been clarifying. Over the last few months, hearing their perspectives has helped me see what resonates with me. Most of the men I’d talked to had urged me to stay in my marriage, but many of the women I’ve listened to found the idea of leaving to find someone more compatible reasonable and even brave. That difference in viewpoint has been powerful.
After lunch with a friend I gave her a big hug—like at the beginning—and told her I loved her. Then I went straight to pick the kids up from school and headed to my 4:00 p.m. meeting. I sat there reading Dr. Bob and the Good Oldtimers, which reads like an autobiography and made me feel closer to the history of Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s strange; when you hear stories about Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob so often, you form an idea of them, but the book made Dr. Bob feel like a living person. I read thirty-three pages and learned that he was born in 1879 and didn’t get sober until his fifties, at which point he helped found AA. He died roughly fifteen years after that. It landed on me like an important reminder: you can make a profound impact on the world at any stage of life. I hope I write something someday that does that for someone else.
After the meeting I drove home and took my daughter to basketball practice. While she practiced, I shot—hard and consistently—and surprised myself by making about seventy-three three-pointers in under an hour. That’s astonishing to me because for most of my life I thought I had no touch from long range. I remember a day less than a year ago when I was bricking three after three, getting frustrated and airballing. Then I had a simple shift: I started counting how many three-pointers I made instead of cataloging the misses. The moment I changed my focus, everything shifted. I stopped mourning every miss and instead rushed to grab the ball and set up another attempt. Suddenly my percentage doubled. I credit the balance I’ve developed from yoga—my muscles feel far more even now than they did in my teens and twenties—and a mental habit of counting successes instead of failures. I’ve tried to transfer that mindset to tennis with mixed results, but in basketball it clicked.
Toward the end of practice, the coaches invited all the parents to play knockout with the kids. For those who don’t know, knockout is the game where everyone lines up with a ball: the first person shoots, then the second shoots immediately after; if the second player scores before the first, the first is out. They had the girls shoot from the free-throw line while parents shot from the three-point line. I felt oddly confident standing there among all the fifth-grade girls and their parents, and it played out exactly how I thought it would: I knocked out a lot of them. I made about half of my three-point attempts on the first try and narrowly avoided getting knocked out myself a couple of times. The kids, coaches, and other parents seemed impressed. I barely edged out the girl in front of me to win, and my daughter was proud—she announced afterward that I’d also won my school’s knockout tournament when I was in fifth grade. That remains one of my favorite athletic memories.
In fifth grade, I remember the knockout tournament vividly. There were around twenty or thirty fifth-grade boys, another twenty or thirty fourth-grade boys, and maybe ten or twenty girls in each grade. We lined up in four separate groups—by grade and gender—and I ended up being the last fifth-grade boy standing after knocking out the one in front of me. Then the winners from each group faced off. The final round came down to me and a fourth-grade girl who nearly knocked me out. Somehow, I managed to hold on and win it all. The victory felt monumental. They handed me a Scottie Pippen poster as the prize, and I remember feeling like I was on top of the world—like I’d just won an NBA championship. That moment has stuck with me ever since; it might still be my favorite athletic achievement of my life.
After basketball practice today, my daughter and I went over to my mom’s house for a bit, then came home to get the kids ready for bed. Later, I had another good talk with my ex-wife. The more we talk lately, the more peace I feel settling over this whole transition. I went to bed feeling deeply grateful—for my kids, for my health, for the simplicity of life as it is right now.
Goodbye
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