This is my journal entry from August 19, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
This morning I dropped off the letter to my mother- and father-in-law, and the experience felt deeply vulnerable. Handing them a document that dives into such personal territory—sex, relationships, health, spirituality, future plans, work, even old resentments—was no small step, especially knowing they are private people who rarely engage in those kinds of conversations.
My intention with the letter is twofold. First, to make amends for past actions that may have hurt them. Second, to open the door to greater connection moving forward. I believe the ideal way for all of us to live and work together on this Earth is by knowing one another more fully. That requires openness, honesty, and a willingness to listen and adjust our behavior when necessary.
If we are going to truly know one another, we have to work together—and to do that, we need openness. If I don’t know what someone is struggling with, how they think, or what they believe, then it becomes difficult to cooperate, especially in a family. Families face so many shared responsibilities: money, housing, health, relationships, raising children, caring for parents, eating together, and surviving life itself. All of that requires genuine knowledge of one another.
Writing this letter to my mother- and father-in-law is risky, but I would rather take that risk than remain stuck in a place where things are “good enough” yet uncomfortable. Either the letter brings us closer—maybe even inspires them to write back and share their own lives—or it pushes us farther apart. What I don’t want is to linger in that lukewarm space of polite but shallow connection. Too many people live there indefinitely, tolerating pain points instead of fixing them.
I think about the door lock I put up with for months. It worked, but not well, and every day it annoyed me until I finally called a locksmith. One phone call, $200, and the problem was gone. Life often works that way. Sobriety in AA showed me that many lives aren’t completely broken—they’re just clogged with dozens of small annoyances, each one fixable if we’re willing to act.
I don’t know yet how this letter will land, but I am proud of myself for the vulnerability and the courage to risk rejection. My past letters have had mixed outcomes. I haven’t heard a word back from my sister-in-law, even after more than two weeks, and my brother has gone silent too. My mother told me he was outraged by something I quoted her as saying in my letter, which stung. Still, I may send him a birthday card. The purpose of these letters is not control—it’s to communicate openly and honestly, something that is increasingly rare in our distraction-filled lives.
Before giving this latest letter, I read it twice—once on the computer and once in print—after editing it closely with ChatGPT. Then I drove it down the street and delivered it: nine single-spaced pages and roughly 10,000 words of personal truth. It scared me to hand over a document that openly admitted the struggles in my marriage, including a time the year before when I developed a crush and had to consciously recommit to my marriage. Yet completing that step freed me to move on.
Yesterday’s AA meeting reminded me of the St. Francis prayer: seek to understand before being understood. That’s what I want with my in-laws. I want to understand my father-in-law, to know him better so we can work together. I want to know my mother, my brother, my sister-in-law—all of them. But people are often hesitant to be known. Sometimes the only way forward is to share myself first, to give them the chance to understand me. I can’t control whether they reciprocate, but I can offer honesty.
So far, my first two letters haven’t led to anyone opening up in return. That’s okay. Maybe this one will. Even if it doesn’t, the act feels right—instinctual, loving, and joyful, even when it feels hard and scary. People often advise me not to write these letters, or at least not to include topics like sex. I’ve told them, I hear your concerns, but I’m willing to risk it. The easy path would be silence, but in the long run that would leave me resentful and disconnected.
When I attend holidays with my in-laws, I don’t want to feel like I’m surrounded by strangers. Just being connected by blood or marriage isn’t reason enough for me to spend time with someone. I’d rather take the risk of deepening the relationship—even if it means we grow farther apart—than settle for the surface. If they respond by saying, “We don’t like what you’re doing to our daughter,” then at least we’ll know where we stand.
That’s how I’ve lived my life. I’ve taken risks in business, sometimes paying the price—canceled projects, borrowed money, ideas that failed. Yet I’m proud of myself for going after what I wanted instead of playing it safe. The real regret would be to reach the end of life wishing I had really tried. I’ve said no to women who didn’t feel right, to jobs that would have merely paid the bills, to superficial relationships that offered no depth. I’d rather risk rejection than live on autopilot.
That’s where I stand with my in-laws today. I love them, which is why I want to give them this chance. If they step closer, wonderful. If they step away, that will hurt, but it will also clear space for something better.
I started the day by taking the kids to school and then playing tennis with my friend. My energy felt fully restored, and I gave everything I had on the court. My friend was also in good form—he won the first set 6–2 and the second 6–3. I still had enough in me that I felt I could have played another set afterward. Once home, I cleaned up, showered, and headed to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
I had hoped to meet one of my sponsees there, but he didn’t show. I’ll try again tomorrow. For the first time, I’m considering dropping him as a sponsee. He needs a different style of sponsor—someone more directive, perhaps even a drill instructor type. Our work together has stalled. He doesn’t call me, and our connection is limited to when we happen to meet at meetings. He resists even the basic reading and seems consumed by his work. That’s common in AA—many throw themselves into work as soon as they get sober, either to rebuild their lives or subconsciously to bankroll their next binge. Too often, once they achieve the financial stability they were chasing, they drink again. I know because I did the same thing in my own way—except fortunately I stayed sober.
The Big Book makes clear that if someone doesn’t want help, clinging to them only prevents us from being available to someone who truly does. I’ve never formally dropped a sponsee before—usually they relapse or simply stop reaching out—but this feels like a necessary step. I’m grateful for the one man who has stuck with me for years; we see each other at least once or twice a week. In contrast, this newer guy has shaped my routine too much. I was going to meetings I wouldn’t normally attend just to meet him, and he wasn’t flexible about attending the ones I could make. Sponsorship works best when it’s face-to-face, especially in the early years. When I first got sober, I saw my sponsor almost every day at meetings. Even now, though I speak with mine on the phone, I still see him at least once a week in person.
Despite this struggle, I’m grateful to everyone who has asked me to sponsor them. Each has given me a chance to carry the message and practice these principles. Out of all the alcoholics I’ve known—family, friends, and people in meetings—few have ever asked me to go deeper with them.
After AA, my mind shifted back to branding. I’ve been thinking hard about what I want on my car. Decals feel like the next step, but it would be foolish to print anything without clarity on the branding itself. Part of me likes “Jerry Banfield Books”—I even had the kids hand-print some shirts for me with markers, which only cost a few dollars each. My ex-wife, though, insists that name doesn’t capture what I’m building now. She’s right. With massage on the horizon, “Book & Body,” the phrase she coined, is far more accurate and appealing.
The challenge is deciding how to present it. Should I drop my personal brand entirely and lead with Book & Body? Should I include my website JerryBanfield.com and descriptors like author, speaker, coach, and eventually massage therapist? I also need to consider timing. I won’t advertise massage directly until I’m licensed. Even if it’s not technically illegal, it feels wrong to promote a service I haven’t yet earned the right to provide. Still, Book & Body resonates with me. It captures the intellectual work of writing and the physical work of massage in one beautiful, memorable phrase. It may be the best way forward. I’ll need to research whether anyone else has already used it.
My eating today has gone well. Breakfast was my usual Larabar, a banana, and some seaweed snacks. After dropping off the kids and tennis, I had another Larabar and some strawberries. Around 1:30, after AA and a power yoga flow, I ate a third of a hummus container with one carrot, three celery sticks, and a few hot peppers—a product my tennis coach sells. He gave me four cans, a generous gift since they go for over $7 each in stores. I mixed the peppers with garlic into the hummus, and it was delicious.
Later, my ex-wife brought home Krispy Kreme’s Harry Potter donuts, the kind where the filling reveals your Hogwarts house. I ate half of one—a big improvement over the past when I would have devoured the whole thing—and found myself sorted into Gryffindor. It felt right; Gryffindor has always felt like my house, though I’ve sensed pieces of myself in all four. If I ever finish my idea for The St. Pete School of Magic, it won’t have houses at all. Still, Gryffindor feels closest, followed by Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and lastly Hufflepuff. Maybe my twelve years of marriage are proof enough of loyalty.
I’m excited to have a few hours at home to write. Delivering the letter to my in-laws was a big milestone, and now I can pour myself into editing. I’ll probably even work at the car dealership later while they service my vehicle. Most people dread the wait; I look forward to it because it gives me uninterrupted time to dictate and edit. My plan is to take recent diary entries and run them through ChatGPT again, trimming them by about twenty-five percent for tighter flow. Maybe I’ll even dictate some fresh material there.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.