This is my journal entry from September 24, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
a reader left an incredible five-star review for Author in St. Petersburg on Amazon today. His words moved me deeply—not just because of the praise, but because of how clearly he understood what I’m trying to do with my writing. His review does include some spoilers, but what stood out most was that he found the book “one of the funniest diaries” he’s ever read. That means a lot to me. When I open up my life in such an intimate way, I never know how it’s landing for readers on the other side. According to a reader, it was surprising, honest, and hilarious—exactly what I hope my work offers.
In his review, he said that unlike most authors, who protect their image by leaving out unflattering details, I held nothing back—calling it one of the funniest and most honest books he’d ever read, and even joking that it belonged in hotel rooms alongside other well-known books. I laughed when I read that, but I also felt profoundly validated. That’s the world I want to help create—one where people feel safe enough to be completely honest. Someone has to lead by example, and that’s what I’m doing.
I’m not doing anything illegal or immoral in my life. I’m just honest about the messy, embarrassing, and sometimes unflattering details that most people hide. That’s the whole point. We need people to tell the truth, to show the full picture of what it means to be human. I think so many of us have fascinating lives under the surface, but we’re afraid of judgment. It’s only a small number of people who are actually doing things they couldn’t safely talk about publicly. For the rest of us—those living normal, healthy, family-oriented lives—why not be transparent? If people like me can’t tell the truth, who can?
I hope my books encourage more face-to-face honesty. That’s where real connection happens. Writing these diaries has taught me to live in a way that I’d be proud to write about. If there’s something in my life I wouldn’t want to share in a book, then I need to ask myself why I’m living that way. That’s the real gift of this process: it keeps me accountable to my own values.
Sometimes I still feel guilt, remorse, or fear about offending people with what I write. Author in St. Petersburg has plenty that could rub someone the wrong way. I’m sure there’s something in there to offend anyone, no matter what they believe. But being offended can be an invitation to look deeper, to grow. Still, my ideal is to live in a way that feels good to share publicly—where I can hand someone my book and know it represents me accurately and honorably. If I find myself being judgmental or harsh, that’s a sign to change—not to censor my writing, but to evolve as a person so I no longer act that way.
Sometimes, though, you’re going to upset people if you tell the truth. That’s part of the deal. Most people avoid that risk. We say what others want to hear, and in doing so, we block the truth we need to hear ourselves. What helped me get sober—and completely change my life—was when people stopped telling me what I wanted to hear and started saying what I didn’t: that I was an alcoholic, that I needed to stop, and that they wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. That honesty saved my life.
Tonight, I visited my mom. She told me my brother is very hurt that I didn’t go to his wedding. She was upset too, saying I didn’t use proper etiquette in letting him know I wouldn’t attend. She reminded me that weddings, births, and funerals are important moments in life. I didn’t go to my brother’s second wedding, though I was there for his first. I also didn’t attend the funeral of one of my best friends from college. It was a long drive, and I knew all my old friends would be drinking afterward. That would have been awkward for me, and I didn’t want to risk it. Oddly enough, I felt peaceful about not going. I’ve connected with him many times in dreams since then, and those encounters felt more meaningful than standing at a funeral.
I also felt good about not attending my brother’s wedding, though I did have a wave of sadness that day. It wasn’t really about the wedding itself—there were other emotions swirling, like leaving massage school, which I wrote about earlier. Tonight, I feel proud that I have the courage to put my real journal into a book and hand it out to the world. That’s not easy. But it’s what I believe in—living so truthfully that my life itself becomes worth sharing.
I talked with a girl today at my yoga studio named a friend. It was our first conversation, and she told me that if her house were ever on fire, the one thing she’d care about saving would be her journals. That caught my attention immediately. She said those journals were her most precious possessions. I told her I’d love to read them and encouraged her to publish them someday. She laughed and said, “I don’t think they’re prepared for public consumption.” I told her that was exactly why they’d be worth reading. I wish I had my dad’s journals from thirty years ago—what a treasure that would be.
Later today, I read a few pages of Author in St. Petersburg to my daughter, my daughter. Of course, I chose parts that are appropriate for her age, but what struck me is how valuable this book will be for her as she grows up. She asked when she’d be allowed to read the whole thing. I told her that someday she could—once she’d lived enough life to understand some of the concepts and language I use. It’s not just the vocabulary that takes time to grasp, but also the deeper themes about relationships, health, and sexuality. I told her she’ll know when she’s ready. I love the idea that she might keep this book for the rest of her life—that it might mean more to her thirty years from now than it does today.
If I could read my father’s diary from when he was forty-one, I’d devour every page. It would let me see his world through his eyes, remind me of memories I’ve forgotten, and give me the kind of connection you can’t get through stories passed down secondhand. That’s what makes keeping and publishing journals so powerful—they preserve who we are in real time, before memory and revision can smooth the edges.
I wish more people would publish their diaries like I have. I’d love to read them. Almost anyone I know, if they put their daily life into a book the way I do, I’d read it instantly. So many of us feel lonely because we don’t really know each other. We walk around showing only the version of ourselves we think others will approve of, hiding the rest. But I’ve learned that the parts we hide are often the same ones that could bring us closest to others.
That’s one of the greatest lessons I’ve taken from Alcoholics Anonymous. The things we’re most ashamed of—our drinking stories, our childhood traumas, our failures—are often what bond us most deeply when we share them honestly. Those confessions are what make us trust each other. Through that kind of raw honesty, I’ve had some of the most profound experiences of my life in AA meetings. That’s where I learned to speak with complete openness and graphic detail about my life.
I gave out three copies of my books at yoga today. One went to a friend, since it felt right after our conversation. Another went to a friend, who I’ve known for years. The third I gave to one of the studio’s co-owners, one of the co-owners of my yoga studio. I’ve been attending her classes consistently for the past three years, though I hadn’t been in a few weeks. She looked genuinely happy to see me when I walked in.
I felt vulnerable giving my yoga instructor the book. I’m not sure how she’ll react to some of the content, but I reminded myself that people who care about you usually receive things through a lens of love and gratitude. They want to understand you better. They tend to treat anything that could offend them as an opportunity to learn—about you, about themselves, or about their own beliefs. Of course, some people seem to walk around with a filter that’s always searching for reasons to be upset. Fortunately, that hasn’t been my experience at my yoga studio. Everyone I’ve given a book to there has been warm, enthusiastic, and genuinely supportive.
I also gave a copy of Author in St. Petersburg to one of the dads at my kids’ school today. That made me smile—these books are slowly finding their way into the hands of people who might really connect with them.
How much evil do we tolerate in the world simply because good people are afraid of getting in trouble? That question has been sitting with me all day. I thought back to when the Canadian truckers protested a few years ago. I remember how proud I felt of them. In a world that often feels lost in conformity and fear, they stood up and said “enough.” Amid all the chaos in Canada at the time, that movement gave me hope. And what did the government do? They froze people’s bank accounts to punish them for protesting. That moment told me so much about where we are as a society—and about how dangerous it is when people are too afraid to speak or act. I’ll always be proud of those truckers.
Of course, not every protest has a clear or noble cause. Sometimes people take stands that don’t make much sense or that even create more division. But the principle remains: we need people willing to tell the truth instead of trying to say only what others want to hear. So much of the world’s insanity comes from our collective avoidance of truth.
We spend so much of our lives wishing someone else would lead by example, but today I feel more than ever that I am becoming the change I want to see in the world. Reading Author in St. Petersburg with my daughter today reminded me why I do this. We revisited stories from just a month ago—our trip to Adventure Island, wandering through the mall, eating at the conveyor-belt sushi place. Those little memories already feel precious, and I love that she’ll be able to read them years from now.
I can easily imagine there are people in my community who would love to learn how to write books like this—personal, transparent, alive. I could teach them how to capture their real lives in writing, or even help them complete their own books entirely. Projects like this make an incredible legacy for families. A journal written from the heart becomes a time capsule of love and truth.
I pushed my ex-wife again today about being more supportive of my work. Eventually, I told her that where she’s at now is good enough—but I’d love to see how much more encouragement she can offer in the future. I give her credit for staying with me through all this and for not losing her temper about me publishing books that describe our sex life and every other private detail. Still, it baffles me that this level of honesty seems so radical. There’s no rule or law against it. Why do we give so much power to social expectations that aren’t written anywhere?
We live in a world overflowing with laws—so many, in fact, that it’s hard to keep track of them all. Yet the strongest constraints on most people’s behavior are the unwritten “rules.” Somewhere along the way, we collectively decided that it’s fine to watch porn, read romance novels, and consume endless media built on sexual tension or loneliness—but it’s taboo to simply talk about sex honestly in real life.
It’s such a contradiction. People spend hours watching simulated intimacy or listening to songs about heartbreak, yet they’re uncomfortable having an open conversation about their own experiences. I believe the more honest we are about sex and about ourselves, the less power that kind of escapism will have over us. The more we speak the truth, the more we’ll lose interest in voyeurism and start finding fascination in each other—the real, breathing, imperfect humans standing right in front of us.
I was talking with a friend at my yoga studio the other day, and he told me I was one of only a handful of people in his sixty-eight years on earth who had ever truly surprised him. That meant a lot coming from him. I think what surprised him most was that I actually told the truth. Most people don’t. They dance around it, soften it, or disguise it behind politeness. I’ve noticed, though, that what makes my honesty land well with people like a friend is that I also listen. I let him talk. I genuinely want to understand who he is and what he’s been through.
Later today, I picked up my daughter from school, which was unusual for me. I used to get frustrated at disruptions like that, especially years ago when I was streaming full-time and any break from my schedule felt catastrophic. Back then, my ex-wife usually had to handle things like that because I was too wrapped up in my work.
Today was completely different. My ex-wife was off at her Master Gardener program, and I had just finished giving away my last book at my yoga studio when the chance came for me to go pick my daughter up. It felt good to be available—to be the one who could step in without any stress or resentment. I was grateful my ex-wife didn’t have to leave her class or drive an hour back to deal with it.
When I picked my daughter up, she was in good spirits. We came home, played Uno No Mercy, had lunch, and talked for a while. Then she went off to play with her toys and later curled up on the couch to read. It was one of those simple, perfect afternoons that make you grateful for the life you’ve built. There were no tablets, no screens, just time together. I caught myself thinking how nice it felt to be available for my daughter when she needed me.
I’m also grateful I wasn’t in massage school this week. If I were still driving back and forth to Sarasota every day, I would’ve missed moments like this. At the same time, I look back on those two weeks I spent at the the massage school with real appreciation. I treasure that time, even though I knew it wasn’t meant to continue. Life’s funny that way—you can value something deeply while also being glad you moved on from it.
If I somehow had ten extra hours in a day, I’d absolutely go back. The program runs from about 7:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., five days a week—seven hours a day. If I could fit that in without giving up everything else I love, I would. But with the time I have now, I’m happier focusing on what fits naturally into my life—like yoga.
This morning, one of the studio’s co-owners led a challenging power flow class at my yoga studio, and I loved it. She had us try movements I’d never done before, even after attending over 800 yoga classes. My muscles felt alive and strong, and I could feel my body holding the strength I’ve built over the years. Then tonight, I hit balls with my son on the machine at the tennis club and got to see a reader again. It was one of those days that left me feeling full—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
I love my life. I’m so grateful I get to live it honestly and share it with people who genuinely appreciate that honesty.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.