This is my journal entry from December 6, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Divorce Day — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I woke up this morning around 7:00 a.m. after a rough night of sleep. It took me hours to fall asleep, and I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because I went to bed too early, or because I didn’t do any vigorous exercise yesterday—even though I did walk a lot. Still, despite the lack of sleep, I woke up with more clarity than I’d had in days. Almost immediately, I knew something important: these downtown apartments aren’t it.
I can already feel myself getting aggravated by all the things people complain about in the negative reviews—broken elevators, surprise fees, unresponsive maintenance, dog shit in the hallways, corporate property managers who don’t care because they’re just a middle layer between you and the actual owner. I don’t want to be at the mercy of some corporate entity that can leave me hanging whenever it’s convenient for them. Yes, I’ve had good apartment experiences in the past, but this situation is different now, especially with kids. What I actually love is having a landlord who lives nearby or is personally invested in the property. That’s the setup I have now, and it’s ideal for me.
I wake up with my son still here, and it feels really good. The loneliness that’s been creeping in—especially on Friday nights and Saturday mornings—is completely gone with him around. He’s ready to head back down the street to go to Snowfest, so we get up together. He eats an apple, I have a couple of Lara Bars, and I walk him back down to my ex-wife’s house. After that, I come home and immediately get to work, deep-diving into Zillow.
The clarity keeps building. Apartments just feel inconvenient for what I actually want. I don’t care about walkability in the way a lot of people do. Some people want to walk to bars and nightlife. I’m sober. I can drive any time of day. I don’t need to walk so I can get drunk and stumble back to my apartment. I want to be able to get in and out easily. I want space. The thought that keeps pissing me off is paying $2,900 a month for 432 square feet at Viv. That genuinely makes my stomach turn. I’m not doing that.
I spend about two straight hours searching—houses all over St. Petersburg, different neighborhoods, different price ranges—trying to feel into what actually makes sense. Then I head to my yoga studio for yoga. There’s a girl there who kind of looks like a woman I met, along with several other people I know. I take a 10:30 a.m. power flow with a yoga instructor, and it’s a solid workout. She has us holding standing positions, dropping into catcher’s stance, bouncing there forever, forearm planks, regular planks—just grinding it out. It’s intense in a good way.
On the way out, I briefly consider talking to a few women. One is probably around fifty, very friendly and beautiful, someone I’ve seen a few times before. Another woman in her fifties comes to mind—she’s talked to me before, she’s read my books, I walked in with her today, and I know she’s single. At least in my opinion, she could probably use some action. Then there’s the girl who looks like that woman I met. I think about talking to her too, but I’m not convinced it’s actually her, and I feel like I would’ve recognized her more clearly if it were. In the end, I don’t talk to anyone. My focus is elsewhere today. I want to get home, figure out my living situation, and go to Whole Foods.
Right after yoga, I drive by a house I’d already texted about earlier. I have a tour scheduled for 6:00 p.m. tonight. As the day unfolds, Crescent Lake starts to stand out more and more as the ideal spot for me. Especially with kids—it’s perfect. Playground, walking paths, open space, dog park. It feels like a real neighborhood instead of a box stacked on top of other boxes. There’s a house in an incredible location near the park. It’s listed as three bedrooms, though really it looks like two true bedrooms plus a bonus room, about 1,400 square feet.
The downside is the price. Rent is $2,700 a month, and the owner wants first month, last month, and a security deposit. That means I’d be dropping somewhere between $6,000 and $7,000 just to move in. That last month’s rent especially feels financially inefficient right now. Still, I start asking myself a more honest question: if I knew everything would work out financially, what would actually matter to me? The answer is clear. Location. And then the next layer: what do I actually care about in a location?
After going to my yoga studio today, I realized I might’ve had a bit of a stick up my ass about it and probably judged it too quickly. The truth is, there are plenty of attractive women who go there. There’s no reason I couldn’t meet someone to date—or even a future second wife—through that community. Hell, maybe I already know one there. Seeing a friend earlier this week, talking with my massage therapist, and hearing people’s stories keeps reminding me how valuable community really is when it comes to dating. So much of dating can be easy and natural when you share friends, routines, and environments instead of forcing yourself into cold approaches with strangers. That realization softened something in me.
Once I let that land, Crescent Lake started to make even more sense. If I lived there, my yoga studio would be less than a mile away. I could walk there or drive over in minutes. I could walk the kids to the park almost every day and let them run around the playground or go to the dog park. My ex-wife and I could even coordinate things easily—she could take the dogs to the park and meet me there to drop the kids off. I could walk the loop around Crescent Lake regularly. There are tons of people there all the time—runners, walkers, families, and yes, plenty of attractive women. It actually feels like the kind of environment that could support my life instead of complicating it.
Crescent Lake Park itself is really nice. I texted a friend about it, and she told me she used to live right there and loved the neighborhood, even though she eventually moved farther away. The more I looked at other houses in the area, the clearer it became how well this location lines up with everything that matters to me. It’s close to the kids’ school. It’s near multiple yoga studios. I could still go to the AA meeting I recently started. Crunch Fitness would still be easy to get to. There are tennis courts scattered all around the area. Downtown is close enough to pop into whenever I want, but far enough away that the neighborhood itself looks quiet and grounded.
One thing that really pushed me over the edge with the apartment complexes—both the ones I toured yesterday and the ones I looked into this morning—was the sheer volume of negative reviews about noise. That hit home. One of the things I absolutely love about the house I’m in now is how quiet it is. I can record audiobooks at any time of day without worrying about background noise. And when it comes to sleep, especially with kids, the idea of living somewhere loud is a nightmare. Imagine renting an apartment where the kids can’t even sleep over because it’s too noisy at night. That would be brutal. And while noise is technically a risk in any apartment, it seems almost guaranteed in the heart of downtown.
A lot of the reviews mentioned Janus Live and other venues making it impossible to sleep until early morning hours. Twenty years ago, that wouldn’t have bothered me at all—I’d probably still be awake. But now, I don’t want to live around people who are okay with that kind of lifestyle, or places where enough people are miserable that they’re leaving angry one-star reviews about it. That feels like a clear signal.
I kept looking around the rest of St. Pete and finally realized something simple: it makes sense to start with this house tour tonight before doing anything else. I don’t need to keep spinning myself out. I’ll make the finances work. And if I knew, truly knew, that everything would work out financially, I’d choose a place in a great location with unique benefits—somewhere I could literally walk across the street and be at Crescent Lake Park. A place where life could unfold naturally. Who knows what could happen there.
I had a great conversation with the two people from New York at the AA meeting yesterday, and they told me they really liked my take on manifesting. So here it is, clearly, the way I actually understand it. To me, manifesting is not lying in bed asking God, Shiva, or the Universe to drop something in my lap. It’s not staring at vision boards and imagining checks in the mail or convincing myself I’ve already won the lottery. That version always felt off. The Secret has some truth in it, but taken literally, it turns into bullshit pretty fast.
My version of manifesting is much simpler and much more grounded. I think the thoughts I want to think. Then I take real actions that put me in a position to receive what I want. After that, it’s no longer up to me how or when it happens. There’s clearly something impersonal at work—collective consciousness, God, reality, whatever you want to call it—that doesn’t respond to begging or fantasy. Just asking for something doesn’t mean it gets delivered. What does work is positioning yourself so that when opportunity passes by, you’re actually there to meet it.
I don’t see much value in visualizing lottery wins or pretending money is already yours if your life isn’t aligned to receive it. If you were already rich, would you even care about winning the lottery? Probably not. That tells me something important. The goal isn’t to fantasize outcomes—it’s to build a life where the outcomes you want naturally cross your path.
That’s where Crescent Lake keeps coming back into my mind. I had this same feeling about South Tampa, about Michigan, about downtown St. Pete. But Crescent Lake stands out. It feels like the kind of place where I could walk in the morning, talk on the phone, listen to an audiobook, and just be in my body. And maybe one morning I smile at a beautiful woman. She smiles back. We start talking. And who knows—next thing you know, we’re dying together. That’s the kind of manifesting I believe in. Not forcing, not chasing, not hustling—just being in the right environment.
So today, Crescent Lake feels like the best positioning move I can make. There are three houses for rent on the exact same block, which feels almost comically aligned. I’m going to check out all of them. If this first one doesn’t work, I’ll look at the other two. But it makes sense to start here.
Earlier today, I went to Whole Foods, and there were tons of attractive women there. But I noticed something important in myself. I don’t want to force anything. The pickup-artist approach doesn’t feel right to me anymore—just walking up to women everywhere and leading with “you’re hot.” That whole grind mindset is something I’ve lived before, in business and other areas of life, and it mostly produced suffering. Sure, you might get a yes once in a while, but you also rack up a lot of awkward or negative interactions, and you end up disturbing people who are just trying to live their lives.
That’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to hustle relationships. I want to live in a place where connection can happen naturally, where shared space and repeated presence do the work for me. Where I don’t have to try so hard. Right now, Crescent Lake feels like the cleanest expression of that idea.
And if I’m actually on the right frequency with someone, we’ll run into each other and it’ll be organic. That keeps coming back to me. On the drive home from Whole Foods, I start running through the mental Rolodex. There’s a girl from yoga who’s hot—I could text her and see what she’s been up to. But then I remember I got her number a month ago and never texted her. There’s also the woman in her fifties I saw at yoga today. I could text her too. But neither of those moves feels right. I’m tired of feeling like I’m out there hustling and grinding and pursuing all the time, especially when it doesn’t seem like anyone actually wants to be pursued that way. I don’t want to force things just to have something happen.
With the woman in her fifties especially, I can see how easily that could go sideways. I don’t want to pursue her just to have a one-night stand. That feels like a terrible idea. I can already see how that could turn into attachment on her side and awkwardness on mine, followed by some version of me saying, “Wait a minute, you can’t have kids, this isn’t a long-term thing,” and suddenly I’ve burned a bridge for no good reason. I’d much rather stay friendly, give her books, and keep things clean. I don’t want to torch community connections for short-term gratification. I’m trying to walk that line where I’m available, paying attention, and positioned for organic things to happen—without forcing situations that create problems later.
I’ve definitely done the forcing thing before, especially with work. I messaged thousands of Facebook page owners back in the day, hustling hard just to get my first hundred or so clients. There were endless negative interactions, tons of wasted time, and none of those clients are still with me today. Not one. None of the things I got through pure hustle stood the test of time. That sticks with me. Pickup artist books teach the same thing when it comes to women: grind, push, collect numbers, make the move. And sure, you might get results, but how many of those connections actually last? Very few. They burn hot and fast and then disappear.
At the same time, I can’t lie to myself either. I was swiping like a maniac on Match back in the day—winking, messaging, doing all that shit—and that’s how I found my ex-wife. So clearly there’s some balance here. It’s not all passive. It’s not all hustle. There’s an ideal combination of positioning yourself well and then actually taking action when something real shows up. What feels right for me now is being present and living in the right neighborhood.
I keep thinking about it from a success perspective. What if I start making a bunch of money and then realize I’m stuck in some stupid house I don’t even like because I tried to play it safe? That would feel incredibly dumb. Imagine renting a cheap place in an awkward location, then things take off financially, and I’m sitting there thinking, why the hell did I lock myself into this lease in a place that doesn’t inspire me? That’s one of the worst outcomes I can imagine.
Being in the right place matters to me. It inspires me. If I’m paying $2,700 a month to live near Crescent Lake, I know myself well enough to say I’ll be out there, engaged with life, prepared for opportunities, and in position when things show up. Renting a place I actually want—one a woman would want to move into too—matters. Crescent Lake feels like that kind of neighborhood. It feels like a place where life could expand instead of contract.
I’m genuinely excited to go look at this house later today. At the same time, I notice a little resistance once I get home and eat a salad. That familiar resistance to doing my actual work. I hit a point where I realize, okay, I’ve done enough Zillow scrolling for today. I know the next place I’m going to look at. I don’t need backup options right now. I’m going to see this house, and if I like it, I don’t need to keep shopping. What I do need to do today is sit down and crank out my work and my books. That’s the part that actually moves my life forward. So I’m glad I’m finally doing that now.
It’s now five hours later. Five full hours. I went to look at the house, and it turns out it’s 103 years old. And somehow, that doesn’t bother me at all. What matters is the location, which is absolutely incredible. I love the neighborhood. The owners are genuinely awesome. The house has plenty of space—for me, for the kids, for a woman to move in someday, for pets. It just works. The contrast is almost funny when I think about how I felt touring Viv yesterday. That place is brand new, shiny, modern. This house is over a century old, and yet it feels infinitely more alive. Being close to Crescent Lake Park is unreal. That alone changes everything.
The house is currently occupied, so we briefly said hello to the tenants. Then the two owners walked us through the place, answered all my questions, and gave me a real tour. I got good vibes from both of them. I can genuinely see them being great neighbors and great landlords. I could picture the kids being happy there. I could picture myself settling into that neighborhood and staying for years, which is exactly what I want right now. Not another short-term scramble. Not another placeholder. A place I can actually land.
I felt ready to apply the moment I left the house. Completely ready. But then I remembered last night—how convinced I was that I should apply for the apartment at Viv, and how relieved I felt the next morning that I hadn’t. That memory slowed me down in a good way. So I’m going to sleep on this one too. As of right now, my plan is to apply first thing in the morning. The cost is basically the same as that 432-square-foot apartment I looked at yesterday, except this place has roughly three times the space, two parking spots right behind the house, and zero elevators. By the time I’d be waiting for an elevator downtown, I could already be halfway around Crescent Lake.
After the showing, I took a walk around Crescent Lake Park to let everything settle in my body. About halfway around, I ended up walking behind a woman, so I called out “hello” from a distance so I wouldn’t startle her by suddenly appearing right behind her in the dark. We ended up talking for about ten minutes. She was thinking about moving here and staying with family for the holidays, and she was literally on her phone using ChatGPT for real estate. That part made me laugh internally.
I was asking almost all the questions. She was answering, but she wasn’t really asking anything about me. About halfway through the conversation, I shook her hand and got her name. I kept wondering if I should just walk ahead instead of lingering, but it felt awkward to cut it short for no reason. She’s attractive, but she also seemed a little reserved and not fully present. Eventually she said she needed to head back to where she was staying, gave me a high five, and we parted ways. I walked the last couple of blocks back to my car thinking about whether I should have asked for her number.
I realized something important in that moment. Just because I could ask for a phone number doesn’t mean I should. I didn’t feel any real connection there. She didn’t seem particularly engaged with me either. Asking for her number would’ve just been me doing something out of habit, not out of alignment. It would’ve been a distraction, not a step forward. So I didn’t. Maybe I’ll see her again sometime. If we cross paths again and the energy is different, maybe something grows from that. If not, that’s fine too.
Walking back to my car, I felt calm. Grounded. Present. And more certain than I’ve felt in a while that I’m finally putting myself in the right place—not forcing anything, not chasing, just positioning myself where life can actually meet me.
I drive back home, and my mind just keeps looping about whether or not to go to the 8:00 p.m. AA meeting tonight—the speaker meeting where I might see people I know. I eat a little bowl of the potato and bean soup I made earlier. After walking around Whole Foods today, I had this very simple realization: why the hell wouldn’t I just make my own bean soup with potatoes? It’s basically free compared to buying prepared food. The potatoes were about $5, the beans were $1, and I threw in some celery and carrots. That’s it. Cheap, filling, and I’ve got a ton of it. I did go a little overboard on the seasoning, but whatever. It’s still solid food.
After eating, I finally land on the real lesson from two weeks ago: Jerry sitting at home on a Saturday night and skipping an AA meeting is a great way to wake up lonely and a little unhinged on Sunday. So I decide to get my ass out of the house. I drive about fifteen minutes to the meeting, and it hits me that if I lived in the Crescent Lake house, this group would be way closer—maybe half the distance, maybe even a third. That matters more than I usually acknowledge.
When I get there, I recognize several people right away. I sit next to two guys I know, and we’re joking around before the meeting starts. I’m relaxed. One of the speakers happened to share a first name with a character from Pulp Fiction, so I couldn’t resist riffing a line from that movie at him. It got a good laugh, and it felt nice to just be there, connected, not hiding out at home.
On the drive to the meeting, I’d been thinking a lot about a massage therapist, which surprised me because I hadn’t thought about her much recently. I caught myself thinking, she should text me. I even said it out loud in the car. If she’s thinking about me, she should text me. Then, sitting in the meeting, another thought creeps in: yeah, but men usually text first, so why don’t you just send her a message? I remember someone sharing recently about staying connected—sending simple messages to people you care about. I realize I don’t do that enough. Especially with people I already know. I need to keep people in mind more and let them know I’m thinking of them.
So I text a massage therapist. I keep it simple: Hey, I keep thinking of you tonight and hope you’re doing well. That’s it. Two hours later, there’s still no response. After I send it, I feel vulnerable, almost exposed, and part of me wishes I hadn’t sent it. At the same time, I think about how grateful I was when my sister called me two weeks ago when I was really struggling. Most of the time, we don’t reach out enough. Obviously, if there’s a restraining order or someone has explicitly asked you not to contact them, that’s different. But absent something like that, I think it’s generally a good thing to reach out to people you’re connected with. It helps me think about others instead of staying locked in my own head.
On the way home, I listen to Alan Watts. He talks about how the more interesting people tend to be the ones who think about others more. That lands for me. I want to be more interesting. I want to think about other people more. Tonight, I notice that I was thinking about a massage therapist, about a woman I met on a walk around Crescent Lake, about the landlords from the house, about people at the meeting. That feels like a good direction.
I stop by my mom’s house on the way home and show her the house near Crescent Lake. She lights up when she sees that it’s close to the lake because she could bring her dog and walk him around there. That reaction matters to me. This is the first place I’ve seriously looked at where my mom has shown genuine enthusiasm. I take that as a good sign. My ex-wife has also said the kids would love Crescent Lake, and that lines up with everything else I’m seeing. It really feels like all the arrows are pointing in the same direction. This neighborhood makes sense. This house looks like exactly what I’ve been looking for.
So my plan is to send in the application tomorrow, wrap this decision up, and let myself rest. It’s 10:42 p.m. now, and it feels like the right time to go to bed.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.