This is my journal entry from October 13, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Sober Through Separation — my real, unedited days, published in order.
The kids had the day off from school, so I waited until my ex-wife texted to say everyone was up before heading down. I finished editing another chapter from The Kind Divorce this morning, and it feels good to be moving closer to finishing it this week. Around 8 a.m., I walked over to my ex-wife’s place in the cool morning air to spend some time with the kids. Afterward, I went to my yoga studio for a yoga flow class. There were about fifteen people there, and I really enjoyed the class.
I noticed two attractive women I hadn’t seen before. They were new faces, and while I didn’t speak to either of them, part of me was hoping one might make eye contact or give me some kind of signal to start a conversation. Neither did. Still, I could swear the one closest to me seemed to be trying to get my attention by the way she moved back to her mat. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s imagination in moments like that. After class, I said hi to the people I knew, but I felt a bit deflated, like I’d missed an opportunity.
I left and stopped by the ATM to withdraw $500, then headed home for a quick meal before my AA meeting. As I walked, I caught myself mentally complaining about women — how so many won’t even look at a guy, expecting men to do all the initiating, while also wanting to project confidence and independence. Then I stopped mid-thought and asked myself, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I expecting women to approach me? They’re just playing the game the way they’ve been conditioned to — showing up, looking good, hoping to be noticed.
It reminded me of a conversation I had the other night with a mom who said how hot she thought the guys at yoga were, but it was obvious she expected them to approach her. She’d never consider making the first move herself. That whole dynamic is both easier and harder, depending on how you look at it. I actually like being the one to take the initiative — to walk up and talk to whoever I’m drawn to — but it also means that if I don’t act, nothing happens.
That was easier when I was married. Now, it’s clear I need to get back into the rhythm of meeting women naturally again, face-to-face, in real life. It’s a different kind of energy — not chasing, but being present, confident, and willing to take the first step.
What I observed today was clearly not me at my best. There were two women in that yoga class I could have approached — even just to have a friendly conversation, to see where it might lead — yet I made no effort at all. That has to change.
It reminded me of my massage therapist’s recommendation last week: The Game by Neil Strauss. At the time, I dismissed it as beneath me, something for men who needed tricks and tactics. I told myself I was past that — that my natural confidence, my conversation skills, my life experience, and what I had to offer a woman were already enough. But today I realized how arrogant that was. I do need to level up. Not by pretending or manipulating, but by remembering what I once knew about attraction, confidence, and playfulness — and raising my game to a new all-time high. This is my chance to live out the fantasies I’ve had for years: to walk into a room, connect with the most beautiful woman there, and have the courage to approach her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
When I got home, I immediately bought The Game on Audible and started listening. The moment I pressed play, it felt like a jolt of recognition — as if I had found exactly what I needed right now. Earlier this morning I’d been half-listening to a few books on conscious uncoupling, but none of them stirred anything in me. Within minutes of starting The Game, I was fully engaged. It wasn’t about pick-up artistry as much as it was about remembering the psychology and energy of connection — the boldness I’ve been missing.
Before long it was time for my AA meeting. I sat next to my sponsor, and when I got called on near the end, I spoke about the importance of being prepared for life. I’ve noticed that many people — in sobriety and in general — fall apart when things are good because they stop preparing. They congratulate themselves, relax too much, and forget that change is inevitable. It’s not about paranoia or being a doomsday prepper like in Educated; it’s about staying mentally ready for what’s likely to happen.
I used the example of divorce. For over a decade in sobriety, I’ve quietly prepared for the possibility that my marriage might end. In my first year sober, I remember thinking, I don’t know if I could stay sober if my ex-wife and I got divorced. I had come to Alcoholics Anonymous because I knew she was close to leaving me if I didn’t quit drinking. But as time went on, I realized I needed to be strong enough to stay sober no matter what — wife or no wife. Preparation didn’t mean hiring a lawyer or living in fear; it meant developing the mental and emotional tools to handle that loss if it ever came.
I paid attention to others who had gone through it, learned from their experiences, and made a plan: call my sponsor, go to meetings, ask for help, and remember that I could be okay on my own. That mindset — that commitment to readiness — is why this season of my life has been surprisingly peaceful. When I shared at the meeting, I told them I’d used my time wisely over the last eleven years. Now that the divorce is actually happening, it’s been far from tragic. It’s been a joyful, even liberating, experience — a time of reflection, possibility, and growth.
Of course, I’ve felt sadness and grief, which I’ve written about here. But overall, this period has been exciting. It’s made me think about what’s next — the women I’ll meet, the love and passion that might come again, maybe even another wife and more children someday. It’s a hopeful vision of the future, not a bleak one.
Toward the end of the meeting, I called on the woman I found most attractive to share, partly because I genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say — and partly because I wanted an excuse to pay attention to her. It was a small, simple act, but it reminded me of something essential: connection doesn’t start with fantasy or frustration. It starts with presence, courage, and willingness to play the game.
I left the meeting about fifteen minutes early so I could make it to my massage with my massage therapist. We had a fantastic conversation, and I thanked her for recommending The Game. I also took the opportunity to confront something that had been weighing on me — what I’d written about her in Author in St. Petersburg. I told her that, even though I hadn’t mentioned her by name, I felt bad about how I’d described her. It had been an honest reflection of what I was thinking at the time, but looking back, I realized I didn’t want to keep operating that way — judging or writing about people from a critical or reactive place.
She asked if I’d already told her those things directly before writing them, and I said I had. There was nothing in the book she hadn’t already heard from me face to face. What amazed me was how gracefully she handled it. While I could sense a touch of sadness in her, she seemed to understand, and she forgave me easily. That kind of openness is rare, and I was grateful for it.
After months of writing these diary books, I’ve found a system that feels right — mentioning people only by their first names to maintain some level of privacy. Anyone curious for deeper context can always book a two-hour session with me through JerryBanfield.com for $333, where I’ll gladly share more details.
My massage therapist opened up about some challenges she’s facing right now, and I felt honored to be there for her, to listen and offer support. After the massage, I checked off a few small tasks from my to-do list. First, I made a copy of my house key so my ex-wife could have one if she ever needs to come by, and so I’d have a spare that wasn’t attached to my car keys. This house doesn’t have a combination lock like hers, so it’s good to have backups.
Next, I called a tire shop about my brake light, which my ex-wife had noticed was out. To my surprise, they said they could replace it immediately — and when I got there, they did it for free. I thanked them and left a five-star review on Google, which the technician said would really help them out.
My ex-wife and the kids still weren’t home, so I went back to my house and listened to more of The Game while eating a big salad for lunch. The book is both inspiring and intimidating. Hearing about all the ways I could improve how I interact with women made me reflect on my own habits. I thought about the girl I’d talked to yesterday — how serious and tense I’d been. I could have said the exact same things, but with more playfulness, lightness, and humor. Maybe then she would have given me her number, or at least walked away smiling instead of feeling like I’d made her uncomfortable.
It’s clear to me now that connecting with women isn’t just about confidence or boldness — it’s about play. Being relaxed, curious, and fun. That kind of energy doesn’t come easily to me yet; it feels challenging to embody it consistently. But I want to learn. I want the results, yes — the connection, the intimacy, the spark — but I also want the joy of the play itself.
Lately I’ve been thinking about ways to improve my appearance. One of the tips from The Game that stood out to me was simple but powerful — always be well groomed. So I’ve decided to buzz my hair down to a number-one clipper and keep it that way consistently. It’s easy to maintain and looks sharper than when I let it grow out and get sloppy. I notice the same thing with women in yoga class: the ones who look more put together naturally draw my attention. It’s not about being painted up or flashy — it’s about care and intention. Clean, even nails instead of chipped or dirty ones. That little bit of effort makes a big difference.
I’m envisioning myself as the man who can confidently walk up to the most beautiful woman in the room, strike up a conversation, and earn a chance to get to know her — not from a place of desperation or ego, but curiosity and attraction. What’s been tricky, though, while listening to The Game, is managing the part of my mind that immediately jumps to the idea that all this self-improvement should lead to endless sex with different women. On the surface, that sounds fun — thrilling even. But I know from experience that it leads to confusion and hurt feelings. I’ve lived through enough chaos to recognize when I’m being pulled toward short-term gratification.
What I truly want is to meet lots of women, have plenty of first dates, and be completely clear about my intentions. Either I’ll recognize that someone isn’t a match for me, or she’ll see that I’m not right for her. That honesty keeps things clean. I want to explore widely, not recklessly — to meet many different women and eventually find the one where love, attraction, and compatibility all line up. What I’m not interested in is casual sex with women who aren’t right for me. Sure, the idea is tempting in theory, but I don’t want the distraction. I’d rather have the freedom to meet and connect, to practice confidence and playfulness, and to discover who fits naturally into my life.
I went to the 4 p.m. AA meeting and treated it as another chance to practice the principles from The Game — not in a manipulative way, but to be more relaxed, playful, and at ease around women. Even with women I know are married, I can practice presence and charm without any agenda. It’s just about becoming comfortable in my own skin. During the meeting, a new guy showed up, and several of us made a point to encourage him to stick around. Afterward, I talked with one of the old-timers — a man with over forty years of sobriety who’s been like a second sponsor to me. We discussed the idea of recording a book together, which I’d love to do.
When I got home, I worked on setting up my office. I dragged the mattress that had been stored in the garage back inside and leaned it vertically against the wall to act as a sound absorber for when I record audiobooks. I hooked up my monitors and got everything plugged in. Then my ex-wife called to say the kids were ready for a visit, so I walked over around 6 p.m.
We played Uno No Mercy and made popcorn, and for a while it was just simple fun. At one point, though, I pulled out my phone to do some online shopping with them — showing them clothes and outfits I was considering buying. Almost immediately, I regretted it. I got distracted scrolling through endless listings and felt disconnected from the moment. I hate being on my phone around the kids. It feels like an invisible wall goes up between us.
I also realized how much I dislike online shopping itself. The sheer volume of options is exhausting — most of it cheap, synthetic junk that doesn’t fit right or falls apart within months. Nearly every piece of clothing I’ve ordered online has ended up donated or thrown out. Still, the behavior carried that addictive edge I’ve felt in other areas of my life: the mindless scrolling, the chase for the “perfect” thing that never satisfies. It was a small but humbling reminder that addiction isn’t just about substances — it’s about distraction. Even something as simple as trying to find new clothes “to catch girls’ attention,” like The Game suggests, can quickly turn into the same old loop of restless searching and dissatisfaction.
The funniest idea I had today was to buy a light-up dog collar and wear it around my neck to yoga. That would definitely get some attention. I’m still half-serious about doing it, but I don’t want to buy one from Amazon. I’d rather look for something like that at Goodwill or the Salvation Army. I love how creative you can get with cheap secondhand finds—how a little imagination can turn something ordinary into a statement.
Later, I went over to my ex-wife’s house to help put the kids to bed. Before that, she gave me a quick haircut and did a great job. She’d also mowed the yard for the first time earlier that day, and it looked fantastic. She even did the edging herself, though she said her forearms were so sore she could barely lift them after going through three batteries on the edger. My son proudly said he helped too. Bedtime was peaceful; I lay in my son’s bed with the kids, just enjoying being with them.
Afterward, though, I slipped back into old habits. I ended up scrolling on my phone for almost half an hour, looking at more stuff online before heading over to my mom’s house. As I sat there scrolling, I could feel how precious my time is—and how much of a waste it feels to spend it that way. At least if I went to Goodwill, I could take the kids with me and make it a fun outing where we all look around and maybe find something together. But sitting there staring at a screen felt like life slipping by.
It’s clear I need to stick to doing things in person. There are plenty of local stores I can explore, and I’d actually get to see how things look and feel instead of guessing. Just yesterday at the mall, after spending hours browsing polos online, I realized that most of them didn’t feel good when I tried them on. The Nike shorts I looked at weren’t worth $50 either. If I’d bought them online, I probably would’ve convinced myself to wear them anyway just to justify the purchase. It’s funny how often we do that—rationalize bad choices instead of admitting something wasn’t worth it.
When I got to my mom’s house, she noticed I seemed sad and distracted. I told her honestly it was from scrolling on Amazon. It’s incredible how draining it feels to use a device when the energy isn’t aligned. Writing books doesn’t affect me that way. I can edit and write for hours without that addictive pull; it feels balanced, joyful, and creative. Having physical copies I can hold and share with people makes it even more fulfilling.
As usual, my mom spent a lot of time talking about the past. At one point I asked her, “What do you think about besides the past?” She said she thinks about lots of things but didn’t really elaborate. I told her I focus mostly on the present and the future. The past is educational—it teaches lessons—but my energy belongs in creating what’s next and adjusting myself to be ready for it.
I drove home later that night and got back to work editing The Kind Divorce. I went through several days’ worth of transcripts, and by the time I closed the document, it had reached 28,000 words. That means I should be able to finish and submit it to Amazon this week.
As I wrap up this entry, it’s 11:04 p.m. I’m ready to shower and get in bed soon. Today was full—moments of inspiration, reflection, and frustration—but all of it feels like progress. Every day like this brings me one step closer to the man I’m becoming.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Dating playlist.