This is my journal entry from August 1, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
The day began well. I had a tennis lesson, and instead of training alone with the coach, I shared the session with a woman who was fun to play alongside. The change in energy made the practice more engaging, and I left the court feeling satisfied. Afterward, I went to a power yoga flow, which felt good both physically and socially—it’s always grounding to be in the studio with my people. I met with my sponsor, attended my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and had everyone laughing. Those moments of humor and connection always lift me up.
Later, I went to the pier for the kids’ school event, and while there, I found myself thinking about the letters I’ve been wanting to write—deeply honest letters to people in my life to try to build stronger relationships. That train of thought shifted my mood entirely. When I got home, I sat down and spent an hour and a half writing the first letter. At first, I felt relieved to finally put the words down. Then I spoke with my ex-wife.
Her perspective was simple: write the letter for myself, address what I’ve done, and expect nothing in return. Let the other person respond however they choose. On the surface, that’s sound advice, but it hit a nerve. I’m living my life in sobriety, going around making amends to the people I’ve hurt—but who makes amends to me? Who admits their wrongs to me?
My father never apologized for the harsh way he disciplined me when I was young. My mother never apologized for the ways she hurt us when I was young. The countless people who ignored me, dismissed me, or showed no interest in my life have never taken responsibility either—even when they later expected me to show up for them. My father would rather have gone to his grave than admit his failures as a parent or make amends. That was his choice.
This is the world we live in: people will go to their deaths rather than say, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I was wrong, and I’m going to change my life and do better.” I want to be surrounded by people willing to live that way, but I believe most of the world is not. I’m tired of always being the bigger person.
Taking my own inventory hasn’t been pleasant either. I don’t like seeing how judgmental I can be, feeling superior because I take responsibility while others do not. I hate that I can’t seem to let go of people who treat me poorly. I want to say, “Your best isn’t good enough for me,” and replace them with someone better. Instead, I stay. I can’t bring myself to cut off family members or pretend they don’t exist. If I avoid them, I feel awful. If I talk to them, I feel awful. It’s a no-win cycle.
Part of me thinks I should be more zen, more accepting—letting everyone be who they are without letting it hurt me. In reality, it feels like I have no boundaries, like people can be whatever kind of asshole they want while I run around making amends for my side of the street and they face no accountability for theirs. I feel trapped because I know I’m not going to pack up and leave everyone behind. Even if I did, I’d sit somewhere like Switzerland missing my family and friends every single day. That’s no solution either.
The one thing I am proud of is that I face all of this without a crutch. I don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. I don’t need medication to numb the edge. I’m not burying myself in video games, television, or other distractions. I can handle life raw, difficult, and unfiltered. I know this heaviness will pass. I’ll figure it out, the way I always do.
My ex-wife wasn’t thrilled to walk into this mood after her Al-Anon meeting tonight, which I understand. For now, I’ll walk the dog, go to bed, and trust that tomorrow will be better.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.