This is my journal entry from August 10, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
The main thing I did today was play pickleball with the yoga crew at a pickleball venue in Largo. Up until now, I had only played for maybe thirty minutes total—once after tennis when a friend and I ran into some of his musician friends, and they invited us to try a game. My goal today was simple: try something new and spend time socializing. That intention carried me through. I believe it’s essential for the soul to explore new places and experiment with unfamiliar activities.
Driving to a location I had never been and stepping into something different—yet still seeing a few familiar faces—gave the day a refreshing energy. One of the yoga instructors and co-owner of my yoga studio led a yoga flow beforehand, which was a perfect way to ease into the experience. Doing yoga in a new setting added another layer of novelty, grounding me before the games began.
When it came time for pickleball, the group split between those who had played before and those who were brand new. About two-thirds were beginners, clustered together on a single crowded court. By definition, I belonged with them, but I noticed two other courts sat open for more experienced players. I thought about my year of consistent tennis, my years of racquetball in college, and the time I’ve spent around ping-pong tables. Based on that, I decided to join the players who already knew the game. It felt slightly dishonest, but I also knew I didn’t need to stand on the sidelines relearning the very basics. I had enough understanding to jump in, play, and enjoy myself.
On that court, I ran into a guy I know from AA. He has only attended a couple of my yoga studio yoga classes, but he follows their emails and showed up today because he’s been playing pickleball for about a year. Our first game together was rough—he explained the differences from tennis as we went, and I made my share of mistakes—but it was fun. We managed at least one win and stayed competitive in a few matches. Some losses came at the hands of teams who clearly lived and breathed pickleball. One woman in particular kept slamming the ball with speed and precision. I admired her skill—she had clearly been training hard—and I felt proud of myself for managing to return a few of her slams.
As much as I enjoyed the games, the real value of the day was in connection. I spent time with familiar faces, met new people, and heard stories that reminded me why I seek out these gatherings. On the yoga mat beside me, I met a mom who shared my frustrations about raising kids in a screen-saturated world. By the end of the afternoon, I felt fulfilled. The whole experience proved once again that trying something new, even with the discomfort it brings, almost always leads to something worthwhile.
I’m grateful I pushed past the natural resistance that comes with stepping into unfamiliar territory. The mind has a way of layering fear and criticism onto even the simplest opportunities for change. Whenever I’ve tried something new—within reason—it has always been worth it. Sobriety plays a big role in this. I have no interest in experimenting with drugs, not even so-called plant medicines. Those doors are closed. Yet something like pickleball and yoga is the perfect kind of “new” to embrace, and today was proof of that.
By the end of my first game, I had learned the rules well enough to feel comfortable, and the rest of the afternoon was pure enjoyment. Being there also mattered for my teammate, who didn’t seem to know anyone else. It felt good to be that familiar presence for him, although he might have made new connections without me. Either way, we both got what we needed from being there.
The drive to and from Largo took about half an hour each way, and I filled that time by listening to Liz Murray’s memoir, Breaking Night. She was born in 1980, four years before me, and grew up in the Bronx with drug-addicted parents. Listening to her story was both therapeutic and humbling. It lined up with an intention I’ve been working on lately: to deepen my compassion and understanding for people. Her words painted a vivid picture of hardship, reminding me how devastating life can become, and they gave me perspective on the struggles others quietly carry.
Later in the day, I shared parts of Murray’s story with my children. I explained that if they see a classmate who looks unwashed, tired, or different, that child might be living with addicted parents or enduring a rough home life. Kids like that are the ones who most need kindness, not ridicule, because they are already hurting more than most. I told them that mocking someone in that position would only deepen the wound. It felt meaningful to have that conversation, especially because it came out of my own attempt to try something new and remain open to learning.
The book hooked me in a way I haven’t experienced in quite some time. I found myself eager to keep listening, pulled forward by Liz Murray’s honesty and the sheer power of her story. Even when her experiences were hard to hear, I was fascinated. That is one of the reasons I feel so excited about these autobiography diaries I’ve been creating. They allow me to share my own story and learning process without preaching. Most self-help content feels like someone telling you what to think or do, and I have little patience for that anymore. If you want to teach me, show me what you actually do day to day. Demonstrate it. If your advice isn’t backed by lived practice, I’m not interested. These diaries are my way of offering that example—lessons embedded in life, not laid out in lecture.
Later last night, after recording my diary entry, I listened to an old Wayne Dyer talk. In all the hundreds of hours I’ve heard him speak, I had somehow missed that he once played tennis professionally. He also shared a story about Ram Dass, a fellow author and friend, who had refused royalties for his book because he didn’t want to monetize his teaching. That choice left him living in near-poverty, speaking for free, until Dyer raised money to buy him a home in Hawaii. The story stayed with me. It reminded me of my own relationship with money. I appreciate what I have, but I see no value in hoarding it out of fear or distrust in life’s flow. Hoarding comes from insecurity, from the belief that there is not enough. True abundance is built on trust—on believing in the steady flow of the universe.
Driving to my AA meeting tonight, I spotted a man I know walking downtown. He is homeless and lives on the street. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. For a brief moment, I considered driving past. Instead, I made a U-turn, pulled over, rolled down my window, and called out to him. I handed him a twenty. He thanked me and kept walking, probably heading to spend it quickly, which I understand. For me, abundance means having enough to share freely, without judgment about how it will be used. I’ve come to see money as an energy flow in my own life. That perspective helps me feel abundant, no matter the balance in my account. I know there is more than enough in circulation, in countless forms, and I am proud of where I am today. Even though I’ve deleted all my online income sources, I still feel secure. I have time. I can afford to trust the universe rather than panic and grasp for quick money. I can take the time to adjust my path, confident that everything will work out.
Right now, money is arriving through the steady process of selling my old equipment. Earlier today, I spent an hour listening to Breaking Night while continuing to clean out what my ex-wife and I call “the Cloffice”—our nickname for the closet office where I used to record my videos. Only a few pieces of gear remain. I sold two more items on eBay and listed my camera, which will likely be the final piece I put up for sale. The thought of having that space completely cleared, ready for my ex-wife to move into while I set up my new recording and writing studio in the bedroom, excites me.
I love dictating these books, and with the kids going back to school tomorrow, I’ll finally have uninterrupted time to work more on them. Yesterday, I gave away the last two copies I had of Speaker Meeting 2017, which means it’s time to order more. That thrills me. My goal is to keep writing books and giving them away freely. I want to record audiobooks and share those at no cost as well.
In my AA meeting tonight, I talked about how helping someone else has never failed to improve my mood or shift my perspective. Sobriety for me isn’t just about not drinking; it’s about staying engaged in service. When I focus on helping others, my own sobriety takes care of itself. Happiness and an enjoyable life require a bit more intentional work, but as long as my energy is directed toward service, I am free from the pull of alcohol.
That mindset now extends beyond sobriety. If I’m living in service to others, I can trust that my own needs will be met. I have the right to enjoy the things I love and the right to receive them. More than a right, I have faith that the universe will provide. When I am living joyfully, I am already rich. Wayne Dyer said in one of the talks I listened to recently that living with inspired enthusiasm is living as your true self. I connect with that deeply. I carry this bursting passion for life—a drive to create, to give, to feel joy, pleasure, and sensation, and to actively participate in the world. That energy is what draws me to people who are equally lit up about being alive. When someone has lost that spark, I have little interest in being around them. If I ever lost it myself, I might as well move on, because life is infinite. There are endless opportunities for experience, and I am part of that infinity.
The goal is to stay enthusiastic and joyful regardless of mood. Even when I dip into a low place, I try to see the gift in it. Those moments often give me a fresh perspective, helping me recognize what needs to change. When I quit playing video games, for example, it came after three straight days of Call of Duty: Warzone that left me feeling drained and empty. In that state, I could finally see clearly: I didn’t just need to stop gaming—I needed to walk away from everything I was doing online. At the time, I had no idea what I would replace it with. Writing books wasn’t even on my radar. I only knew I had to stop. When I’m in a good mood, change rarely feels urgent; it’s those darker stretches that push me toward transformation.
Enthusiasm, for me, transcends mood. Today it showed up in everything: excitement for the pickleball event, joy in coming home to wash dishes for the family I love, anticipation for eating the beef stroganoff I made yesterday, energy for cleaning out the office, gratitude for my family and the kids’ first day of school, eagerness for my AA meeting, and even the simple pleasure of knowing I’d come home afterward to write, make love, walk the dog, shower, and see my mom. Every part of the day carried its own spark. I feel thrilled to be living this life.
Sometimes I wonder if life is going well because I’m doing well, or if it just feels easy right now. The truth is, I don’t think the two can be separated. I see people in AA who live in rough sober living situations, but they ended up there because of choices made during active addiction. I am in the place I am today because I replaced those destructive patterns with love, joy, and cooperative behaviors that support sobriety. The most precious thing I have now is this passion for living. It’s what kept me alive when I might have given up, what led me to AA, and what keeps me sober to this day.
I protect that passion fiercely. Anything that drains it—alcohol, drugs, or work I hate—has no place in my life. Even YouTube, which once felt exciting, eventually became something that depleted me, so I stopped. Now I’m thankful every day that I can write books instead, and deeply grateful that I don’t have to scramble for money to survive.
As I prepare for my upcoming life coaching session with my life coach, I realize I want to get better at celebrating my successes. On the tennis court yesterday, I noticed how animated my reaction was when I hit a ball into the net or out of bounds compared to when I made a great shot. That imbalance mirrors the way I sometimes live—giving more energy to mistakes than to wins. I want to change that. I want to put more focus on the small victories, the moments I show up, create, and follow through. Today alone, I wrote thousands of words, tried something new in pickleball and even won a couple of games against stronger players, attended my AA meeting, and showed up for my ex-wife and kids. Those are all shots in, and I want to celebrate each one with a loud, resounding “Yes!”
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.