This essay is also published on my Substack.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and not the same man.” -Heraclitus

In July of 2024, I drove to Cape Cod, MA.

My marriage was over and in the process of being dissolved. I had just celebrated my 40th birthday with friends and family in Nashville. Jumping from AirBNB to AirBNB, I didn’t know if I even wanted to stay in Tennessee.

So I loaded up my life into my Jeep and drove 18 hours to my hometown to stay with my parents.

I dropped my suitcase in the bedroom I grew up in, looked at the art on my walls I made as a kid, and laid down on my bed.

“This is 40? Sh**.”

Professionally, I was a mess too.

Nerd Fitness, the company I had started 15 years prior, the company I had put my life on hold to build, was going through a devastating restructuring. Google updates and ChatGPT meant that 90% of our website traffic had disappeared and wasn’t coming back.

Oh, and the book I was writing wasn’t going well.

I had signed a deal a year prior with St. Martin’s Press to write a book about “what to do after failing at a goal.” Relatable, as I was currently failing at the goal of writing a coherent book on time. What I had was 120,000 words of disorganized chaos.

I sent it to my editor with an apology, and explanation about my life falling apart, and the request for another year. Fortunately, he was supportive.

Each day that summer, I went and sat in a coffee shop and (tried to) write.

Sometimes I would work on the book. Most of the time I sat there and stared out the window. I’d randomly get overwhelmed with with memories, emotions, and self-judgments. Everything felt heavy. Each day felt like I was just trying to keep my head above water. My carefully crafted plans for the future had shrunk from “Where do we want our lives to be a decade from now” to “How the hell do I get through today?” I kept showing up, I was surrounded by friends and family, and I kept treading water.

Most of that summer passed in a disassociated blur.

It ended with a drive back to Nashville, another stay in an airBNB, and no idea what my future held, and no idea about my book or business.

---

In July of 2025, I drove to Cape Cod, MA.

Same hometown. Same bedroom.

Different river*. Different man.

(*Visiting Cape Cod requires driving over a canal, not a river, but you get the point).

My divorce wrapped up amicably, and I felt proud of the compassion and kindness I had for myself while honoring the relationship. The emotional weight finally starting to lighten, I stopped taking life a day at time and started thinking on a slightly longer time horizon.

“Treading water” had gone from a life necessity and transformed into a deeply helpful life philosophy.

I learned to ask for help. I leaned on friends. I found the courage to tell my audience about the challenges I had been navigating, and felt the support from people around the world.

I rejoined society. I started doing more things that made me happy. I became a frequent patron of my local indie movie theater. I made friends at the coffee shops and restaurants I went to regularly.

2.5 years and 150,000 words of organized chaos later, my book had found its identity too. I spent the previous twelve months finding my way through my book’s structures and philosophies.

Unsurprisingly, it had also taken on a much bigger idea:

“What to do when life doesn’t go according to plan.”

It also had a new title that encapsulated how it could help busy people forgive themselves for being human:

“How to Try Again.”

I had to try again with my life and my business. I had to try again writing a book I was proud of. It was the book I needed to read myself. Fortunately, my publisher was thrilled with how it turned out. I still had a long way to go to get it across the finish line, but the most important hurdle had been cleared:

I had fumbled my way through the muck, and learned a hell of a lot about myself along the way. I started to ask what I wanted my life to be like. I started to ask what “Maximum Steve” looked like.

I still struggled. I worried what my future would look like. I was full of anxiety about how my book would be received. I worried about my book launch. I worried if I could keep my brain quiet enough to do the work.

I returned to Nashville, a home that started to feel like home.

---

In July of 2026, I drove to Cape Cod, MA.

Different river. Different man.

Two summers ago, my future was unknown. My book was unknown. My business was unknown. My life was unknown. Most days were spent trying to stay afloat.

Last summer, my future was unknown. My book was written but still had to be marketed, packaged, formatted, edited, marketed, promoted, and launched. The business was still on unstable ground. My life still felt on hold.

By this summer, quite a few of my “unknowns” had become knowns:

• How to Try Again hit bookshelves around the world and became an “instant national bestseller” (which only took 20 years).
• It’s currently available in a dozen countries and is being translated into 9 different languages (with more to come).
• I attended the Kit Conference in Boise where all 450 attendees got an early copy of my book.
• I got a chance to do an event at Parnassus Books, and sign hundreds of copies of my book for people who pre-ordered it.
• On a trip to Ireland, I went on Irish Radio to talk about How to Try Again and sign copies of my book in Irish bookstores.
• I had done dozens of podcasts and guest posts and interviews.
• ​I went to London, explored museums, and had dinner with my friend Anne-Laure Le Cunff. We nerded out about the book writing process.

I spent my summer with my Massachusetts building Magna-Tile castles and playing Candy Land with my niece, golfing with friends, reading a lot, and finally slowing down for the first time in a long time.

After the summer ended, I drove back to Nashville, and feel like I’m starting a new chapter in my life. I have my brain and my heart back, and I have the space to think. It’s opening up all sorts of interesting discussions and questions and conundrums.

• I started therapy again to help navigate the spotlight I’ve stepped under to promote my book and get my ideas out around the world.
• I’m trying to become the most “Steve” version of me possible and being okay asking for what I need/want. As a recovering people-pleaser / insecure overachiever, this is proving to be fascinating and challenging.
• I am dating again. This is weird and fun and bizarre and frustrating and hopeful.
• I’m doing all the above with curiosity, not judgment.

---

I’m finishing up my second read-through of Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove.

I first purchased and read it back in 2017. Even though I know what happens, I can’t put it down. It’s the same words on the page, but it’s also a different book. I find myself relating even more to Gus and Call, the old gunslingers who have lived, loved, and lost. Different characters carry more importance. Different paragraphs are grabbing my attention. Entire plot-lines that escaped my memory last time are now seared into my brain.

The Hat Creek Cattle Company crossed a lot of rivers, often multiple times. But as with everything in life, each crossing was a different river, and they were different people.

Hell, even McMurtry's introduction hit me differently!

Same words. Same author.

But different book, and different Steve.

As I get ready to hit send on this newsletter from this coffee shop, I see quite a few new friends who I’ve met just by bringing more “me” into the world. I want to take more chances and share more stories. I want to try different styles of writing (like with this essay today). I want this newsletter to feel like your friend Steve writing you a letter. Straight from my weird brain to your eyeballs, no robots allowed.

I don’t know what life will look like come next summer, but I can make two predictions:

Different river. Different man.

-Steve

PS: Feel free to share your thoughts in the commnents over on on my Substack.

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