On life’s “Epochs” or developmental cycles

Writing as a transformational practice

Jan 05, 2026

This is an extract from the final chapter of my book, Broke, Single, Crazy and Old: The Redemption of a Sex and Love Addict. For the context of this article, and if you are interested in getting a free copy by becoming a proof-reader or writing an Amazon review, read the prior article Do you want a free copy of Broke, Single, Crazy and Old?

On life’s “Epochs” or developmental cycles; and writing as a transformational practice

In the 20 years that followed my final healing from Ellen in 2003, there were, of course, other key development experiences. I was with Rebekah almost a decade (2004-2013) in a turbulent but highly co-creative partnership. We are now very good friends and have some joint business projects.

My life appears to run in developmental cycles lasting 7-10 years; what I am calling here “epochs”. Each epoch, so far, has been demarcated by a woman. Alexa and the aftermath was one such cycle (1985-1995), Ellen and Sasha another (1995-2003), then Rebekah (2004-2013). Breaking the pattern, my latest cycle (2013-2022), did not have a primary woman, and the initial happiness or mania was shorter.

As already told, each cycle tends to be happy at the beginning, even manic; it then gets more difficult; and typically ends with a deep but ultimately redeeming depression. Each ending clears the trauma (or consolidates the learning) of the cycle, and starts a new phase of life fresh and clear, full of possibilities and excitement. For instance: it’s no accident that I met Rebekah in late 2003. I was energetically “clear” for the next adventure after I wrote the 2003 memoir which was so impactful to me. Often cycles are bounded by geographic moves as well: In late 2003 I moved to Philadelphia, and shortly afterwards met Rebekah and moved in with her to the Yonkers Morehouse. This would not have happened if I had still been carrying Ellen’s psychic ghost.

My last epoch (2013-2022) has been a dark time for me. There was no primary woman, the “unbearable lonely horniness” was ubiquitous, but I did travel extensively and write 3 books. Each book was an ecstatic experience, but didn’t last long as I write very fast. I can’t really complain. My depressions are short, and my manic periods are unforgettable, and quite productive.

As of right now (January 2026), I feel that I have written everything I have to write for now, at least about myself. I will write again, perhaps, when I have more life experience and more stories to tell. I have never needed “morning pages” [Julie Cameron] or anything like that. I have never had writer’s block. When a book wants to be written, it takes over and I do nothing else until it’s complete. I drop all other work and most social engagements. These writing spurts don’t usually last very long. A few months, at most, and then I am spent and complete. Books rarely complete in one writing spurt; this book took at least five spurts, over the course of 20 years. This fact makes this book different from all the others. It is more my “testament,” or my legacy, than any other of my books. I hope there will be a sequel, but right now that is difficult to imagine. If there is a sequel, it will be in a different style, because I will be a very different person.

Sometimes I think a book is finished, but it’s not. I lay it to rest for a time, and then pick it up again. None of this is inside my control. For instance: I had completed a very similar version of this book in 2016, ten years ago. I said in the introduction that I unpublished it because it did not get any attention, and because I did not want to be identified with psychiatric diagnostic labels; but that’s only part of the truth. The deeper truth is that it wasn’t finished. Something was missing and the context was wrong. When I realized what was missing, and got over my fears over publishing a sexual autobiography, the new book was mostly complete in two weeks (!). This would not have happened unless the latest (2014-2022) developmental cycle had ended in “clear”.

I know when I am starting a new developmental cycle because life gets up to full-speed (or warp-speed), I have a burst of creative activity or synchronistic events that are not coming from me but from “source,” and because I am happy. Sometimes I fall in love, as I am now as I write. Often at the beginning of a new cycle I move (“geographic cure”). In addition to finishing my third book, I got married a year ago to the woman of my life and am preparing a big update to the Circling Guide Anthology book. I have a lot of exciting plans. The “war against myself and against the world” has declared a cease-fire. The world is giving me back a quiet “yes,” for maybe the first time in my life. I am throwing up my stuff against the world, and it is whispering to me (finally!): “I like that”.

Or perhaps I am finally giving myself a quiet “yes,” given that the legions of admiring fans are not yet pounding on my door, the world has not yet discovered me as the re-incarnation of Jesus, the Buddha and Nietzsche combined, or rolled out the red carpet for me. But I am quietly pursuing the “meeting of hearts and minds,” the “life that was made for ecstasy” in my own way. For this I am oddly content. All quiet on the bipolar front. I don’t know what to make of this. Happiness is an unfamiliar experience for me. The key appears to be my writing.

I cannot force a book out that is not presented to me. This is why the 2016 memoir edition sat for 5 years. It’s possible (although not likely) that I will never write anything else again. I am okay with that; I have no choice in the matter. I would actually be fine if I never wrote anything else again, provided I was happy and productive in other ways. It may be – to some extent this is what I hope for – that one day my life will be so interesting and exciting that I will feel no need to write anything, that writing would just be a distraction from life. But I doubt it. I am a writer, first and foremost; and a relational leader second. If those aspects were reversed, I could be happy living and never writing. But I doubt that I could ever be truly happy without a book in gestation, even though I may not have a clue what the next book will be.

This may be the last book I ever write; but I always feel that way after writing a book. Every book I write feels like the best one I have ever written, and the last one I will ever write.

This is perhaps my bipolarity speaking. I am okay with my bipolarity. It just needs perspective. I say more about “perspective” in the next section.

Get the book from Amazon at Broke, Single, Crazy and Old: The Redemption of a Sex and Love Addict.
(note the Kindle version has not yet updated. It should reflect a publication date of Jan.2, 2026. Don’t buy it unless that date has updated)