Dan Hellman's Blog

Dear Friends,

My journey to the Buchinger Clinic was never about weight loss—though I arrived at 180 pounds and left at 165. It was a pilgrimage: a search for a total reset—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.

In the wake of losing the love of my life, Joe, I felt myself spiraling, with no one at the wheel, no pilot for my ship. I didn’t just lose my best friend; I lost my rock, my guiding light, my greatest cheerleader, and my confidant of 27 years. Most devastating of all, I lost a love so rare that few experience it in a lifetime. I have said before, and will always say, that I would not be the man I am today without Joe’s profound, kind, and gentle influence.

At the same time, I lost the other most important person in my life—not to death, but because our relationship had run its course. Imagine losing the two people who anchor you, all at once. It was devastating, dark, and suffocating.

One night I dreamed my left leg had been cut off and my right leg lay open. The symbolism was unmistakable: I had no legs to stand on. I awoke to tachycardia and what felt like atrial fibrillation, which spiraled into a full-blown panic attack. Doing something drastic—flying to southern Spain, fasting for 14 days, and investing heavily in my health—wasn’t a luxury. It was a necessity.

Roots and Restlessness

I grew up in a small Catholic family in a town of 17,000, shaped by lessons—spoken and unspoken—that whispered I was never enough. You’ll never be enough. You’re going to hell. You’re ugly. My mother often said, “Dan, you have champagne taste and beer money,” and she was right.

Where my drive for beauty and achievement came from, I can’t say, because I wasn’t surrounded by it in Mandan, North Dakota. I chased a life of materialism and grandiosity, only to be left feeling empty and spiritually dry. Yet I now honor that drive and even the people who doubted me; they pushed me to seek education, become a sought-after therapist, and find communities where I felt welcome and loved. Today, that same drive calls me to something deeper in the second half of life.

Stripped Down to the Soul

The past weeks have been a time of solitude—alone with thoughts, feelings, and fears. With the help of my therapist, dear friends, meditation, and reading, I see clearly that I stand at a crossroads at 55.

I arrived at Buchinger empty, broken, confused, and angry. Fasting became more than a physical cleanse: it stripped away bitterness and fear. With every pound lost, I released old pain. Through meditation, I gained perspective. I can honor that chapter, forgive others, and—most importantly—forgive myself for the years I spent flogging myself with guilt.

I now see that I had been running from the raw truth of Joe’s inevitable passing. For years, the thought of losing him stole my breath and nearly paralyzed me.

Love That Endures

Do I miss Joe any less? Not at all. I still long for his face, his voice, the simple comfort of holding his hand. But something has shifted: to honor him, I must keep living. My task now is to find happiness and inner peace—not despite his absence, but alongside it.

The Second Half of Life

As I step into this next chapter, I know I must reclaim my spirituality from the noise of the world. I will no longer feel small or afraid. My goal is to move from victimhood into full participation in my journey, recognizing every event—even the painful ones—as an invitation to deeper communion with the divine.

James Hollis writes that the second half of life demands two great tasks:

1. Recover our personal authority—the truth entrusted to us by the soul. If we refuse, the pain becomes intolerable.
2. Find an adult spirituality—one that resonates with our inner being, not what society or religion dictates, but what is true for us.

My authority is to discover what is true for me and to live it fully.

So, What Am I Doing Going Forward?

Well, the first thing is: I’m eating… LOL. At 165 pounds, I’m too light for my frame. I’d like to gain about 10 pounds of muscle and call that my happy point.

I plan to work part-time as a physical therapist and perhaps dabble a little in real estate. Of course, you’ll find me at Coral Ridge on the golf course whenever possible, and I’m eager to get back to teaching myself how to play guitar.

I know every day won’t be a walk in the park. Life is full of challenges, and I believe meditation is the key to long-term happiness and managing daily stress. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have a blueprint for moving forward. I feel comfortable in my own skin, and I’m okay with being alone. This is a major step, because now I can invite someone into my life without feeling like I need someone.  

I’ve been home for three days now, and I see Fort Lauderdale with new eyes. Like the great sage Dorothy once said: “There is no place like home.”  Sometimes I have to pinch myself at the thought that this is where I live—a place where people spend their hard-earned money just to escape for a week. My home rests along the most magnificent ocean in the world, the Atlantic, and everything here feels more vibrant, more breathtaking, than it did when I left a month ago. I can’t wait to reconnect with friends and return to the golf course, carrying this renewed sense of gratitude with me.

To those of you who’ve followed my blog and sent words of encouragement: I can’t begin to thank you enough. Your kindness helped me through the two-week fast. I was genuinely surprised by how many people reached out, sharing not only encouragement but their own personal journeys. After all, we’re on this beautiful planet together—and as the great Eminem said in his song Beautiful:

“But you’d have to walk a thousand miles in my shoes,
just to see what it’s like to be me.
I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes just to see what it’d be like to
feel your pain, you feel mine, go inside each other’s minds
just to see what we find, look at shit through each other’s eyes.”*

I carry Joe’s love with me as I step forward—not away from the past, but into a wider, more luminous future. I would never have believed that two weeks of fasting and inner work could have such a profound impact, yet here I stand—grateful and renewed.

With gratitude and hope,
Dan