Tales from an Entrepreneur

I am proud to announce the arrival of Thorntail Hard Agave into the world. Thorntail Hard Agave has been a project that has been in the works for more than a year and it started in my garage and has now moved into reality. More to come on this, but please visit drinkthorntail.com for more info in the meantime.

I walk the hallway toward my locker.  First period has just ended.  Some sort of English class that I have to suffer through to graduate.  Mrs. Seif is the instructor.  She kind of annoys me but my older sister really liked her so I feel like I must be missing something.  But I’m glad the class is over as the rest of my day is filled with science and math.  I’m not quite 15 years old and like most 15 year old boys I am hormonal.  My boy is changing by the day and because my parents took me out of sex education I am having to bumble my way through understanding what is going on.  Even as a 14 year old I had a backpacking bag from LL Bean.  It was dark blue and held all that I could imagine to survive a day in the life of a high schooler.  But this particular day I had something special. 

School pictures are always the first day of school at my high school.  We live in a beach town and it only makes sense that we capture ourselves and enshrine ourselves forever when we are golden and tan.  Filled with the summer glow of relaxing days.  Jumping from the pier.  Bike rides.  Ice Cream.  And late night shenanigans that our friends forever swore to secrecy. 

After your picture is taken you are handed a packet to fill out.  The photograpgher wants to know how many pictures you want and what size.  This decision is painstaking. I’m not the most popular kid at my school, nor am I the best looking.  My legs are skinny.  My arms are gangly.  And according to my mother I have no chin.  But confidence has never been a problem for me.  I thank my parents for raising me to be a person who goes after what they want. 

So this decision of how many pictures I want comes down to one simple fact.  A picture of me is currency.  It has trade value.  I look at my options and their prices and think, “who’se picture do I want?”  I begin to make a list.  There are about 5 girls I know that I must have.  Probably about 5 more that I think I could get but it would take the right situation to pull off the “trade.”  And then there are those girls that are going to want my picture but I don’t want theirs.  That totals about 7 more I figure.  17 total wallet size pictures.  Plus a few extra just to be safe. 

I go home and present my mom with my number.  From my experience of years prior I know it is going to be hard to convince her to get the package with 20 wallet pictures.  The photographer is well aware of the situation and has therefore added larger pictures at a disproportionate rate to each package just to increase the entire cost.  My mom says, “what am I ever going to do with 4 8×11’s and 16 5×7’s?”  I don’t actually have an answer for her, as I’m not concerned about that.  All I care about is that I have at least 17 wallet size pictures. 

I somehow convince my mom to get the larger package.  She was in high school once and I have to believe that she remembers what it is like to be 14 and hormonal. 

She slides a check into the envelope and the next day at school I drop it at the office into a large box that says “School Pictures.”  Now.  I must wait. It is unknown how long this wait must be, but I long for the day where in the morning announcement it says that school pictures are in. 

I honestly could care less about my picture.  I’m a guy.  Who really cares about their own picture as a 14 year old guy?  I know I certainly don’t.

The day finally comes.  School pictures are in.  They always come in a large white envelope with our name delicately written on the top.  I slowly tear into my envelope and grab for one of the larger pictures.  I slide it out, flip it over and have my first look at what my Freshman school picture looks like.  I’m wearing glasses and have a new haircut.  The last day prior to school starting I tore a page out of a J.Crew magazine and told my mom that I wanted to do away with my haircut from middle school, that I needed to have what was now called the “crew” cut.  She obliged and took me to the barber.  I’m also ridiculously tan and have a grin on my face.  I’m pleased with my picture.  This will work.  I’m not afraid to trade this.  It’s no Penny Hardaway rookie card but it will work for it’s purpose.

That night at home I gingerly cut up all the wallet size pictures.  Making sure that each line is straight and that a nice equal border is around each picture.  I stuff them into a ziplock and tuck the ziplock into the top compartment of my backpacking bag.  Easy access in case I find myself beside one of the “must haves” in the hallway or library. 

The next day I put together my plan.  This is going to be tough this year.  Some of the must haves in my grade got a lot more cool over summer and I apparently didn’t.  I feel like I might get rejected this year.  But you never know until you ask.  One by one I approach them all, either in a group or by themselves.  I trade.  I collect.  I assemble.  I have room in my wallet picture binder for 12 pictures.  Only one person said no.  But she used the excuse that she didn’t like her picture this year so she isn’t giving them to anyone.  I ask around.  It’s true.  I feel relieved.  A bit saddened, but relieved. 

All my pictures are gone and my list is checked off.  I put the collected pictures in my wallet by priority.  My favorite at the very front so that when I open my wallet I see her.  My second favorite goes on the next page and so on.  By the time I get to the back of my picture wallet I am thrilled with my collection.  A perfect assemblage of all the girls I would like to date but probably never will.  Mission accomplished. 

As a 14 year old you don’t always need your wallet.  You have no credit card.  You have no drivers license.  All you typically have is a few dollar bills, maybe some receipts and your pictures.  So it is easy to forget it at home from time to time.  Worse case you can’t buy fries or a little Debbie at lunch that day. 

My sister is a senior at the same school and is school president this year.  She’s popular.  I’m on the fringes.  I wait after school for her to stop talking with anyone and everyone and we then pile into her 1987 Ford Tempo and she drives me home.  It’s better than taking the bus home each day for sure and on occasion it gives me some time to talk and flirt with girls after school and on the way home I get to catch up with my sister. 

As I walk into the house this day I plop my backpack down and head into the kitchen to wash my hands.  This was a necessity at my house and the very first thing you do when you enter.  As I head toward the kitchen sink I see something on the counter to my left.  It’s all my pictures.  Some are wrinkled.  Some are miscolored.  Others are missing all together.  “Mom, what happened to my wallet?” I scream as I verge on the edge of tears.  She informs me that in a rush she forgot to check the back pocket of my jeans I wore the day prior and my entire wallet went through the wash.  I’m angry. More angry than I ever recall being.  I put my shoes on.  Throw a jacket and hat back on and barge out the door.  I furiously pace to the back of our property deep in the trees and near where I built a tree fort as a kid and I begin to cry. 

I can’t get the pictures back that got ruined.  There are no more pictures left.  All are traded and even if pictures still exist I don’t want to be “that guy.”  I don’t know what to do.  My wallet will never be the same.  All the planning.  All the strategizing.  Gone.  Washed down the machine with a scoop of tide and hot water.  How could my mom be so careless?  Doesn’t she know what that wallet means to me? 

I collect myself and head back into the house.  Obviously moping.  My mom has taken to blow drying the pictures that remain in an effort to salvage them sooner than later.  I admire her gesture of kindness but am still angry.  I take a closer look at the pictures that remain and am relieved that my #1 was still mostly ok.  Only the left edge of her picture had been marred by the liquid.  But my #2 is nearly completely destroyed.  A access the damage to the rest of them and slowly begin to calm down.  It’s not as bad as I first thought. 

My mom continues to apologize and I eventually forgive her.  She hugs me and says she’s sorry one more time.  I collect all my pictures and head up to my room. 

I learned something that day.  I’m not sure what it is, but I remember this story as if it happened yesterday.  So I must have learned something valuable.  Maybe someday it will all make sense.  Maybe not. 

My boots are cold from the frosty air.  The moisture from my sweat from the day prior has now frozen to the Gore-Tex on the inside.  It is 5:25 am.  The sun won’t rise for another 45 minutes and yet I am awake.  My headlight pierces the darkness of the surrounding area and I look for eyes glowing in the distance.  One eye, or two I am certain that I am being watched by a mammal that is not a human.  I scan around my tent slowly, but there is nothing.  I look the other way, and still nothing.  It is just me.  Alone.  In the woods. 

I wonder to myself if my hope for eyes was for my own comfort.  I am not afraid of animals, I find their presence comforting for the most part.  There are of course exceptions to that, but animals are just as curious as I was when I was 12.  They too want to be enjoyed.

My cold boots begin to warm up a bit as I walk over to grab my bear canister.  My body is sore.  23 miles the day prior has left my knees and my achilles achy.  I now have over 160 miles of the trail complete.  My steps are no longer smooth.  Heel toe movement is impossible, I am merely placing one foot in front of the other and with a Frankenstein clunk each foot hits the frozen ground.  I roll my neck around and it cracks and pops.  I stretch my arms over my head and as I walk my shoulders creak.  Today will be another 25 mile day with two passes to climb.  5000 feet of elevation gain and 6500 of elevation loss.  This will be my biggest day yet. 

I lean over to pick up my bear canister.  It’s heavy, heavier than I want it to be.  I wonder briefly what it would be like to eat all the food I have left and carry an empty canister.  2.7 pounds of plastic and that’s all.  No food.  I chuckle as I realize the absurdity of eating 4 snickers, a pound of gummi bears, 14 protein bars, and three dehydrated meals.  I reach into my pocket and remove a quarter.  Apparently bears don’t have quarters, because if they did, they too could open a bear canister with ease.  I unlock the canister and reach down into the depths and pull out two packets of instant oatmeal, one is apple cinnamon and the other is multigrain raisin.  I then grab a protein bar and set them all on the cold ground.  Inside my tent is my stove, I reach in to grab it and my nalgene bottle.  I am grateful that I filtered water the night prior because right now it can’t be much above 15 degrees.  I dump 2 cups of water into my Jetboil and I light it.  I can feel the warmth emerge from its blue flame.  I will soon feel warmth in my belly.  I begin to get excited for the day.

As the water warms up and the flame hisses beneath it I start to pack up my house.  My sleeping bag is frozen at the bottom.  Condensation has turned to ice.  I krinkle it to break it up as I stuff it into my stuff sack.   The tent is next.  It too has frozen and I now know that I will have to take at least one break today to dethaw my tent in the sun.  Just then my water boils.

Minutes later I hit the trail, belly full with warm oatmeal and a really gross protein bar.  I’m 11,000 feet up in the High Sierras.  Alone.  And I wonder if this is heaven.  The gray rocks and the blue sky above bring comfort to me as my body begins to loosen up.  I was made to hike.  Something deep in the core of my soul longs for movement.  I’m certain my mom must have walked a lot when I was in the womb.  As those first cells of my body were coming together and multiplying there had to have been movement.  Nothing else can explain why I feel the constant urge to place one foot in front of the other.  This sense of movement infiltrates everything in my life.  It’s a blessing when I allow it to be, it’s a curse when I don’t manage it well.  But mostly, it just is.  It’s a reality that I am coming to terms with.  I must be on the move.  If I don’t I slowly begin to go crazy. 

The sun begins to come over the mountains to my left and their shadows reflect across the valley.  This is my favorite time of day.  The only warmth that exists is the warmth that I create through walking.  Everything else is cold.  My nose is cold.  My ears are cold.  The rocks are cold.  I’m guessing even the animals are cold.  But soon, a miracle will occur.  A miracle that has been happening everyday for thousands of years.  The sun will warm everything up.  Birds will start to sing.  Animals will come out and play.  And I will get to witness it all.  The sun rising on the trail is always a miracle.  It signifies life.  It signifies hope.  I’m not surprised that many societies throughout the years have prayed to the sun.

I have been on the trail for 11 days now.  And what’s amazing to me is that the only thing I can remember of real life is that I’m to busy.  That I feel more whole when my life is simple.  I haven’t felt the need for Facebook.  Ever.  I haven’t felt the need for email, or alerts, or status updates ever.  I suddenly feel like I am a victim of my own indiscretion.  Why did I join Facebook?  What was the allure?  What seduced me into it?  And then twitter.  Instagram.  Out here, none of that matters.  It’s just me, my backpack, my thoughts, and the weather.  Speaking of which, I am now sweating.  The sun is fully up and has reached my part of the trail.  I remove layers, take a sip of water and pull out my map. 

My map is my only friend on the trail.  It is the beacon that guides me to where I need to go.  What it speaks is beautiful.  Elevation gains and losses.  Miles to go.  Each night in my tent I look at my map for nearly an hour it seems.  I look back at how far I’ve gone and remember moments from the trail.  Who I saw where, what I thought about when, and how many miles I’ve traveled.  I then look forward wondering what I will encounter on the trail in the coming days.  Will I have any moments of terror? Will I make it?  Who will I meet and what stories will I be able to tell.  What my map is telling me in this moment is that I have already traveled 5 miles and I am only a mile away from my next pass.  I finish my snicker bar and button down my pack again.  As I strap it across my chest a deer wanders onto the trail and looks at me.  I expect it to be terrorized.  Big.  Scary Human.  But the look in its eyes is the opposite.  Am I supposed to be afraid of it?  It certainly thinks so.  I walk toward it, it doesn’t move.  I then hear a noise further down the trail.  A yearling is 10 paces back.  I suddenly get it.  Good mother.  Amazing mother.  Protecting her young.  But nonetheless they are in my way.  I need to keep moving. 

I bang my trekking poles together and the first words out of my mouth that day are “Please move deer, you are in my way.”  As soon as they leave my lips I want them back.  How is a deer in my path an inconvenience to me?  There is no street light, there is no one texting at a red light, there is no real traffic or honking of horns.  And yet I feel inconvenienced.  I walk closer to the deer and it still doesn’t move.  I’m so close at this point that I could probably touch it with my pole.  I realize I have now lost.  The deer won the standoff.  I move to the side of the trail and she walks by, her yearling follows.  I fight the urge to fist bump them.  I don’t think they’d understand.  And it probably wouldn’t end the way I envision it in my head. 

I continue to walk down the trail and make it over the first pass.  At the top I run into Jasper.  I’ve met Jasper before.  Many times.  There is a term on the trail called yo-yoing and it’s annoying for all parties involved.  It happens when you pass someone, then they pass you, then you pass them, etc.  You eventually run out of things to talk about and you secretly wish that one of you would spring ahead 5 miles so that you could just end the game.  But Jasper has always been pleasant to me.  It’s his second time on the trail.  He’s from Japan and flies over just for the John Muir Trail.  He can’t be over 21 years old and is dressed from head to toe in Patagonia gear.  I ask him to take my picture and he asks for the same.  I offer him some gummi bears, he accepts a handful.  In 15 miles I know I will regret this gesture of kindness.  I know that I will want those tasty morsels of instant energy back.  But for the time being I just want him to think that not all Americans are assholes.  He thanks me for the treats and disappears around the corner. 

When you are hiking alone each human interaction feels very similar to a sip of cold water on an empty stomach.  You can feel it hit the bottom and splash.  I suddenly wish Jasper was still around so some more words could be exchanged.  I don’t necessarily care what words.  Just enough words so that the splash in the stomach would disappear. 

This isn’t a feeling I feel very often.  I am usually annoyed by people.  Being an introvert it is sometimes hard not to look at people as straws.  Slowly sucking the energy out of me only to leave me exhausted and empty.  It’s honestly part of the reason why I hike alone.  And why I hike in general. 

The trail has a weird way to bring pieces together that we could not fathom being brought together.  Pieces of our lives that seem so separate and distant slide next to each other and may even spoon each other.  And then, a ton of bricks drops from your heart.  You leap out of the way to (hopefully) avoid the collapse and you suddenly feel light.  You feel repaired.  Something that felt so foreign and strange makes sense in a way that you wonder why you didn’t see it before. You let out a chuckle and a sigh and press on. 

As I feel lost in my thoughts I begin to realize that my day is almost done.  The sun is now setting to my right and my shadow has disappeared.  Camp is just around the corner.  I will sleep well tonight.  Tired from the day.  Overwhelmed by the beauty that I saw that day.  And confused as to why I live in a city.    

It was a cold winter day in Seattle, during a pandemic. I had summoned a couple of my friends and people I respect over for a meeting. We were going to discuss an idea.

I pulled out our camping chairs onto the front lawn because it was better protected from the wind coming off the water and we discussed an opportunity we all saw for us to start a business together. All of us had run or were currently running other businesses and so the thought of starting something anew was not foreign to us – but because of this we took pause. Do we really want to sign up for this again?

As I type this I haven’t “worked” in 23 months. It’s been really nice, not surprisingly. Beside the demands that a toddler and a newborn put on me I have really been able to structure my days to my liking. Which is another way of saying – I squeeze personal hobbies in between naps and playing with my son. If you follow me on my social media channels you are also aware that we’ve spent a good amount of time travelling the west and going to Michigan. In fact, we have put over 25,000 miles on our Airstream trailer and out of the last 18 months we have lived out of it for at least 6 of them. It’s been a blast!

But ideas don’t stay away for ever, they return, and some of them are good enough that they continue to return and then the pieces start to come together and then you find yourself one night buying a website and registering an LLC. It’s funny how that works.

So stay tuned! I can’t talk about my plans just yet but hopefully within a month or two I will be able to!

Cheers!

p.s. the name of the this site has now changed. I’m no longer and (ex)entrepreneur…

Tomorrow, if all goes as scheduled my baby girl, my only girl, will enter the world. I’ll look into her eyes for the first time and gaze upon her lovely soul. She’ll be wonderful in every sense of the word and my heart will grow exponentially in order to contain the love. It’s going to be a great day – filled with awe and hope. Filled with strength and beauty. Filled with labor by my beautiful wife and a shared kiss as baby girl screams for the first time.

But today is different. Today is the day before. For the last 29 months we have been a clan of 3. A beautiful and adventurous clan of 3. I’ve loved every single minute of this clan of 3. Our rhythm, our candor, our understanding of each other, and our helping each other. As Wes has grown into a toddler my love for him has only grown. He is a wonderful kid. Kind hearted, tender, and smart. He apologizes when he gets upset. He picks up his toys. He even does dishes – complete with loading the dishwasher. He tells me he loves me every morning when I get him out of bed and he (so far) is not afraid to leave a wet kiss on my lips. It’s magic. All of it. Pure magic.

So tonight I grieve. I grieve a deep grief for the ending that is occurring. Yes, I know. colloquial wisdom tells me I should be happy, excited, overjoyed, etc. And I am. Trust me. I’ve wanted a daughter since I could procreate. But I also grieve.

I need to grieve. For her. For him. For Michelle. I need to grieve. Because I want my heart to be as open as possible for her arrival. And to care for his heart as he too grieves. And to care for Michelle’s body and heart as she too transitions to a clan of 4. I need to grieve because I want to be fully present. I want to be overwhelmed. I want to feel all the emotions. I want to cry deep guttural tears of joy.

So tonight, as we ate our last dinner of a clan of 3, gave Wes a bath, and kissed him good night I did so with just a bit more intention. I want more than anything to remember what it was like to be a clan of 3. But undoubtedly I will forget and it will be fine. Because everything about our clan of 3 will be replaced by memories of our clan of 4. Our family will be complete. A week and change before I turn 40 and our family will be whole.

And to you baby girl. You, my love, you are going to be such a gift to us. Until your teenage years, and then we just hope we all survive. Just kidding, kinda. I wrote you a few words, which you may never read, but that’s fine because these are truths that I will teach you, over and over and over.

1. NOTHING worth having is easy.  It is the curse and blessing of this world.  If it’s easy, then it’s cheap.  The most valuable things I have did not come easy, they often came through heartache and suffering.
2. A good therapist is only value add and worth every cent.  Feel free to talk about us, your parents, often.  We aren’t perfect and the therapist will help right our wrongs.
3. Your word is only as good as it is honest.  Words are cheap, often they come out of our mouths without much thought.  Well used words and lies are both life changing.  Lean on the former and sway from the later.
4. Your body is yours only.  Do not give it away freely.  And do not seek your worth through your body.  Most importantly, when you do give it away make sure it is consensual.  If it is not, tell your mother or I and know that we love you no matter what. 
5. Look people in the eye when you are talking to them.  The most honest data always comes from the eyes.  If you aren’t looking in their eyes you are missing their soul.
6. Mistakes always have a growth opportunity attached to them – but it too, needs to be earned.  It’s the diamond in the rough. 
7. You love who you love.  Period.  Doesn’t matter who he/she/they are.
8. Adventure grows the soul.  Take many.  Short and Long.  But always call.

I can not wait to meet you tomorrow little girl.  I have felt you kick around for a few months now and I can’t wait to chase you through the halls of our house, to tickle you, to kiss you, and to love you deeper than I ever thought possible. 

It’s cold outside. Cold and wet. I am sitting in our “bedroom” on our airstream somewhere in northern california. My wife is sleeping next to me. Wes is sleeping 15 feet away in his pack and play. And Willow, our loyal Vizsla dog, is asleep at my feet. It’s peaceful. And I’m tearing up.

The hum of the furnace is slowly dulling me to sleep but before I get seduced by sleep I flip over to instagram. A picture loads, posted by a friend of mine, it’s a beer label, blue and green and artistic looking. I don’t pay too much attention to beer labels anymore but this one grabs me. I dig a little deeper into this beer label and discover that it’s the first beer sent into the world by one of my favorite ex-brewers from when I owned and then operated a brewery I started. His name is Alex E., he makes amazing beer, always has. But when he came onboard with my team my charter to him was to push us into new territory, use new ingredients, new hops, and never tell me how much anything costs. It just needs to be incredible in taste and look. The rest will take care of itself I told him. And this is what he did.

I begin to think through what he must be going through right now. All the jubilation of starting something. All the fear of starting something. And all the exhaustion of starting something. I’m drawn back to an earlier version of myself. A begin to reflect on all those emotions I felt 13 years ago when I delivered my first keg of beer to the Park Pub in Phinney Ridge. What it was like to sign, and personally guarantee, my first lease. What it was like to write the first paycheck to my employees, and then a year later my first paycheck to myself. All $500 of it – 18 months after I started.

I can barely keep it together at this point. Something is hitting me, and hitting me hard. I stare off blankly into the dark distance for a few minutes and try to stop the slow trickle of tears.

As humans walking, living, and breathing on this earth we want our time to matter, we want what we do to matter. We, at our core, want to matter. Entrepreneurs arguably more than others, but none the less, mattering matters.

I have worked with amazing people over the years. I have hired them and gotten to know them along the way. In the early days my only criteria to hire someone was that they were a good person and had a good work ethic. This informed all of my hires for the first 5 or so years, but at some point I needed skill sets that I didn’t have and my criteria shifted to – you must be a good person and you must know more than me. Like everyone who works with people there were a few duds that I had to let go along the way, but everyone who stuck with my team and I was amazing. I felt it to be my job as their boss to create a sandbox for them to play in, where they could discover some things about themselves and the bumpers of a “brewery” or a “cidery” would inform them and we would all bumble toward something over the years, growing ourselves and the company along the way. It wasn’t an uncommon question for me to ask my employees, “What do you dream of doing and how can we get you there?” Because, it turns out, none of us have arrived at our end goal, no matter our age or job description. When the companies I ran were smaller this was much easier to do, and as we grew, admittingly, it got more difficult. And it became impossible after I sold them, as this way of leading a company isn’t generally seen as the most profitable for the bottom line.

This is part of what is hitting me. I’m grieving the things I wanted to do with and for people, but never got the chance. For one reason or another the systems and structures that emerged in my last few years felt like a prison to me. Tied down by unrealistic expectations placed upon us by middle age men sitting in a room half a world away. Most of them unaware of the dreams they gave up years ago and projecting their disdain upon me and my team – all under the guise of profitability and profits.

I glance back down at my phone. Feels like I have been lost in my head for at least an hour, but it more likely was a few quick minutes. The beer can is still on the screen. The tears have stopped now and a smile emerges. Alex is living his dream. A dream he told me about the first day I met him. A dream that he has been chasing and committing himself to for nearly a decade. A dream, that amidst the chaos of running a company, I played a part in. Albeit small. This is what the tears were for. We all want to matter.

Recently I hiked the Kalalua Trail. Chances are most of you who read this have no idea what that is. A quick primer on the trail – its in Kauai and hikes the 11 miles along the Napali Coast. It is the only legal route to Kalalua Beach and its famous waterfall. It’s also dangerous. Some outdoor articles and magazines put it as the second most dangerous trail in the US, others list it as the fourth. Either way, I can indeed confirm that it is dangerous. Not for the faint of heart, or those with a fear of ledges or cliffs. What makes it dangerous are three things – rain, clay, height. Rain – it rains 300+ days on the NaPali coast and the rainiest spot on Earth is a mere few miles away from the coast. Clay – red clay is slick, and sticky. But not the sticky you want. It clumps up on your shoes and turns them into ice skates. Height – the trail averages 12 inches in width, is 300-800 feet above the ocean (often directly below). And because it isn’t travelled or maintained well, there are consistent washouts and no level spots. If you are bored google “Crawlers Ledge.”

With that all said – its one of the most beautiful spots I’ve ever had the opportunity to hike. My hike in was perfect – the hike back to civilization had its moments of terror and complete trust in my body. I had my SOS on standby on my GPS, just in case.

Some of you are probably thinking, why would you do this? I get that. Continue reading.

In 2016 I sold the businesses I started – both were in the alcohol segment, and one of them in 3 quick years had grown to be the 5th largest in its category. My team and I had launched a rocket ship and were attempting to navigate it. Suddenly a “buyer” emerged out of nowhere, I wasn’t looking to sell, but as I travelled to a different country and sat around a conference table with this prospective buyer it quickly became clear that I’d be foolish not to capitalize on this opportunity. Therefore I sold. And a partnership was born.

I was asked to stay on for 4 years to help guide the transition. An appropriate analogy for this is getting married after the first date and being required to stay married for 4 years. It didn’t go well. At all. The marriage ended 3 years in, they divorced me. Took my keys and asked me not to go back to my office to get my things.

So here I am, a little over a year after this divorce, with my back resting against the sand of Kalalua Beach. I’m a human starfish. Breathing deeply as I look at the stark blue sky as it contrasts the deep and rugged cliffs. This is heaven. The ocean is crashing behind me and I’m the only one around. I reach in my pocket and pull out headphones. I never bring headphones on a hike, ever. But on this trip I grabbed them and tucked them away. I pull out my phone and hit repeat on “Follow the Sun” by Xavier Rudd. I’m suddenly taken to another level of heaven.

I lay here for a long time. Mind wandering to nothing – nothing at all. I suddenly find myself craving a little nugget of weed to elevate me even more. But flying to an island doesn’t allow me to carry this.

I stand up, grab my backpack, which I tossed about 10 yards back, and look for a place to pitch my tent. This sandy beach is my home for the next 44 hours – and I have a mission – a mission issued to me by my therapist and friends. Shed. The. Weight. Of. The. Terrible. Partnership. And. Ending.

I pitch my tent next to a Passion Fruit vine and Guava tree. Goats quickly come over to greet me and welcome me to their home. Or maybe they are just checking me out.

I have names on a page, names of people I worked with. Some of them for a decade or more, some of them for just a few years. But all these names mean something to me because they are people who played a key role in the companies I managed. I have a separate list of names, these names bring up the darkest corners of me. Vitriol. Hate. Anger. Disgust. My mission is to write each of these people a letter. A letter that I may our may not send to them – because at the end of the day writing the letter isn’t for them. It’s for me. I started two companies and bore all the burdens and joys of that for over a decade and I didn’t get an ounce of closure. So I’m creating my own. Moving on as they say. But attempting to move on with health and Shalom.

First up, the letters of love and appreciation. I dive into these, taking my time, savoring my thoughts. I think about what I want to say before the pen hits the paper for the first time. There is so much to say to each of these people. So much appreciation and love for their time and their energy that they gave. So much that I had planned to say, but didn’t get the chance. It feels like I am writing to a dead person. And in some ways I am. My relationship with all these people was complex. I was their boss. Their bosses boss. Friend. But that changed the moment I was let go. Now I’m their ex-boss. Their ex-bosses boss. Maybe still their friend.

The words begin to flow and soon I have filled up pages upon pages of gratitude. I take a break. Jump in the ocean, get tossed around by nature for a bit, and lay on the beach again. It’s only been 20 hours since I arrived but I already feel different. Lighter. My chest moves up and down more freely with my breathe. My shoulders drop down and back.

I dry off and decide its time to write the other letters. I can feel my body change as I walk up the beach to my notepad. I’m not in heaven for these two minutes. I’m elsewhere. Deep in my thoughts of anger and hate. As I flip open my notepad and write the individuals name who I hate the most I scream. The goats run away. I scream again. It feels good. I scream a third time and tears begin to flow. I fight my inner “fight or flight” instinct and stare at the name on the page. This is what I came here to do. This is why I picked this beach for this task.

Pen hits paper and 2 words emerge. All caps. Two more words emerge, the same ones, but this time bigger. I suddenly feel something other than anger. I keep writing. Not sure what I’m going to write next. There is no savoring of these words. These are words of the gut. Words of the deep part of the gut. That part that turns and churns. My hand cramps. I release the pen and realize all the anger is being channeled through an “extra fine” ball point. I feel like I need a supersize Sharpie and a bill board.

I pick up the pen and continue. One page, two pages, two and a half pages and I’m done. I’m exhausted. Marathon exhausted. I fall back on the sand one more time and it starts to rain. A rainbow emerges to my right and I smirk. I stand up and run toward the waterfall. I stand in the pool below the waterfall and drench myself with water from it. A baptism. Arms spread high and I scream one more time. Release.

The rain stops. It’s humid now. I eat a couple passion fruit. I’m different. Deeply different. I can feel a space in my chest that has not been present for a long time. Last time I felt this was the day I met Michelle.

I grab my pen one last time. On top of the page I write the name of my soon-to-be-born daughter. “Dear _____. You aren’t born yet, but here’s a few things I will tell you the moment you are…I love you. You are beautiful. You are good. Trust your heart. Listen to your gut. Be brave. Be bold. Be kind. This world will try to destroy all of these. Don’t let it. Cling deeply to these truths.”

I write some more to her. Listen to some more Xavier Rudd. And stare at the cliffs. It truly is the most beautiful place I’ve been to.

Kalalua Beach you have been good to me. I don’t know when I’ll be back. But I hope my daugher is with me and I can tell her how her father was reborn on this beach, on a sunny day in October 2020.

Xavier Rudd – Follow The Sun
Follow, follow the sun
And which way the wind blows
When this day is done
Breathe, breathe in the air
Set your intentions
Dream with care
Tomorrow is a new day for everyone,
Brand new moon, brand new sun

So follow, follow the sun,
The direction of the bird,
The direction of love

Breathe, breathe in the air,
Cherish this moment,
Cherish this breath
Tomorrow is a new day for everyone,
Brand new moon, brand new sun

When you feel life coming down on you,
Like a heavy weight
When you feel this crazy society,
Adding to the strain
Take a stroll to the nearest waters
And remember your place
Many moons have risen and fallen long, long before you came

So which way is the wind blowin’,
And what does your heart say?

So follow, follow the sun,
And which way the wind blows
When this day is done

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