Given that I had two incredibly successful stores and a rock-solid track record of government and community outreach, many may wonder why I decided to sell. In answering that question, I will repeat something I said at the very beginning of this book, and I think this time most will believe me: it wasn’t about the money.
In growing my operations from one store to two, from a single cash register to a combined thirteen, from revenue of less than $100,000 to nearly $12 million, from seeing 530 Cannabis awarded two of the first ten Bureau of Cannabis Control licenses in the state, to seeing Synergy awarded the first state retail license in Redding, I had poured blood, sweat, and literally tears into these two stores, pursuing my ever-arching goal to be the best: to be the best retailer in the north state; to provide the best retail experience to the customer; to be the best employer for my staff.
To keep in line with those goals, for my stores to remain market leaders and maintain relevance for another eleven years, to ensure the individuals on my teams could continue to flourish professionally with even more opportunities before them than I could ever hope to offer, meant turning them over to someone who could not only maintain what I had built but do so at the next level.
There is a changing of the guard taking place in this industry, and it was time for me to gracefully bow out and hand my businesses over to the next generation of operator. There was no shortage of big players and well-moneyed interests looking to get into the cannabis industry. I was contacted by a few local individuals and groups as well as several from other parts of California. My stores had even drawn interest from groups across the country. But I was looking for the best for my stores and my team.
I went through a few different mergers and acquisitions (M&A) consultants before I found the incredibly talented gentlemen of Hunt Equity, the ones to get the acquisition across the finish line in the summer of 2020, in the middle of a pandemic with the absolute best possible buyer imaginable to successfully tackle “Cannabis 2.0.” I wanted nothing less for my team.
I am proud and humbled to be fortunate enough to leave my businesses, and my team, in the very capable hands of the iconic brand High Times.
A few weeks before the acquisition was finalized, my staff gave me a surprise going-away party. The instigator was Jacqueline Garcia, the one and only friend whom I hired into my businesses and only then because she and I had reached an understanding that even if it turned out she hated working for me or if I had to fire her, we would still remain friends. Fortunately, neither of those things happened. So, when Jacquie texted me that she wanted to get together for a drink before the acquisition closed, I had no reason to suspect it was going to be anything more than that.
Walking into the elegant dining room at View 202 and seeing nearly every staff member waving and smiling at me, the table already laid with mouthwatering appetizers and my favorite bottle of red wine, was absolutely brilliant, and it was indeed a fabulous surprise.
Toward the end of the party, the team gathered naturally and said some words in tribute to their experience working with me. I have always been uncomfortable receiving compliments or praise. I’m not sure why. (I’m sure Dr. Z. has some ideas.)
So I stood there and received their compliments and praise, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, a little bit proud and a lot humbled. And very deeply moved. There emerged a recurring theme to many of the compliments: a theme of generosity, how unlike their former employers I was in that regard. Then one of them said one of the things he admired most about me was that I’m not greedy. I saw many heads nod and heard many murmurs of agreement.
But they are wrong. I am most definitely greedy. Perhaps not in the way they meant, but greedy nonetheless.
I am greedy for life, greedy for its experiences: the warm reciprocity of family and friendship, the pleasure of improving others’ quality of life, the passion of a loving relationship, the exhilaration of exercise and health, the adventure of exploring other cultures, the joy of caring for my menagerie of critters, the achievement of growing a successful business, the satisfaction of a job well done. I am greedy for all of those things. Above all, however, I am greedy to make things better. And yes, by default, a facet of “experiences” must involve the experience of financial success, of prosperity.
While the experiences may be the end result, the motivation, the driving force toward that endgame, is equally important, if not more so. For me, the starting point, the motivator, was always pursuing my dream of owning my own business, and as that path opened up and I began to walk it, that dream and its motivators began to evolve into my desire to make a difference, to make things better, and to be the best. My initial vision contained elements of these next-generation motivators: to create a store that was different from the options available in 2009, different in its inclusivity rather than exclusivity. This rough sketch I would eventually evolve into a more concrete definition of what being “the best” means: to provide the best retail experience for the customer, to be the best employer, and to be the best individual that I could possibly be. As those elements manifested in the company’s increased growth and subsequently increased revenue stream, I realized there was a direct correlation between the store’s financial success and my ability to make things better for those around me.
Be it right or wrong, financial success is the most common bar by which we define overall success in American society.
So, while my initial motivation to roll the dice in this small business venture was not money, I found that money was increasingly becoming a focal point of external sources; I was realizing that as the company grew, so did the target on my back.
As my first store, 530 Collective, became more successful—meaning at first that it didn’t go under and the doors continued to stay open—cannabis remained a hot topic in the community. The media is always interested in any controversial issue. I found my phone ringing often with requests for interviews, and I never turned them down. Anytime a reporter wanted to talk, I made time for a conversation. This media presence, coupled with my willingness and, in fact, intention, to collaborate with city officials and law enforcement, drew some fire. There have always been plenty of industry advocates and operators who felt cannabis and cops couldn’t be on the same side, and I represented another perspective. But the sharpest criticism was, surprisingly, around money.
None of my critics’ voices were terribly loud, but they were persistent. I have always expected that with success comes criticism, and that has never daunted me. What I found interesting were the source and the subject of the criticism.
I was accused, tried, and convicted of being greedy.
Surprisingly, there were individuals within my own industry, even some of my own customers, who were critical of my financial success. As my critics saw the traffic in the store increase, more product offerings, and bigger staff, they voiced negativity. I was surprised by the snide remarks I heard about how much money the store must be making if I could afford to hire all these people. I heard comments about how it must be nice to afford a new car (which happened to be a used Volvo station wagon). I fielded complaints that the store wasn’t giving away enough free product to customers when it could obviously afford to. I was utterly confused.
Some of the local advocates and even some of the customers held the belief that I should, obviously, be successful enough to be there for them, to provide cannabis on a daily basis, or be there to further the intent of the industry at large, but clearly in their eyes, I wasn’t supposed to be too successful. What is that even supposed to mean, too successful?
The bottom line was they felt that I was making too much money.
But too much by whose standard? Would some of those critics have been appeased if I had kept struggling to make my personal ends meet, as was the case in the early months and even years of the store? Would they have been pleased to know that John and I had lost our home to foreclosure in order to keep the store? Would they have found it acceptable if my annual salary were always lower than theirs? Who was setting this bar?
I was experiencing the effects of both success shaming and the tallest-poppy syndrome, that strange phenomenon that exists in society whereby some strive to cut off the heads of others in order to make themselves feel taller.
As 530 Cannabis, and later Synergy, became more and more financially successful, that success meant I could hire more people. I could give raises and bonuses to my existing staff. I could offer more vacation hours to the team. I could contribute significantly to local community benefit programs. I could host and donate to community events. I could help an employee buy a car when theirs broke down completely. I could bring more products to the shelves for the customers. I could make physical improvements to the facilities to enhance the customer experience. I could buy my teams lunch on a regular basis. I could bring in a massage therapist every month so the staff could really relax on their breaks, and I could throw the team one hell of a Christmas party.
The higher the gross revenue numbers climbed, the more tax revenue was generated for the two cities, meaning those cities could fill law-enforcement vacancies, disburse building improvement grants, and make infrastructure improvements.
The increasing financial success of the stores was a win all around, from any angle; it was the rising tide that lifted many boats.
When all is said and done, I make no bones about being greedy, about wanting all the experiences that go with bringing my vision to life and seeing it flourish and thrive. It is those experiences that I find exhilarating. To me, they are the very heart and soul of success.
Drawing inspiration from Thoreau, I want all the experiences that go with sucking the marrow out of life and “not, when I come to die, discover that I have not lived.”
Whether it’s critics trumpeting accusations of greed, vindictive former employees fabricating claims in court, malicious and preposterous online chatter, or some other distraction, know that there will always be challenges in pursuing your vision and your dream. However, it will be up to you to decide if they are insurmountable or not.
To paraphrase the visionary Henry Ford, whether you think you can or you think you can’t, either way you’re right.
There will always be people trying to take you down one way or another. It’s your job to tune out the noise and naysayers and stay the course. I chose to see every challenge and every obstacle as an opportunity. I chose to always find a solution. I chose to either win or learn.
I maintained this outlook by always returning to my vision. I reminded myself of my belief in it and my belief in myself. To those two things, I held true. Always.
When the dark days come, and they will, when self-doubt sneaks in at 3:00 a.m. and keeps you awake until dawn, when the only voices you seem to hear are those of your critics, then grab your headphones, find your source of joy, and focus your lens back on your vision.
My cannabis journey from 2009 through 2020 was a roller coaster of experiences unlike any other: seeing the industry evolve from the Wild West of cannabis to full legalization; advocating both locally and in the state capitol for the policy as well as the process; witnessing the individual members of my team grow and thrive both personally and professionally; seeing with exhilaration all of our hard work pay off; and above all, learning, challenging, and growing myself.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I’ve always taken mischievous pleasure in doing things my own way, and it was a combination of that propensity toward unconventionality, deep-rooted tenacity, and an absolutely rock-solid team that became the strongest drivers behind the stores’ success.
This has been the hardest “job” I have ever had and undoubtedly the most rewarding.
I would do it all again in a heartbeat, and l wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
As to what is next for me, I defer to the timeless David Bowie: “I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.”