“Work on, age after age, nothing is to be lost,It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use,When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.“

-Walt Whitman

There is a line from Leaves of Grass that has followed me for over 20 years in my work of trying to put all the pieces together to build something big: When the materials are ready, the architect shall appear. I used to think of it as a beautiful idea about timing and fate, but the older I get, the more I realize it is actually about work. It is about years of quiet preparation that no one sees. It is about building a foundation strong enough that when the architect shows up, he or she is not creating something out of thin air but designing something that already has weight and form.

I have been thinking about that line a lot as we enter this next phase of Excelsa. For the past few years we have been the materials. My business partner and I put in significant capital of our own (relative to us). Not promises. Actual capital. We spent years working without paying ourselves a salary. We lived inside the uncertainty of it and carried the whole thing on our own backs because we believed the idea deserved time to mature before we asked anyone else to believe in it. We took over a building we own outright and let the idea take up space on our own square footage and our own farm lease in Nicaragua where we planted 1,500 trees. That building and farm became our first proof of permanence, the physical sign that we were serious. Including our own café next door (The USA’s first excelsa cafe). We built and rebuilt our identity, our domains, our product, our supply chain, our story. We moved quickly and early to secure the IP and the brand so that when someone one day looked at what we were doing, they would see more than another bag of arabica coffee. They would see the beginning of a climate resilient, future sustainable species, coffee category.

Most people do not realize how much of company building happens in those early, quiet years. It is not glamorous (it sucked and hurt). It is not loud. It is not something you post about. It is painful conversations with my wife about why we need to risk more capital towards something so risky, its spreadsheets and freight quotes and redoing packaging, and figuring out cost of goods, and finding suppliers (and planting our own), and building relationships across oceans. It is decisions that feel small but are actually massive because they set the tone for everything that follows. All of that becomes the materials. All of that is the readiness that Whitman was talking about.

That is why standard revenue multiples do not really apply here. That is not what this is. This is not a traditional business model. This is not a brand extension. This is not a product sitting on a shelf waiting for foot traffic. This is category creation for those with the risk appetite to believe it before anyone else does. And category creation is valued on two things. The true cost of becoming meaningful in the space. And the upside if the category works.

The cost part is simple reality. I have managed budgets for some of the biggest CPG companies in the country. I know what it takes to make something real in this world. I know the cost of freight and co packing, SG&A, and marketing and certifications and supply chain teams and logistics and distribution and sampling and compliance. You cannot do this with small numbers. You cannot build a vertically integrated supply chain with discount capital. The valuation is not inflated. It is honest. It reflects the actual scale required to matter and the capital required to hit that scale.

The second part is the asymmetry of the upside. If this works, it changes the landscape of the entire coffee industry (the world’s most consumed drink except water). If this works, it introduces a new species into one of the largest beverage markets in the world (a multi-billion dollar space). If this works, it is not a slow climb. It is a leap. Investors who understand that kind of opportunity do not ask for last year’s revenue. They ask what the world looks like when this catches. They understand that category creation is one of the most powerful sources of upside in consumer packaged goods. They understand that the real risk is not the valuation. The real risk is missing the one chance to be early on the these rare once in a decade opportunities.

So here we are at the moment I have always dreamed about. Finding the right partners. Not money for the sake of money. But smart capital. People who understand this industry. People who know how to build something from the ground up. People who have the experience to look at what we have already done and say yes, the materials are ready. People who can bring something equal to or greater than capital itself. Judgment. Insight. Operational knowledge. A sense of timing. A sense of scale. People who know how rare it is to get in early on a category that has a chance to reshape the way people drink coffee for decades.

This is the first real round. It might be friends and family. It might be operators. It might be people in the coffee world. It might be early believers who see what is coming before it arrives. I am reaching out widely. I am practicing the pitch. I am getting sharper and more clear every day. I am learning which parts resonate and which parts need to be reframed. I am putting Excelsa onto the radar of people who think deeply about consumer behavior and global supply chains. This is work I love. It is not intimidating to me. It is energizing. I like the responsibility of it. I like the clarity required to ask someone to trust you. I like the discipline of organizing a story that can carry the weight of real conviction.

There is also the piece people do not talk about enough. The desire to build a company where every stakeholder wins. Customers. Workers. Farmers. Suppliers. Investors. There is something deeply meaningful about building something that can deliver value on all sides. Something that can be financially healthy and structurally sound and spiritually aligned. A company that honors the craft of coffee, the dignity of the supply chain, the beauty of the product, and the responsibility of stewarding someone else’s capital. That is part of the mastery. That is part of the reason I am excited for this stage. For the chance to prove that a company can be generous, efficient, profitable, world changing, and deeply rooted at the same time.

The last piece is patience. Not passive patience. Not waiting around. The patience that comes from understanding how long this takes. Two or three years before the capital we raise even starts to show its full effect. Time for the farms. Time for the supply chain. Time for distribution. Time for consumers to recognize something new. Time for the slow work that has to be done if you want the result to last. We have to move quickly because the market is coming. But we also cannot force the river. We have to trust the seasons. We have to trust the pace of real buildout. We have to trust that what takes time is worth it.

So I come back again to Whitman. When the materials are ready, the architect shall appear. That line feels like the truest way to describe where we are now. We have put in the work. We have done the part no one sees. We have built something substantial enough that the right people will feel it when they look at it. The materials are ready. The foundation is here. The story is coherent and alive and urgent.

Now we trust the universe.
Now we trust the work.
Now we trust that the right partners will recognize what we have built and bring the next layer of design to life.

This is the part of the journey I have dreamed about.
And now it is here.

When the materials are ready, the architect appears.

I once heard someone say that some people cannot change until every bone in their body is broken. I have thought about that line many times. It might be true for me. I have always been stubborn, likely to a fault. I have taken every wrong turn available. I have made poor choices in business, in relationships, in my health, and in how I treated myself. Every shortcut I tried eventually led me back to the same place, or in a deeper hole than before. There are no shortcuts. You have to go through things. Not around them.

Anything built without a foundation of values eventually falls apart. You can build fast and impress people for a while, but if it is not built with integrity, it will collapse. The world will always test what you build. What endures is what was built honestly. I am still learning what that means every day.

When I look around today, I see a world that feels unsettled. There is pain, confusion, and anger. People feel divided and anxious. Even in small gatherings, people carry tension in their voices and in their bodies. For a long time I felt that same unease. It came from real things, loss, fear, injustice, exhaustion. I do not want to ignore those things or pretend they are smaller than they are. But I have also seen that when things fall apart, something else can begin.

That seems to be the rhythm of life. Pain and peace, loss and renewal, chaos and clarity. It moves like a pendulum. We swing through both sides, and what feels like destruction is often preparation for creation. I do not think anyone escapes that cycle.

I find myself now standing on a bridge between those two places. Between what is gone and what can still be built. That bridge is the work of intention. It is the act of creating something with care and awareness. For me, that is what it means to build a brand on values. Not as a slogan or a mission statement, but as a way of living. A way of checking oneself daily. A way of staying honest even when it costs something.

After two decades of hard lessons and my fair share of mistakes, I understand that this is the opportunity. To build something that contributes to the world instead of draining from it. To take what I have learned and turn it into something useful. I do not have every answer. I am still figuring it out. But I believe there is a way to build that restores a little faith, in business, in each other, and in ourselves.

Coffee is how I have chosen to do that. It is one of the most universal things on earth. It connects farmers, families, and communities across continents. It brings people together in the morning and in quiet moments throughout the day. It has beauty, culture, and ritual built into it. But coffee also reflects what is broken in the world. There are problems with how it is grown, with the chemicals used, with how people are treated, and with how little transparency exists across the supply chain.

If coffee connects us all, then it can also remind us that connection comes with responsibility. It can become a bridge between what is and what should be. When I make a cup now, I think about the people who made it possible. The farmers who grew it, the soil that nourished it, the small chain of hands that carried it here.

To build a coffee brand on values means to constantly examine every part of it. How it is sourced. How it is shared. How people are treated. It means holding the mirror up to the entire process and asking what could be done better. It means building a business that tries to show that commerce and conscience can belong together.

This is what I believe in now. That even in a divided and anxious world, we can still build things with care. That through honesty and transparency, we can create trust. That something as simple as a cup of coffee can carry meaning beyond itself. It can remind us that we belong to the same story, that we are all moving through the same continuum of struggle and renewal, of loss and possibility.

That is what I want this to be. I hope it proves that what we build after the fire can be stronger than what came before. I do not expect perfection. I only hope it stands as a quiet example of what can happen when we build with intention.

That is where this begins.

The dominion of the world is the dominion of human consciousness.

Every living thing has awareness in its own way. Trees, animals, oceans, and even soil have a kind of consciousness that connects them to the larger rhythm of life. But the force that now shapes the planet most directly is human consciousness. It is through us that the world is organized, contained, and altered. The wild still exists, but even the wild is contained within the boundaries we draw. In this present age of Earth’s history, the dominion of human consciousness has become the dominion of the world.

Within that dominion, the most powerful tool we have created is business.

Business is the way human consciousness expresses itself. It is the flow of negotiation and trade, the exchange of goods and services that holds our shared life together. It is how ideas become things, how beliefs become systems, how desires and needs meet in motion. Every political structure, social ideal, and cultural pattern fits within it. Even government and charity move through its form. Business is not just commerce. It is the exchange of understanding, the way the human mind negotiates meaning with the world around it. The way we move through life, build culture, and sustain communities is propped up by those same goods and services that circulate between us.

For me, curiosity is the highest expression of that. It is not about ambition or greed. It is about the will to understand. To grasp what the world is and how it works. My expression of curiosity is business. It is how I explore people, culture, and the way meaning moves across borders. I do not value business for money. I value it for its reach, for its ability to test my understanding of the world. Each venture, each exchange, is a question: can I comprehend this, can I hold this, can I create something that proves I understand not only the mechanism but the humanity inside it.

The byproduct of mastery is scale, but the root of it is humility. Because everything I build sits on the unseen labor of others. The people who taught me, the workers who make the world run, the strangers whose effort holds up entire systems. The more I build, the more I feel the weight of that inheritance. To be curious is to honor that inheritance. Curiosity is gratitude in motion. It is how I use my consciousness not as domination but as understanding.

The beauty of working globally is that it forces this truth into every corner. Every person in a supply chain has to be valued, respected, and treated with dignity. That is not moral decoration. It is structural necessity. In an age of transparency, exploitation cannot last. The only way to build something substantial is to make sure everyone is content with their part, their pay, their fairness, their dignity. A system built on resentment collapses. A system built on fairness grows.

But fairness does not exclude excellence. It lives beside it. Progress still demands speed, originality, and efficiency. The challenge is to move fast without losing integrity. That is the test of building anything worth lasting.

There were other things I wanted to do. Art, music, writing. But even those would have required distribution, structure, and business to reach others. Everything that moves through the world must find a way to flow. So I realized that my art is not on a canvas or a stage. My art is the building of systems that mirror the complexity of the world itself.

Global business became my medium. It is how I explore humanity. It is how I understand culture, behavior, and beauty at scale. Maybe I was never a good enough artist or musician. But I was curious enough to learn how people live, buy, move, and trade. That became my art form.

And that is why coffee. Why Excelsa.

Because coffee contains everything. It is a single seed that touches every continent, every culture, every class. It connects developing nations to advanced economies. It carries ritual and addiction, art and science, craft and commerce. It is the most personal and global thing we share. It sits at the intersection of climate change, trade, and human connection. It is how people start their day and how the world sustains itself.

Coffee is both comfort and complexity. It holds together global enterprise and altruism. It includes the farmer and the scientist, the trader and the drinker. It has a supply chain that stretches across oceans and generations. It can be good for the body, and it can be good for the planet when grown the right way. It is both ancient and modern, human and natural.

Excelsa, in particular, is my way of exploring what happens when curiosity meets truth. When fairness meets ambition. When the market meets meaning. It is a test of how global enterprise can coexist with honesty, equity, and regeneration. It is my way of understanding how the world actually works and how it might work better.

I approach it with humility. With gratitude for the people who gave me the freedom to think this way. My parents, my family, my teachers, and every worker who holds the invisible weight of the world. Curiosity is not self-made. It is the result of a life that allowed for awareness. My work is a return of that gift.

Curiosity is how consciousness moves through the world. My work, my company, my life are all experiments in what that movement can become.

A lesson I’m learning: When life gives you lemons, you do not complain about the bitterness. You take what you have, you get to work, and you build.

I have found myself sitting in rooms at social clubs this past year surrounded by people who measure success by polish. They talk about exits, equity, and returns. I talk about a new species of coffee. About Excelsa. About the possibility of creating something that could one day be worth a billion dollars. I can feel it in my heart. I can feel it in the twenty years of research and the other projects that led here. Not failures, but necessary iterations that shaped this one. Each venture taught me something about how to build, how to endure, and how to believe when no one else does.

But the tools in my hands today are worn out. They are borrowed. They are modest. I do not have the same bright energy I had when I was young. The tools then were new, the vision was louder, the excitement was easier to find. But the losses that wore me down also refined me. What I have now is slower, steadier, more deliberate. The shine is gone, but the steadiness remains. I see things, the world, more clearly now. I measure twice. I move carefully. I understand that progress is often quiet and that brilliance sometimes hides behind repetition, and allowing the mix of seasons to do just as much (if not more) of the work. The tools may not be as bright as they once were, but they still work, maybe even better now, because my hands have learned what matters.

The poet Rudyard Kipling wrote, “If you can stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.” That line has lived in me lately. Because that is exactly what we are doing. We are stooping. We are building with whatever we have. Even when others do not fully understand it, even when the idea makes a few people bristle or laugh under their breath, I have learned not to take it personally. People react to what they do not yet see. I remind myself that it is not my job to prove anything. It is my job to keep building.

The café is a half-finished garage. The rafters are exposed. The corners hold their own quiet history. The tables were found on Facebook Marketplace. The walls are painted one gallon at a time. But there is soul in it. There is a truth in building something you believe in with whatever materials you can find.

And here is the secret. The polish is not the story. The polish is already owned by someone else. It is pre-packaged, focus-grouped, and optimized for return on investment. But the unfinished café, the rawness, the small imperfections, they tell the story of something still becoming.

Being forced to build with worn-out tools forces authenticity. And being forced to be authentic forces creativity. Every imperfection becomes part of the brand, part of the proof that this is something real.

Maybe that is the lemonade. It is not about turning sour things into sweet things. It is about turning the hard, gritty truth into something meaningful. It is about taking what life gives you and showing that it was enough all along.

So we keep building. One task to improve the experience a day, one educated or delighted customer, one belief at a time.

Because the story is still becoming, and that is exactly where the beauty lives.

So many years go by doing so many different projects. I think in my head I’m doing something. I think entrepreneurs live in this strange fog where everything feels real before it’s real. It’s not narcissism and it’s not self absorption. It’s this deep, maybe even irrational belief that something in your head is already alive. It just hasn’t taken shape yet.

For years I was always scrambling. Always onto the next thing. I thought I was building, but most of it only existed in my head. And still, there were wins. Real ones. I’ve built things that worked. I’ve taken those wins and turned them into new projects. Sometimes I lost. Sometimes I had to start all over again. Sometimes I won.

I remember one time about five years ago, driving five hours to a ski trip with my dad. I spent almost two of those hours talking about this coffee idea. I had already built a company that had become recognized globally and operating in 25 countries. It worked. It had impact. It just wasn’t a big enough market to create a financial win. But it made a difference. It helped people. It proved that I could start something from scratch and bring it to life. When I finished my whole pitch about this new coffee company, my dad just nodded and said, yeah, go for it, sounds great. I felt both excited and let down. Excited because he believed in me. Let down because I had no idea where to start. This thing felt so much bigger than anything I’d ever built.

So life went on. The project stayed in my head. Every few months I’d make some small move toward it. I’d do an SEO analysis. I’d make a cold brew. I’d buy beans from a guy in L.A. and send photos of the result to friends. Little sparks of progress. But always surrounded by noise. I had a million other ideas, social groups, hobbies. I was dabbling. Perpetually dabbling. Even when I had a company that made an impact around the world, it was still a side hustle. It was never full time. I still had my job. I still had too much going on. I didn’t know how to make it deeper, how to make it viable, how to take the leap.

Now, after years of slow tinkering, the coffee idea has turned into something tangible. The hours are long. It’s already past the point of fun. It feels like a job. But it’s real. And through that work, I’ve learned things I never understood before.

One of them is clarity. Real clarity. A project like this demands total transparency and authenticity. You can’t fake anything. You can’t hide behind mystery or performance. The P&L has to be clean. The numbers have to be visible. The decisions have to make sense. For years I thought business was about secrecy, about faking it until you make it, about keeping your cards close. Now I see that it’s the opposite. The strongest businesses are built in the open. They are transparent, but also protected by depth, by moats, by the intellectual property that comes from truly thinking ahead.

You share everything, but you’ve already built the structure that keeps it safe. The moat isn’t in the hiding. The moat is in the preparation. When others see the validity, when consumers and investors see the vision clearly, they don’t steal it. They join it. They add momentum. It becomes a snowball that rolls forward on its own.

Transparency changed how I see everything. It’s not just business. It’s my actions, my relationships, my boundaries. Who I let in. Who I trust. The older I get, the more I realize that not everyone can come along. I used to want everyone to win. I was the one bringing people together. I wanted to share the spotlight, the credit, the energy. But that’s not possible anymore. If I want to protect my family, my work, the people who are truly meant to be part of this next chapter, then I have to be deliberate. I have to be careful.

That’s been a painful lesson. Every person around me now has to be vetted. Every relationship has to be built on trust and shared values. It’s lonely sometimes. It’s humbling. But it’s necessary. I used to think the more people you included, the better. Now I know that focus is a form of love. Protection is a form of care.

And then there’s alignment. This process has become one long study in alignment. Alignment between what I eat, how I move, what I say, what I build, and who I spend my time with. Alignment between the hard work that drains and the hard work that gives energy. The kind of work that leaves you tired but alive. The kind of exhaustion that feels sacred.

Even in marriage, alignment matters. My wife can’t be an accessory or an extension of business leverage. She’s not a prop or a partner for gain. She has to be seen, heard, and recognized as someone far more important than the job or the company we get to build. That’s part of the discipline too. To build something great without sacrificing the people who make you human. To make sure the structure you build doesn’t swallow the soul that gave birth to it.

What we’re building isn’t just a company. It’s a movement. It’s something that will ripple out and touch lives, that will bring positive change to the world, that will lift people out of broken systems and give them something fair and regenerative. But that can only happen if the foundation is aligned. If every decision, every person, every dollar reflects transparency, clarity, and alignment.

It’s not easy. It’s brutal sometimes. Everyone is cheering me on, but there has been more pain this year than I care to admit. I’ve been broken open through this process. My body, my finances, my marriage, my friendships, all of it. To lead something real, you have to see yourself fully. You have to face your own contradictions. You have to learn to be transparent but still protective. Open but still discerning.

Life feels raw and rich. The veil has lifted. You start to see how complex it all is. Fairness, equity, compassion, efficiency, transparency, they don’t live separately. They exist together, pulling at each other, teaching each other balance.

That’s the path I’m on. Learning to hold both clarity and mystery. Both transparency and protection. Both ambition and patience.

And maybe that’s what building something real is about. Not forcing it. Not faking it. Just walking the long road to clarity and trusting that, eventually, the idea in your head becomes something you can finally touch.

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In its own inevitable life cycle (whether decades or centuries) , an industry meets the limits of its own design. Efficiency begins to consume itself. Coffee is arriving at that moment, five hundred years of cultivation, commerce, and culture converging on a single inflection point.

The roots of coffee’s power

The modern coffee economy was born inside plantation systems built on enslaved labor. In the eighteenth century Saint Domingue, now Haiti, produced vast amounts of coffee with enslaved Africans working in the mountainous interior under some of the harshest regimes in the Americas. The Haitian Revolution upended that order and buyers shifted ever more toward Brazil, which did not abolish slavery until 1888. The people who controlled land, credit, export houses, and state policy carried that power forward. Coffee’s global rise rode on extraction and coercion, and the echoes set the stage for who holds value today.

By contrast, crops like grapes evolved through systems where farmers retained far more market power. Centuries of regional winemaking and direct trade shaped a culture of price integrity and quality differentiation, showing what happens when growers, not empires, define the terms of value.

The past is never far. It moves through our hands, our habits, our morning cups. It lives with us this very hour.

The machinery of efficiency

Over time colonial force gave way to corporate structure and commodity finance. Most arabica pricing still references the New York futures benchmark that the trade calls the C price (note: ICE is replacing this model a bit), with many quality premiums calculated as a differential on top. That means volatility and incentives from the commodity core still shape specialty outcomes.

On the supply side a few producers dominate volume. The USDA projects Brazil around sixty five million sixty kilogram bags and Vietnam about thirty one million for 2025 crop years, with Vietnam remaining almost all robusta. The pattern is concentration and scale.

The agronomy trap

Coffee evolved as a forest shrub. Shade moderates heat, buffers moisture, and invites biodiversity that can stabilize farms. Twentieth century modernization pushed full sun systems to chase yield. Sun systems often rely on more fertilizer, pesticides, and fungicides. They remove canopy that supports birds, insects, and soil life. The result is more volume in the short run and more fragility in the long run. Shade systems consistently show higher species richness and can moderate microclimates that help the plant cope with heat.

Disease pressure keeps rising. Coffee leaf rust has expanded with shifting temperature and rainfall. Many growers answer with more fungicide cycles and higher costs even as climate instability undercuts returns.

The consumer race to the bottom

Downstream the market optimizes for speed, certainty, and price. The United States is the largest single coffee market in the world. Starbucks defines much of that landscape, operating tens of thousands of stores and serving as the model of consistency and efficiency that global consumers have come to expect. Its size and pricing power have trained the U.S. consumer to expect a particular price band for a latte or brewed coffee, even as input and labor costs fluctuate worldwide.

Across the Pacific, Luckin Coffee in China has built a model that mirrors and intensifies that efficiency. With more than twenty six thousand stores driven by app ordering, digital coupons, and rapid openings, the company’s pricing strategy undercuts competitors and has sparked a race to the bottom in urban coffee consumption. In recent months Luckin has begun deploying into the United States with cheap pricing incentives and algorithmic discount systems, forcing Starbucks and even independent specialty cafés to respond. What began as a regional pricing experiment is now influencing how global chains think about market share and discount elasticity. The result is a worldwide race downward that pressures farmers, roasters, and cafés alike.

When the world’s largest and fastest growing markets compete on convenience and price, the pressure radiates backward through the entire supply chain. Consumers get cheaper cups, but the cost is shifted to farms and ecosystems. Distributors push for lower green coffee prices. Producers stretch chemicals, fertilizers, and labor to meet yield targets that hold retail prices steady. Efficiency on the consumer side multiplies exploitation and chemical dependency on the producer side.

It is like the $0.99 two-taco deal that a well known fast food chain uses to get you in the door. At that price you are not really buying food, you are buying a funnel. The company hopes you will also buy the high margin soft drink. The tacos themselves are not the kind of food anyone should want to eat (it’s not possible to bring a taco, let alone two, to market for $0.99, buyer be warned). In coffee the same logic applies. The loss leader is the cup. The pressure rolls backward through the chain, reaching farmers, chemicals, and ecosystems that carry the hidden cost. Food media in China has already chronicled price wars that pushed lattes down to single digit Chinese yuan during promotions. It may look like a deal for the consumer, but someone always ends up holding the bag of excrement, I mean the bill. And its usually not the corporation, but the farmer, the land, or the future generation that pays the hidden cost.

The climate squeeze

Climate change tightens the vise. Multiple studies project that by 2050 global land highly suitable for arabica will shrink drastically, by about half, with suitable zones moving upslope and many current areas becoming marginal. Robusta has gained ground in part because it tolerates heat better (but is still a shrub, so not great), and Brazil is closing the gap with Vietnam in robusta expansion (By the way, robusta is a harsh flavor on its own, its prevalence contributes to conventional coffee’s further bitterness and increased caffeination).

When weather shocks hit, the default response in commodity systems is more inputs, more irrigation, more robusta, and more consolidation. The system that produced abundance loses the ability to adapt.

The singularity moment

This is the singularity. A supply chain born in plantations and refined through commodity finance and software now races to the cheapest possible cup. Sun systems lean harder on chemicals to survive rising heat. Coupons and apps drive price as the governing truth. The system keeps cups cheap by externalizing ecological and human costs.

The lab grown fork in the road

Another piece of this singularity is the capital pouring into synthetic and lab grown coffee. Researchers in Finland documented a proof of concept for cell culture coffee and published a process overview. Venture backed companies are scaling beanless formulas and ingredients. Atomo announced new funding in 2025 and claims large water and carbon savings per cup. Compound Foods is now supplying lab-grown coffee ingredients to other companies, positioning itself as a buffer against volatile supply chains. This is not science fiction. It is happening now.

There are tradeoffs. If synthetic options capture share, millions of smallholders may lose markets. That is not only a social hit. Or a way of life and culture hit. It is also a climate hit. Coffee agroforestry sequesters carbon in trees and soils and supports biodiversity. If economic value detaches from living farms and moves to labs, we lose livelihoods and we lose the carbon bank that shade coffee and even sun coffee partially represents. Even advocates acknowledge the need to confront the livelihood risk.

My position is clear. Innovation has a place. But a future that sidelines farmers and forests misses the point. We need farming systems that work for people and for living landscapes. And isn’t it just more delightful to know your coffee was grown with the rhythm of the seasons, shaped by the rains, picked by hand, by a far off exotic sounding place?But I digress..

What comes after the singularity

A better path looks like agroforestry and permaculture rather than bare sun. It looks like traceable and transparent trade rather than anonymous lots tied to an exchange ticker. Studies show shaded systems store more carbon and support wildlife while buffering heat. Some work even finds that medium shade can align with strong productivity at the right elevations and management. This is not romanticism. It is a practical design for resilience.

It also means broadening the genetic base. Arabica and robusta will remain giants, but the world is beginning to rediscover the liberica complex, including Excelsa, which has now been recognized as its own species. Excelsa is the wild one. It thrives where arabica fails, tolerating heat, drought, and challenging soils. It grows best in diverse agroforestry systems (it is a 30 foot tree, with larger leaves, and a deep root system after all), rather than in sun exposed monocultures, and it carries a flavor profile unlike anything else. The taste is deep, fruit forward, and slightly wine like, naturally lower in caffeine, and often chemical free by its resilient tree-like nature rather than just marketing.

Recent genomic work confirms Excelsa’s distinct specie lineage within the liberica family, and field research continues to show its resilience in the face of a changing climate. To me, Excelsa represents what the future of coffee could look like. It is diverse, adaptive, and aligned with nature instead of fighting it. I’ve witnesses this in my travels: fragile pesticide smelling arabica and robusta shrubs suffering in the sun, neglected excelsa trees thriving on the farm’s outer parameter (let’s work on those!). A diverse coffee future is not only a hedge against a hotter planet, it is also an invitation to rediscover what coffee can taste like when it is allowed to stay wild.

The consumer’s role

Yes this path costs more. That is honest. The good news is that a meaningful share of consumers will pay premiums for sustainability. Products marketed as sustainable and regenerative have delivered an outsized share of growth in consumer goods. In other words the market signal is real when the offer is credible, and the conversion from shrub to tree is an easy visual sell.

There is also taste. If you care about what you put in your body you already know that taste can be trained. Coffee is a bitter beverage and bitterness is complex. During roasting, chlorogenic acids break down into compounds like lactones and phenylindanes that shape bitterness, and our perception adapts with exposure and context. The science on acquired taste is clear. Repeated exposure can increase liking, and genetics and experience both influence how we perceive bitter drinks like coffee and wine.

Here is my personal note. I switched to excelsa last year. The palate adaptation took time. Now I cannot go back. Last week I had to wake very early and grabbed a Starbucks on the road (I was hesitant but needing to make a long drive on little sleep). All day I could not get the taste out of my mouth. It tasted bitter and chemical and burnt. Wild coffee tastes living and layered to me now. More earth. Less of the synthetic edge that sits under the race to the bottom. Taste is not a small thing. It is the direct interface with our choices. It can change.

If you prefer a simple design language for life and pantry there’s a name for it in Japan. Kanso. Simplicity and intentionality. Fewer things of higher integrity. Apply that to your cup. Paying the real cost for something honest is always worth it.

The final thought

The old model is a collapsing star. It burns bright and cheap by consuming itself. The post singular model is slower and more intentional. It restores shade, protects farmers, and delivers meaning and flavor. We do not need everyone to switch. We need enough people who care. That is where excelsa and other diverse species grown in agroforestry and traded with real transparency can help build a better coffee economy one cup at a time… proving that a system built on care can serve people and planet for the next 500 years.

HTML source links

Smithsonian: Slavery and coffee in Saint Domingue
Oxford Research: Abolition of Brazilian slavery
Brown University: Brazil coffee chapter
Specialty Coffee Association: C market and differentials
USDA: Brazil Coffee Annual 2025
Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center: Shade coffee
Frontiers in Sustainable Food Systems 2022
Luckin Coffee Q2 2025 financials
FoodTalks on Chinese price wars
World Coffee Research: Arabica suitability 2050
Reuters: Brazil robusta expansion
VTT Research: Lab grown coffee concept
Atomo Coffee: Funding and claims
Compound Foods: Ingredient platform
World Economic Forum: Risks of lab coffee
Frontiers in Plant Science 2024: Carbon reserves
Nature Plants 2025: Liberica genomic delimitation
NYU Stern Sustainable Market Share Index
McKinsey and NielsenIQ: Green product premiums
Scientific Reports: Bitterness and coffee intake
PMC: Phenylindanes in brewed coffee
ScienceDirect: Acquired taste study

In my younger years I was never financially responsible. I had bank accounts open with no money in them. I had crypto wallets scattered here and there, seed phrases stuffed wherever, investments here and there, retirement savings here and there. I had convinced myself I had net worth but in reality I was just scattering and diluting myself. My businesses were the same way, scattered and unfocused. I was always rushing to build something, but I had no real grasp of strategy or intuition. I was just always building, hoping something would stick.

I lived inside the mentality of fake it till you make it. I could act confident, I could talk like I knew what I was doing, but inside I was desperately trying to make something happen. I had debts. I had student loans, credit card debt, bills I could not keep up with. Many of my startups I funded myself by charging as much debt as the banks would give me, only to lose it all and still be paying it back while I was already chasing the next idea.

It all collapsed. I had several businesses at once and I was constantly shifting money between them, using funds from one to prop up the others. When the coronavirus hit, I had a factory in Wuhan. That single blow took me out, and when that went under, the rest of the businesses all failed. I had built a house of cards and I watched it tumble down.

I disappeared for a few years. Slowly I found stable income. Slowly I paid off every single debt. Slowly I learned the power of accountability. I created a spreadsheet that tracked every account, every bill, every budget, every piece of savings, every retirement account, every investment. I lived and died by that spreadsheet. For the first time in my life I was not pretending, I was not hiding, I was not hoping that some miracle check would come in and make all my troubles disappear. I faced it.

I used to think money would just show up one day. I believed that if I was scattered enough, if I was desperate enough, if I wanted it badly enough, somehow million dollar checks would come to me. But the truth is that even if they had, I would have diluted and squandered them as quickly as they came. I had no discipline. I had no accountability. I had no honesty with myself. More money would have only accelerated the chaos.

It took those quiet years to change me. It took a steady job, a stable paycheck, the humility of being a employee when my younger self had dreamed I would be so much more by now. I had to swallow my ego. I had to accept responsibility for everything. I did not blame the economy. I did not blame the government. I did not blame the president. I blamed myself, and I took ownership of every problem I had created. I chipped away at it excruciatingly day by day.

Through that process I learned accountability. I learned financial accountability, health accountability, wellness accountability, and accountability to others. I had to create a financial spreadsheet and share it with my wife. Every single detail had to be on it. I had to create a financial spreadsheet and share it with my business partner. Every single detail had to be on it. I had to live transparently in every way, to be held accountable for every single dollar spent, every single decision made.

It was through that accountability that I found stability. I built a foundation. I lost my ego, I lost my illusions, and I learned how to live with honesty and transparency. I looked like an idiot many times. I cried man tears many times. I had hard conversations I continue to have daily. I went through growth so painfully slow that I thought I would lose my mind. But through all of that I became reliable. I became someone who could be trusted. Someone whose word became unbreakable. I became someone who could shape and build my life into something bigger, because I now had a foundation that was unshakable.

And it was only then that the responsibility of Excelsa came to me. Excelsa is not just a business. It is a responsibility. It is a movement. It is something that will change lives and impact the world. It will help farmers, it will impact climate change, it will do something real for our health, it will create jobs and new economic models all around the world. That is not something that can be built on scatterbrain chaos. That is not something that can be entrusted to someone who is not profoundly accountable to themselves and to others.

For Excelsa to succeed I have to be one hundred percent self accountable, honest, transparent, and open. If I fall back into old patterns, if I dilute, if I act without discipline, this movement will fail or be taken from me. That is why I am so thankful for the lessons I learned the hard way. Every painful mistake, every collapse, every humiliating moment, every slow year of climbing out of holes I had dug for myself was worth it. Those years made me ready.

Now I know what responsibility means. Now I know how to live in accountability. Now I know how to receive capital and not squander it. Now I know how to build something that will last. The truth is that if I had been handed millions of dollars back then it would have evaporated. But now I am ready to receive it, to deploy it, to turn it into a global movement that cannot be diluted or deployed inefficiently.

That is why the years of hard lessons are worth it. They gave me the foundation to carry the responsibility of Excelsa, and to make sure this time I will not squander the chance.

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PS. In my darker days, when it felt impossible to crawl out of the holes I had created for myself, I leaned on a meditation from Saint Francis of Assisi. It says, “Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible” Every time I wanted to quit I came back to that line. I would just do what was necessary (like pay off debts not chase a new idea), hundreds of days of just painfully doing what was necessary and it felt like forever. Now I get to live in what is possible, and soon I know I will be living the impossible. I am thankful for that meditation because it carried me here.

In the day to day it is hard to know how this is going or where it is going. Financially we have put in both capital and sweat equity, more money than at points in my life I ever imagined I would ever have, and our revenue to date is only a fraction of that. Some days we see big sales and it feels like we are finally breaking through the noise. Customers are happy, and it feels like momentum is building. Other days it is so quiet and cold that I feel like people have forgotten we even exist.

Social media has been the hardest part. We work constantly to break through but the numbers stay flat. People unsubscribe and unfollow almost at the same pace as people follow. I pivot again and again, trying new formats and new stories, never sure what will resonate. This is the largest story in coffee history but how do you break that into a bite sized message? It is hard being a forty year old guy trying to make content. I know it is not the most exciting thing, me being awkward on camera, figuring it out as I go. I bring other people in to create content too, but even then the results are mixed.

We have been at this for years now. It was five years ago that I first came across the research with Michael. I remember being on a ski trip with my dad in Tahoe, talking about how this might be something big. He was hyped, encouraging me to go for it. I agreed but at the time had no idea how to start. Four years ago we began taking it more seriously, and I have now been full time on this for about five months. Even so, the challenges have not lessened.

Looking back at our profit and loss statement for the last thirty six months, we have only shown profit once, in March. That was the month when press came out calling Excelsa the future of coffee. Some of it vanished later, including a Time magazine article. I asked a journalist at The Economist if this was common. She said edits happen often but entire articles disappearing is very rare. I still have screenshots, but there is no sign of it now.

This week I had to cut hours and one of our best people quit because I could not give them enough. It was humbling and painful. The next couple of years will likely bring more of that pain. Finances feel uncertain. I will be fine until spring, but after that we need to make real decisions about raising money or generating more revenue as we have huge plans for next year. It is daunting to think about the future. It is daunting to be forty and know how important financial stability and independence are for my family. I feel the desire to have a second child, but it seems compromised by the reality of doing another startup at this stage of life.

And then there are the mundane days, like today, when I am shoveling coffee greens into airtight bins to protect them from air and insects, standing in an office that feels as humid as Jumanji. That is what the work looks like. It is a timestamp. Years into this project, the highs are real but rare, and the lows feel heavy. We are still pre-traction, still unsure of what product market fit looks like, but the possibility in front of us still feels enormous.

What I hold onto is the foundation beneath all of this. Two decades of research. The lessons I have learned about go to market strategy. The reality of first mover advantage, unfair advantage, and economic moats that we have carefully built into place. These are not theories I am guessing at. These are frameworks I know and believe in. And I remind myself often that if no one else sees the vision, that is the chance you have to take. Because if someone else saw it clearly, they would already have seized it, assumed the product market fit, and built the economic case.

That is what makes me optimistic. That this could be massive. That this could be drastic. That this could matter for the world. The frameworks are there, the vision is there, and the need is there. But none of that erases the daunting reality of the day to day. None of it makes the fear go away. Here I am, years into making guesses about the future, hoping something lands. It is scary. It is hard. It is painful. But it is also exhilarating, because the potential is so vast.

So to be honest, it is hard to know what this is.

Building Excelsa has been a study in hard decisions, constant adjustments, and resilience. Among those lessons, expansion and contraction have been some of the most important for me to learn and understand. For so many years the central challenge has been how to bring this coffee to the level where it can truly be called the champagne of coffee. The work has been about getting the grade and the quality right, but at the same time we cannot simply disappear for three or four years, spend hundreds of thousands of dollars, and then hope we emerge with a product that succeeds. Without real time validation there would be no guarantee that the market would even want what we built.

So we build with what we have each year. We release coffee that is closer to where it needs to be, always hoping that this season is better than the last. Every year is about learning, adjusting, and moving a little closer to the target. At the same time every year we also need to generate sales, not just to keep the company alive, but because that feedback loop is essential. If we do not gather responses from real customers and continue to grow the brand, then after years of work and heavy investment we might discover that we never even had a viable business. This is why every cycle matters. We put our work into the market, we gather feedback, and we hope we do not burn the brand too much before the coffee reaches the level where it speaks for itself.

Our goal has always been to make Excelsa both the best cup of consumer coffee in the world and a regenerative force. That means sweetness through brix levels, sugar content, healthy topsoil, proper grade, careful processing, and above all consistency. It also means protecting farmers from climate change, keeping coffee out of laboratories, and ending the destructive cycle of monoculture. Excelsa must stand as a regenerative and restorative model. We do not expect to replace all of coffee. Perhaps in a century that will be possible, but today the target is more grounded. If we can establish regenerative systems across the world and capture even one or two percent of the global market in the next decade, that would be an astronomical success. It would not only validate Excelsa but also provide a roadmap for the future of coffee.

This year was the first time I decided to test our efforts with real marketing. After years of silence I wanted to see what we had. One day someone walked into the café with far more talent than the role she applied for. Within minutes of talking with her I could see she had talent that reached far beyond that role. She had industry knowledge, marketing instincts, and a perspective on influencers and sales that was rare. What began as a short interview turned into a conversation that lasted six or seven hours. I decided to take a chance and bring her into the marketing effort, even though it disrupted the structure of the company and stretched my own ability to manage.

The summer that followed was full of energy. We hosted events that drew more than one hundred and fifty people. We created campaigns, ran influencer activations, worked with PR, and built new social media content. We met with over one hundred cafes, twenty or more roasters, multiple distributors, influencers, photoshoots and more. She poured herself into the work, and the results showed.

Yet the truth remained that the coffee was not ready. She was trying to sell something that was not yet at the standard we are pursuing. While she made remarkable progress, I had not set her up for success. That responsibility falls on me.The champagne of coffee cannot be forced into the market through effort alone. It has to reach a point where people come to us because the quality demands it. The goal is not to beg for a place at the table. The goal is to create something so valuable that the world insists on being part of it.

This week I had to face the difficult reality of contraction. I told her that we need to shut down the marketing push. It was not because she lacked value, in fact she was extraordinary, but because efficiency is survival. A bootstrap company cannot afford to spend energy in the wrong places. I told her she could pick up hours in the café, and that we need to focus again on generating steady revenue while we work toward better grade and quality for the next season. Expansion brings energy and momentum. Contraction brings discipline and focus. Both are essential I am finding.

It is painful to contract, especially when it means risking the loss of someone you trust, and all the hard work and relationships (and fun) that has gone into what’s been done. It is hard to ask someone who has been leading exciting campaigns to go back to square one. I do not know if she will stay. She will probably need other work. That is the hardest part. Finding people you can trust is rare, and losing them hurts. But this is the reality of the company today.

Contractions are never comfortable. They are always difficult. Yet I’m learning to embrace their reality and discomfort as part of the process. Next year will bring another chance. We will continue to work toward a product that sells itself… like the ‘champagne of coffee’ does. We will continue to move toward the day when marketing is not about convincing but about managing demand. That is the point when Excelsa will succeed. We cannot compete with the global coffee industry as it exists today. The entire industry we are stepping into is trapped in a race to the bottom, a pricing war where cafés and distributors are forced to cut margins and chase volume simply to stay viable. That is not a game we can play. What we can do is something entirely different. We can introduce a premier cup of coffee that protects farmers, restores the land, and shifts the paradigm so that people understand why it is worth more. That is the real work in front of us. It is not just about building a product, it is about building a future. That is the work we must do to save coffee itself and to do our part to save the climate.

This is the journey I am learning. Expansion and contraction are not just business cycles, they are the rhythm of building something new. They are uncomfortable, painful, but they are also necessary. The lesson I’m learning is to embrace both sides, to carry the contractions with directness and dignity, and to see them not as failure but as part of the work. Expansion brings energy and possibility. Contraction brings clarity and discipline. Together they move us forward. I hold onto the hope that better days will come, that the discomfort will give way to growth, and that each step takes us closer to building the champagne of coffee.